Stolen Life

by Charmaine Pauls

  Heatedly, I say, “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about who saw me naked.”

  “Well, I do,” he says through gritted teeth.

  My voice rises in volume. “I had bigger worries to deal with.”

  He throws the taunt at me. “Such as what I’d do to you if you ever tried something so stupid as to spy on me?”

  “Such as being arrested for murder!”

  He freezes. The silence stretches. The light of the lamp no longer feels warm and soft. The shadows are cold and hard with sharp edges.

  “Murder?” he says in an eerily soft voice. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nick Kruger, my ex-boss, was killed in a heist, half of his face shot away.”

  His jaw sets in a hard line. “It’s a lie.”

  “I saw the photo, Ian. I saw his brains blown over the floor.”

  “Fuck.” He sits down next to me and takes my hand, placing it in his lap. “They had no right to make you look at that.”

  I pull my hand away. “They showed me the photo of the assailants.” I pause. “Three men in Phantom masks.”

  “Jesus.” Tilting his head to the ceiling, he drags his hands over his head. When he looks back at me, he’s not trying to hide the turmoil in his eyes. “It wasn’t us. We don’t kill for money.”

  I study his face. “No? Are you telling me killing is beyond you? Because not so long ago you told me you wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a person, not even a woman.”

  He grinds his teeth. “Killing isn’t beneath me, baby doll. You better believe that, but I won’t kill for things that aren’t worth it. Money definitely isn’t worth a life.”

  “But you will kill.” I hold my breath, willing him to say no.

  “Only if it matters enough to me.”

  My chest deflates as he kills my hope. “What matters to you?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Family. The people I care about.”

  He’s serious. He’s dead serious. A shiver runs over me. “The photo of the three men… How do you explain that?”

  “Imposters.” His eyes turn hard. “They must’ve seen an opportunity while we were in the vicinity and decided to pose as us.”

  I don’t know if I believe him. I don’t know what to think any longer. Avoiding his intense gaze, I study my hands, but he doesn’t let me escape.

  He grips my chin and tilts my face to him. “I’ll get those photos back.”

  “I told you, it’s not the photos I’m worried about.”

  “No.” His voice is grave. “It’s being an accomplice to murder.” He drops his hand to the bed, curling his fingers into a fist. “This time, he’s gone too far.”

  “Who?”

  “Detective-fucking-Wolfe.”

  Ian said Detective Wolfe’s name is Jim. More apprehension tightens my stomach. “You know him.”

  “He’s a big shot detective with a special unit in Pretoria. He’s been on my case since day one. You can say he’s developed an obsession with catching me, and he won’t stop at anything. I’ve become a stain on his reputation.”

  “Shit.” I rub my hands over my face. “He’s not going to give up.” I know it instinctively. In his own way, Wolfe is as determined as Ian. He may not be as dangerous, but he’s not less unscrupulous.

  Ian puts an arm around me. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  I shake him off.

  Cupping my face, he forces me to face him. “What I’m not sorry about is kissing you, and I’ll never be sorry about being inside you.”

  Just like that, my body catches fire. A flame runs over my skin. He has the ability to crush me with a single look, even when I’m so mad at him that I want to slap him. Even when I’m frightened of him. Yes, even when I don’t know what to believe.

  “I’m going to get those photos back,” he says in a gentle tone, “I swear that to you.”

  As if those damning photos are the biggest of my burdens. Being here and what the future holds for me is a much heavier worry. The weight of it bears down on me, dragging me into a very scary and dark place.

  When Ian pushes me down, I don’t resist. I don’t stop him when he stretches out over me and cups my head between his broad palms, tilting my face to meet his lips. For now, I allow myself to be weak. While I don’t have answers or solutions, I let him part my lips and kiss me like he means it. As despair sucks me deeper, I allow myself to drown in his skillful caress.

  His hands are gentle but firm when he pops the button of my jeans. He dips a hand into my underwear and curls a finger over my sex. The wetness that coats his digit tells him everything. The knowledge shows in the heated victory that shines in his eyes as he slowly drags his hand from my panties and up my stomach, leaving a wet trail on my skin.

