Consent (The Loan Shark Duet Book 2)

by Charmaine Pauls

  He grunts when I apply pressure. “You can’t touch me. I’m on Magda’s payroll.”

  This does it. Black dots pop in my vision. “The thing, you see, is I don’t give a fuck.”

  Uncertainty creeps into his eyes. The way his pupils are bouncing around as he takes stock of the room tells me he’s considering his options. Fight or flight. He tries to pry his finger free, but I push back more. Before he snatches the gun on the floor, I use my free hand to slide it in Rhett’s direction. When his fist comes up, I grab and squeeze until he gnashes his teeth.

  “Why did you shoot him, Scott?”

  He spits next to my feet. “Fuck you.”

  “If that’s how we’re playing, very well.” A bit more pressure and his finger snaps above the knuckle.

  A chilling cry fills the room. For such a big man he has a high-pitched voice. He’ll make a good soprano.

  I let go of his fist and move to his thumb. “You have nine fingers and ten toes left. This can take a while.”

  He grunts and wheezes as I bend the digit back. His muscles tighten. He thinks I won’t see the blow coming, but I’ve been on the block far longer than him. I duck when his fist whizzes past my face and retaliate with a few punches in his ribs. Another one in his stomach takes out his wind.

  “Fuck. Ouch.” He coughs and gurgles. “Fucking shit.”

  Snap. That was his thumb.

  His cry is ugly this time. From the doors slamming and the feet running on the landing, I gather people are fleeing the building. A gunshot is nothing new. Most people wait it out, hiding behind locked doors. Screams, they’re a totally different ballgame. Nobody wants to be tortured, and if the neighbor isn’t talking, chances are whoever is making him scream will come for you.

  Scott is rolling around on the floor, curling into a fetal position. “You shit. You broke my thumb.”

  “If I do both trigger fingers you’re out of business. Won’t be much of a guard without a trigger finger, will you?”

  “I know fuck-all.” He grunts through his pain.

  “I’ll ask you one last time. Why did you shoot Jerry?”

  “I was following orders.”

  I jerk him into a sitting position. “Whose orders?”

  “Mrs. Louw’s. All I know, is she told me to take care of him.” His look is cutting. “It’s not my job to ask questions.”

  I believe him. Rhett gives a small nod. He agrees.

  “Take him back to the car,” I say.

  As Rhett is helping a bent-over Scott downstairs, I go through the flat, but find nothing of interest. Popping the Monopoly cat in my pocket, I close the door and join the men.

  “Drive Scott home,” I tell Quincy. “Rhett, keep a gun on him, just in case.”

  Scott is fuming when they bundle him into the back, but he’s quiet. He’s too clever to insult me again.

  Pulling off ahead of them, I race north on Jan Smuts Avenue with the speed of the devil. I need more answers, and Magda will give them. She’s working at the loan office in Yeoville today.

  I barge straight into her office without knocking. “Why did you order Scott to shoot Jerry?”

  “Gabriel.” Her manner is non-startled as she gets up and rounds her desk. “He was a nuisance.”

  Mad anger coils through my insides, pulling my gut tight. “A nuisance? That’s enough reason for a killing?”

  “That’s not it, and you know it. He was starting to cause problems.”

  “You know what I think?” I close the distance. “I think you wanted to shut him up.”

  A laugh bubbles from her throat. “Shut him up?”

  “He was about to tell me what you ordered him to do.”

  “Me? Give him an order? Are you out of your mind? The only contact I had with Jerry was to get more information on Charlie Haynes’ whereabouts.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “You’d believe that low-life car thief over me? Jerry was scared. Of course he’d spew all kinds of bullshit.” She crosses her arms. “Believe what you will, I did your job for you. Jerry gave your wife a car––a stolen car, may I add––to run away from you. If you were man enough he would’ve been dead the minute I gave you the information.”

  “My first priority was finding Valentina. After that I had other priorities.”

  “Like fucking her?”