  Lifting my arms above my head, he pulls off my T-shirt. I sigh when our naked skins press together. His chest is hard, flattening my breasts under his weight. I hide beneath him, under his heat, letting his hands make me forget as he wiggles the jeans over my hips. I lift my ass to make his task easier, and he rewards me with a kiss on my nipple. His tongue is hot and wet. I arch my back to take more, but he releases the tip of my breast with a pop and sucks his way down my body, planting sloppy kisses on my stomach and legs until the jeans are tangled around my ankles. Holding my eyes, he works them free. I know what he’s looking for. I know what he’s going to ask even before he opens his mouth.

  “Do you want me, baby doll?”

  He knows the answer, but he wants me to say it. I’m caught in a web of crimes and dirty deeds. I’ve crossed the line so many times already, but none of those times were by choice. He made me an accomplice, but I still have my truth. It’s a beacon of light in the muddiness that has become my life. I’m sinking deeper into the darkness, and this truth is the only string tying me to the light. I hold on to it for dear life, willing it not to snap, because when it does, I’ll be lost forever.

  “Do you, Cas?” he asks, moving a hand between our bodies and resting two fingers on my clit. He doesn’t give me more. He simply holds his touch there, waiting for my response.

  My voice is firm, my answer honest. “Yes.”

  He palms a breast as he leans over and takes a condom from the nightstand before lifting his ass in silent instruction for me to unfasten his jeans. I push them over his hips. He does the rest of the work, undressing before tearing open the foil packet and sheathing himself.

  When he tears into me, it’s rushed and greedy. He indulges himself, taking everything when he thrusts harder and deeper. He’s unstoppable, devouring my body like he’s afraid it will disappear. Lifting on his elbows, he looks into my eyes. He stares at me like he can’t believe I’m real. He consumes me like a man who’s afraid the illusion will vanish. When he’s had his fill, he slows, giving me time to catch up.

  He sits up on his knees, pulling me with him without breaking our contact. His hair falls over his face as he dips his head to suck a nipple into his mouth. He knows what I need to come. Moving a hand between our bodies, he finds my clit and rolls the nub between his fingers. My orgasm builds instantly. I lock my ankles around his waist and grab his shoulders for support.

  When the pleasure erupts, he kisses my neck. He kisses my shoulder and my jaw. My lips are the treat he keeps for last, for when he comes. When he empties himself inside the condom, I know there’s no coming back from this. Truth or lies, his prisoner or not, there’s no coming back from crossing this line.

  The knowledge beats with fear in my chest as he pulls out and turns on his side without discarding the condom. Gathering me in his arms, he pulls my back against his chest and throws a thigh over me.

  “Sleep,” he says in a sex-drenched voice, grazing his stubble over the sensitive skin behind my ear.

  I shiver. A soft kiss falls on my temple as he pulls the blanket over us.

  Closing my eyes, I drown out reality, not because I’m in denial, but because it’s going to take more energy than I possess to cope with the facts when morning com
es.

  Chapter 3

  Ian

  The aroma of the five o’clock morning coffee I had still hangs in the dining room when Ruben’s contact, a man known as Mossie, arrives. I instructed Leon to schedule the meeting early on purpose, while Cas is still asleep. I’m planning on making sure she can never leave here, hence it’s not in her interest that she’s around to witness this. The knowledge won’t be good for her morale. I don’t want to rub it in.

  Despite his name, the guy who’s arranging the security equipment on the dining room table doesn’t resemble a little gray bird. He’s a giant with sly eyes, every inch of visible skin except for his face covered in colorful tattoos. He’s wearing dark jeans, combat boots, and a leather vest over a T-shirt. I don’t take exception to the cattle whip tucked into his waistband. There are many ways to kill with a cattle whip—whipping, that goes without saying, and strangling—but carrying the weapon isn’t a threat. It’s just part of the attire for guys like us.