  To prevent myself from strangling Magda, I plaster my fists at my sides. “You won’t speak about my wife like that.”

  “Calm down.” She drops her arms. “Since when can’t I call a spade a spade?”

  “You’re vulgar.”

  “I’m honest.”

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t have time for your games. Scott killed Jerry because we had to show the world no one messes with one of us, and Valentina is one of us. Giving her a car was as good as messing with you or me. The next time she runs, her friends will think twice about aiding her in her silly quests.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “It better not. It won’t look good for you if your own wife runs away.” She walks back to her chair and sits down. “Anything else?”

  My words are measured. “Not today.”

  “Good. Now get out of my hair. I have work to do.”

  At the door, I say over my shoulder, “Oh, by the way, Scott has a couple of broken fingers.”

  The charcoal lines around her eyes crinkle. “That was a childish thing to do.”

  “He may also have a few broken ribs.” The words give me enormous satisfaction. “If he ever gatecrashes one of my parties again, on your invitation or not, he won’t leave alive.” I wink. “Keep that in mind if you value him as a member of your staff.”

  Her eyes are spitting venom as I shut the door.

  In my study at home, I add Jerry’s Monopoly cat to my jar of charms. One for each life I’ve taken. I may not have pulled the trigger, today, but the intention was there. In my book, intention is as good as action.

  The jar is disturbingly full. It sits on the corner of my desk to remind me of who I am. I can put a face to every memento in that jar. I tell myself every one of them was justified, a necessary kill in this constant war of survival, but I’m losing my appetite for the killing. My path has been set, and I’ve been following it as my heritage demands. With this new path I’m walking with Valentina, it feels as if I’m veering farther and farther away from where I came. I don’t know where the hell I’m going, but I know I can’t go back. I want to walk this road with her too much, her and my baby.

  The afternoon drags on with affairs that keep me occupied until late, and when I finally pull into Sylvia’s driveway it’s close to seven. Dinner is served at eight. I’m hoping the get the big talk with Carly out of the way before we sit down for the meal.

  Sylvia waits at the door, a hand on her hip. “Hey, Gab. Gabriel,” she corrects, catching herself. Her smile is sweet and filled with the womanly self-assurance of someone who knows she’s physically desirable. “You had me wondering about this hasty dinner all day.”

  “I didn’t mean to give you extra work.”

  She laughs softly and holds out a hand for my jacket. “Don’t fret. My cook did all the work.” She deposits the jacket on the coat stand. “Are you going to tell me the reason we’re having dinner with Carly, or are you going to make me sweat it out another hour?”

  “Where’s Carly?” I look around the foyer and up the staircase. I don’t want my daughter to overhear anything prematurely.

  “In her room. I’ll call her down in a second. Shall we have a drink?”

  She’s already on her way to the lounge. I follow, looking around the foreign space. I’ve been in Sylvia’s house a few times, but it still feels unfamiliar. Overly stuffy. Too perfectly decorated. No pets, books, or shoes lying around. Nothing to hint at life. Carly’s toys were never splayed on our stairs or even the playroom carpet. Will Valentina allow life into our home? My chest fills with something warm and light as I picture tra
ins, fire engines, and stuffed toys littering our floors.

  “Here you go.” She hands me a glass of Scotch on the rocks and takes one for herself, which she clinks to mine. “Now, tell me the purpose of this secretive family meeting.”

  It’s probably better that I prepare her before I speak to Carly. I mull over the words, but there’s no easy way of saying it. Finally, I settle for short and sweet. “Valentina and I got married yesterday.”

  Her hand stills with the glass halfway to her mouth, her red nail varnish standing out against the white of her skin where she grips the tumbler. Her eyes grow large, and her lips thin.

  “She’s going to have my baby.”

  Pulling back her arm, she slaps me across the cheek. I saw the blow coming. I could’ve stopped it, but I allowed her the violence as an outlet for her shock.

  “You son of a bitch. How dare you humiliate our family like this?” Her voice rises. “You married the maid?”

  “You know making her our maid was Magda’s idea of getting the payback she believed we deserved.”

  “She caught you, didn’t she?”

  “Actually,” I give her a cold smile, “I caught her.”

  “Why?” She bangs the glass down on the mantelpiece, drops of alcohol sloshing over the sides. “You could’ve had Helga or any other woman of your social standing.”

  “I don’t want any other woman.” My words are measured. “I want her.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Is this some kind of midlife crisis? Is this why you have to go for a girl fifteen years younger than you? You have to prove to yourself you still have it?”

  “Is that why you’re getting engaged to a younger man?”

  “Fuck you, Gabriel. It’s not the same.”

  “No, it’s not, because your decisions when it comes to relationships and marriage are not based on love or affection, but on which move will serve your financial and political position best.”

  “Love and affection?” She utters a laugh. “Are you telling me you love her?”

  “I don’t know about love, not anymore, but whatever I feel is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to being happy.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  “I was a fool for loving you once.”

  “You still do.”

  “Maybe––you’ll always be the mother of my child––but I want her more than any woman I’ve ever wanted.”

  The color drains from her cheeks. Rage fills her violet-blue eyes, but she maintains a calm voice. “I will not acknowledge that woman or her child.”

  “It’s my child. Your disagreeable nature will make things more difficult for all of us, but that’s your choice.”

  She pushes out her chin. “I’ll call Carly and give the two of you a moment. Come through to the dining room when you’re ready.”

  As her heels click over the marble, I take a long sip from my drink. A moment later, my daughter comes bouncing down the stairs.

  “Dad!” She gives me one of those rare hugs. “Dinner in the week? At mom’s house? What’s going on?”

  I leave my drink on the table and pull her down next to me on the couch. Through the open door, I spot Sylvia making her way to the kitchen. When our eyes meet, she gives me an accusing look.

  I pull my attention back to Carly. “How’s school, princess?”

  “Good. You’ve seen my grades.”

  “How about living with your mom? Is it working out well?”

  “Yes. Is this about asking me to move back to your place?”

  “Of course not.” I’m stalling for time, but by God it’s difficult to broach the subject. “I have news.” I put a bright smile on my face. “Very exciting news.”

  “Dad,” she sweeps her hair behind her ear, “what is it?”

  “I got together with someone.”

  “As in dating? That’s great!”

  “Actually, it’s a lot more serious than dating. We already took it to the next level.”

  “You’re engaged?” She shrieks. “Oh, my God! Who is she?”

  “Not engaged, Carly,” I say gently. “I jumped the gun and married her.”

  Her smile drops. She stares at me with the disappointment I expected but hoped not to see. “You’re married?”

  “Yes.”

  “W–when?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “I–I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say something? Why do it in secret?”

  “It was an impulsive decision. It’s not that I didn’t want you there for an important event. It just happened on the spur of the moment.” This is the closest to honesty I can get.

  Her mouth pulls down. “Oh, my God, I have a stepmother.”

  “I don’t want you to think of her as a stepmom. Sylvia is your mother. She’s my wife, and it’ll mean a lot to me if you can be kind to her.”

  Her bottom lip starts to tremble. “Who is she? I mean, do I even know her?”

  “Yes, you do.”

  A frown pulls her eyebrows together. “Who?”

  “It’s Valentina.”

  Before the name is out she’s on her feet. “Dad, no! How could you? She’s our maid!”

  I get up and place my hands on her shoulders. “Carly, calm down, please, and listen to me. There’s nothing wrong with being a maid.”

  “She irons my clothes and cleans my room, for God’s sake!”

  “She was our maid. Not any longer. We have a cleaning service for that, now.”

  “A maid! Could you not have made a less humiliating choice?”

  “There’s nothing humiliating about being a maid. Valentina was studying to become a vet before she started working for us, and she only came to work for us because she owed a lot of money and didn’t have a choice.”