  When he’s done laying out the spread, he steps back with a wide stance and crosses his arms. He gives me a moment to inspect the merchandise before diving into the pitch. Leon and Ruben hang back at the far end of the table as Mossie goes over each item and explains its function. It’s only when he gets to the technology of remotely controlling the spyware via an app that Leon shows an interest.

  Ruben is more enticed with the exhibition that follows after—the automatic rifles and hand grenades. We have a selection of rifles on site, some of them for darting the animals and others for protection, but not the kind of weapons we’ll need for fighting a war. I hope to God it won’t come to that, but Wolfe is a cunning bastard. There’s no paper trail connecting me to the lodge in Zim, but people are people. There will always be someone willing to talk for a price.

  “I’ll take everything,” I say when we come to the end of the demo.

  Leon and Ruben don’t say a word, but they wear the same look. Accusation. The quiet broodiness in their eyes says if shit blows up and we have to fight a war, it’ll be my fault. No arguments there. I took a risk, and I’d do it again, but our lives may be at stake for the sake of my lust. Neither of them is willing to die just because I wet my dick in the most beautiful woman ever created.

  I get that, which is why, when Mossie leaves with a bag full of cash, I say, “If you want to leave, the coast is clear. It should be for a good couple of weeks still.”

  Leon spits the word at me. “Leave?”

  “You can go to the chalet in Lesotho.” I turn to Ruben. “I know you wanted to spend time with that girl in Mozambique.”

  “I’m not running with my tail between my legs when shit’s about to go down,” Leon says.

  “Nothing may go down,” I remind him. “The weapons are only a precautionary measure. Best be prepared than not. What’s your decision, Ruben?”

  “Nope.” Ruben rolls on the balls of his feet. “I reckon you need us around seeing that you’re not thinking straight and all.”

  My tone is even. Cold. “If you want to accuse me of something, say it flat out.”

  His lip curls. “You want me to say it? You’re thinking with your dick, man.”

  He’s trying to get a reaction out of me, but I don’t bite, because he’s right. I’ve been thinking with nothing but my dick since the moment I laid eyes on Cas. That doesn’t mean I can’t think with my head at the same time.

  “I’ve never been thinking clearer,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “She’s going to fuck you over, bro.”

  “You’re the one who said we have to keep her close.”

  “That was before she pulled a gutsy escape stunt. Some chicks will let you boss them around. They’ll clean your house and let you fuck them. I saw what she looks like when you carried her in last night. A girl like that isn’t going to take orders from you. She’s too pretty, too smart. She’s going to use that face and body to leash you like a horny dog and cut your throat when you’re so thick in heat you can’t think.”

  I ball my hands into fists. “Don’t make assumptions. You don’t know her.”

  “I know enough to know a girl with the brains to trick Walter and the guts to run from him isn’t just going to sit around and look pretty for you.”

  Advancing on him, I say, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “She’s a prisoner, bro. That leaves her with two choices. Either she’s going to run or she’s going to off you at the first chance she gets.” He presses a finger against his temple. “That’s thinking things through straight.”

  My anger escalates. “Are you done?”

  “One of you is going to end up dead. I say let it be her before it’s you.”

  I’m in his face before he can blink, my hand wrapped around his neck. “Anyone who lays a finger on her is fucking dead!”

  Leon steps between us, grabbing my arm. “Let it go. We have enough trouble on our hands as it is.”

  Like fuck I’m letting this go. I squeeze, lifting Ruben off his feet. “Got it?”

  His face turns red. He gurgles.

  “He said yes,” Leon says, his tone agitated.

  I shake him and tighten my fingers for good measure, even if his passive acceptance of the abuse gives me his answer. If it was no, he would’ve fought back.

  “Yes,” he croaks.

  I drop him.

  He stumbles and rubs his throat.