  She jerks free from my hold and turns her back on me.

  I groan inwardly. “I thought you liked her.”

  “Is it the money? Did she marry you for your money?”

  “No.”

  She twirls to face me again. “What then?” Her laugh is wry. In this moment, she looks so much like her mother. “Don’t tell me you’re in love.”

  “She’s going to have a baby,” I say softly.

  Like Sylvia, her eyes grow big. Shock washes over her features, leaving her pale and silent.

  I take her hand. “This doesn’t change how I feel about you. I’ll always love you. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but I hope you’ll accept Valentina as a part of this family.”

  She pulls away, clasping her hands behind her back. “I’ll be seventeen in a month. You don’t think it’s a bit late to start a new family?”

  “It’s not a new family, princess. We’re all family.”

  “She’s not my family, and she’ll never be!”

  With a sob, she runs from the room. I’m torn between going after her and giving her space. I decide on the latter. I guess that went as well as it could. In time, she’ll come around.

  Sylvia leans her hip against the doorframe and swirls the liquor in her glass. “Congratulations, Gabriel. I hope you’re happy.”

  She watches me with contempt as I cross the floor, a look not unfamiliar to me. It’s the same one she gave me in bed, right before I touched her.

  Craning her neck up at me, she continues, “I suppose dinner is off. I don’t know about Carly, but if she feels like I do, she’s lost her appetite.”

  “I understand.”

  She flattens her body in the frame for me to pass. As I go for my jacket, I’m acutely aware of my limp and the way her eyes burn on my back.

  “Goodnight, Sylvia. I’ll call Carly tomorrow.”

  The ice clinks in her glass. “You do that.”

  I see myself out and drive the short distance home. I like to tell myself Sylvia bought a house close to ours for Carly’s sake, but it’s always been the prestige of the neighborhood. Like Magda, Sylvia comes from a long line of descendants where money is everything and cast
is determined by birth. The house staff doesn’t mix with the proprietors. In her eyes Valentina will always be the servant. Up until today, I never realized how many of Sylvia’s values are embedded in Carly.

  When I get home, I find Valentina on her knees in our bathroom with her head over the toilet.

  Rushing to her side, I wipe the hair from her face. “Damn, Valentina. Are you all right?”

  A feeble wave of her hand is supposed to send me away. “Just morning sickness.” Her body convulses, but her stomach must be empty, because nothing comes out.

  Concern burns in my gut. “I thought this was only supposed to happen in the morning.”

  She takes two steadying breaths. “All times of the day.” Her laugh is weak, but not without humor. “This baby doesn’t like pasta.”

  I wipe my hand over her clammy forehead. “What did you eat?”

  “Fettuccini with cèpe mushrooms. I had lunch with Kris at Roma’s.” She turns around and slumps against the toilet. Her face is pasty white and dark rings mar her perfect eyes. “About that…” A stern look invades those bleary eyes. “What are you doing sending Kris all that stuff?”

  I bent down and lift her into my arms. Even at four months pregnant she weighs nothing. The worry weighs heavier on my shoulders. She looks exhausted. From the way her body is reacting, I poisoned her with my seed. I let her down on the rug and start to pull the dress over her head. Obediently, she lifts her arms.

  “I asked you a question, Gabriel.”

  I unhook the clasp of her bra and push the straps down her arms. “She’s your friend.”

  “Is that your motivation for spending a fortune on her practice?”

  The panties follow next, but her boots prevent me from removing the stockings. “The way things were going, her practice wasn’t going to survive much longer.”

  “If I stay, Kris gets a revamped practice, and if I leave, she’s dead.”

  “Yes.”

  My answer is harsh, but she needs to understand the lengths I will go to. The knowledge that she’s here against her will is a bitter pill to swallow, but I will gobble down flames, fire, and toxic waste if that’s what I have to do.

  I crouch down to unzip her boots. “Why bring it up? Are you planning on leaving?”