  Stabbing a finger on his chest, I say, “As long as I’m the leader of this band, you’ll do as I say. You don’t challenge my orders. You don’t challenge my word, and you sure as hell don’t challenge my abilities. If that doesn’t work for you, you’re free to go.” I face my brother. “You too.”

  Leon’s eyes bulge. “You’re willing to break up the gang over a girl?”

  He better believe it. “You have three seconds to decide. If you decide to go your own way, I won’t hold it against you. If you’re not out of that door by the time I get to three, it’s my fucking rules and my way, and I don’t want to hear another goddamn word about it.”

  The silence that follows is toxic. They glare at me, hating me, but neither of them makes a move.

  “That’s settled then.” I walk to the door and turn in the frame. “I consider the subject closed. Whether you like it or not, Cas is here to stay. Make a damn effort.”

  Concern flickers in Leon’s gaze. He may be one year short of turning thirty-five, but he’s never outgrown his childhood insecurity. “Where are you going?”

  I’m as much to blame for his fear of abandonment as our parents. I soften my voice. “To install the cameras and the microphones.”

  “What do you want us to do?” he asks.

  It’s his way of offering a white flag.

  “Set up the infrared alarms inside.” I address Ruben. “Think you can handle the perimeters?”

  “Sure thing,” he says, grabbing the box with the sensors.

  I stomp outside to get my toolbox, my insides still shaking at the thought of seeing Cas dead. That’s where Ruben and I differ.

  I’d much rather it’s me.

  Chapter 4

  Cas

  My last thought before falling asleep in Ian’s arms is my first thought at waking alone.

  I’m not ready for this day.

  I’m not ready for this new development and everything it’s going to bring. Of one thing I’m sure. This situation is complicated, and it’s only going to get more complicated. There’s no easy way forward, but there’s no way back.

  I wrap the sheet around my body, get up, and look around for my bag. It’s placed on a chest at the foot-end of the bed. My handbag is on the chair next to the bed and my shoes are pushed neatly underneath.

  The first thing I do is go through my handbag for my phone. I already know it’s not there before the search produces nothing but my makeup and other knickknacks, which include a messy collection of old, crumpled receipts, restaurant mints, chewing gum, business cards, hand sanitizer, tissues, pills, earrin
gs, bracelets, and perfume. Ian wouldn’t have been so careless as to leave my phone and passport.

  A clean glass and fresh water stand on the nightstand, and next to the glass is my bottle of pills. I check the label. It’s not the label from the pharmacy in Rustenburg. Ian got these from a pharmacy in Johannesburg. I don’t recognize the name of the doctor. Maybe he had them flown in when he decided to rescue me. Even as I think it, I recognize the lie. He didn’t rescue me. He kidnapped me. If he wanted to rescue me, he would’ve helped me to get a new identity and get across the border into Botswana.

  I swallow the pills and take my time to study the room in the light that falls through the double sliding doors. The space is huge and handsomely decorated. With the carved wooden furniture in animal themes, ethnic rugs, and wildlife paintings on the walls, it looks like a Safari lodge. I drag my fingers along the rough surface of the wall as I make my way around the room. A writing desk is pushed in front of the window. Porcupine quills are arranged in an antique clay inkpot on the desktop. A huge bouquet of pink and violet roses with a white card stand on the dresser. I remove the card and read the message. The handwriting is messy, the R a flat line and the T not crossed through.

  Welcome to your new home.

  The message hits me straight in the gut. A home is permanent. A home is a happy place, a safe place.

  Discarding the note, I continue my exploration. The view from the sliding doors takes my breath away. A broad river cuts through green grass. The brown water is framed by giant Ebony trees on either bank. Beyond the river, the land is dotted with Baobab and thorn trees.

  I delay a much-needed shower to slide open the doors and walk outside onto the terrace. No other bungalows are in sight. It’s just me dressed in a sheet on a gloriously sunny morning on the banks of the Zambezi river. From the size of that river, it can’t be any other one. The gush of a waterfall sounds in the distance. I’d love a dip, but the water will be infested with crocodiles and maybe even hippos. A shower will have to do.