I’m starting to lose the last thing I have left. My hope.
19
Gabriel
Staging my death was easy. After climbing through the trapdoor in the ceiling, all I had to do was move the roof tile above the hole I made beforehand and scurry over the roof and down the back of the building where the street cameras aren’t angled before setting off the explosives via remote. The blast wiped away my tracks as well as all evidence that could have incriminated me or endangered Valentina’s life. Rhett, who was keeping watch in the street, didn’t know about the body I recovered in Hillbrow the previous night and stored in the bathroom at the back. I placed the corpse close to the explosives, knowing the explosion wouldn’t leave fingerprints or dental records, and fit my wedding ring on the dead man’s finger. The fire would wipe out any identifiable traces, but not the platinum band that betrothed me to Valentina for life.
For life.
Leaving Valentina and Connor is the hardest thing I’ve done after saying goodbye to Carly. It chops away at my insides, leaving me as broken as the people I’d tortured. Keeping Valentina forever was a dark, dubious, and beautiful dream, but that life is over. With the money from my will and the inherited business, she and Connor can live comfortably. I’m one hundred percent sure Rhett and Quincy will stay on in her employ. They love her enough to follow her to the end of the rainbow and beyond. The business is clean. I got rid of the bad elements, cut the ties, and blew the evidence to pieces. Valentina can run the loan office without being arrested or murdered by the Portuguese or Jewish mafias.
I wanted to confide in Michael, but it would’ve been too risky. No one can ever know. To the world, I’m dead. Valentina needs the money and a fresh start—without me.
Damn, the thought hurts. I press a hand on my chest, rubbing away the physical ache where I lie in a hospital bed in Switzerland with my body and face in bandages. New technology allowed for extensive corrective surgery to my face and hip. When I recover, I’ll have new features and an almost-good body.
The self-sustained injuries are not as much a gift to myself as a way of bringing me back to life. I’ve already taken on a new identity. I’ll go back to South Africa to keep an eye on Valentina and my child. This is my new life purpose, and the only motivation that keeps me going. There are too many dangers out there for a woman alone. Not that she’ll be alone, forever. Not a woman like her. She’s much too appealing. Too beautiful. Too strong. Too loving. It will be tougher than burning in the flames of hell, but I’ll endure seeing her in the arms of another man as long as she’s happy. For the rest of my miserable life, I’ll hide in corners and shadows, following the woman I love, ensuring she’s safe on street and in her bed at night. I’ll watch over her and Connor like a guard dog. I’ll always love her, but this time only from afar.
Weekly updates about her welfare reach me via email. My informant is an ex-Recce. The guy is a nutcase, but he’s one hundred percent reliable. Reading the latest report, I utter a loud curse. The nurse, who is changing my sheets, gives me a reprimanding look, but I don’t give a fuck. I pay enough for the private room to swear as loudly and as much as I like. The pain from my surgery that’s usually acute turns unbearable. It happens whenever I clench every muscle in my body.
The reason for my self-directed anger blurs on the screen in front of me. I blink and reread the last paragraph. My assets are frozen, an unfortunate result of the forensic investigation, which I didn’t have the damn foresight to predict. Until the case is closed, Valentina is penniless.
I ache to be there. The need to take care of her is overwhelming, but I’m unable to come near her. All I can do is watch her struggle from a computer screen on a different continent, and it fucking destroys me.
It takes another nine months of excruciating waiting, physiotherapy, and healing before I can close the distance between Valentina and I. Needing a new source of income, I launched an investment company while I waited to heal. It’s awkward not to be able to buy what I want without reflecting on my balance statement, such as airfare to South Africa. By the time I leave the clinic, the small company I manage online starts showing a profit. Before my death I researched various offshore companies and came up with a list of promising startups. I anonymously invested money in a company manufacturing a relaxation drink, more or less the opposite of Red Bull, which proved to be an instant success. A little bird in Johannesburg told me that the gold resources are almost depleted, hence I bought up shares before the crisis hit, and the gold price skyrocketed. By fluke, I stumbled upon and acquired a small insurance firm on the brink of bankruptcy that specializes in diamonds and gemstones. I also went to considerable lengths to create a cyber history for my new identity.
When the bruises on my face are healed, I have enough money to buy a ticket to South Africa and lead a modest life. Standing in front of the mirror of my one-bedroom, rented apartment in Zurich, I study the man staring back at me. Instead of a full beard and moustache, he has a goatee. The skin on his cheeks is smooth. The scar that used to cut from his eyebrow to his jaw is gone, and the gap in the eyebrow once more covered with the same dark brown color as the hair on his head. His cheekbones are higher and his nose straighter. His eyes are green, thanks to contact lenses, and his features are set in symmetrical order. Where his left eye used to sag a fraction, both eyes are now aligned. The man is attractive, handsome even, and a complete stranger.
Perfect.
If I don’t recognize myself, no one will.
The new suit is cheap, but it fits. Even in the clinic, I stayed in shape, working out every day as much as my wounds allowed. The strict exercise regime has nothing to do with vanity and everything with being able to protect my family. With a last look to ensure my tie is straight, I grab my fake South African passport and a single suitcase before closing the door on the Zurich flat forever.
My first priority when I arrive on South African soil is to secure a place to live. I rent a small house in a security complex in Midrand and buy a secondhand car with cash. Furnishing the two-bedroom house takes no more than a couple of hours at a big chain store. The next day, a fridge, recliner, and bed are delivered. Getting my hands on a firearm is a lot less complicated than what it should be. I know where to go, where no questions are asked. I don’t care that the weapon isn’t licensed or probably stolen. I only need it for extreme measures, in case Valentina or Connor’s life is in danger, and I don’t plan on getting caught. At least not alive.
On day two I’m like an animal in a cage, pacing from the kitchen to the bedroom and back long before the sun rises. I shouldn’t go near her, not until I have my shit together, but I can’t wait a second longer. Fuck that. I won’t get too close. I’ll only watch her from a distance, make sure she’s all right. I shower and change into my only suit, brush my hair to perfection, and then mess it up again. I’m as nervous as a teenager going on his first date, and I’m not even going to speak to her.
My hands shake as I pull the car out of the garage and take off in the direction of Northriding. I park three houses from hers and wait. It’s Saturday. There’s no telling at what time she’ll leave the house, if at all.
At seven-thirty, the front door opens. I move to the edge of the seat, clutching the steering wheel so hard my hands hurt. I hold my breath, counting in my head. Counting calms and helps me focus. It’s a habit I perfected in the Zurich clinic.
One, two, three, four––
A man steps out.
My vision explodes in shards of black fury. I knew it was a probability. Every man will be on her like a bee on honey. I told myself I’d deal with it, but I didn’t take into consideration how the reality of actually witnessing a man in her house will play havoc with my emotions. I battle to hold it in. I count to ten and back to one. I want to tell him to stay the fuck away from my wife. Only, she isn’t my wife.
She’s your widow. Get a grip, Gabriel.
She has every right to date, but fuck it. I can’t face it. I’m abou
t to put the car into gear and drive away when the man turns. Rhett. Relief bursts like a tide in me. A second later, Quincy exits, carrying a car seat with a baby strapped inside.
My heart stops beating. I strain forward for a better look. Connor. He looks just like the old me. He is so damn perfect, not because he resembles the face I was born with, but because he is part of me and her.
A dainty foot clad in a black boot steps over the threshold. A long, slim leg follows, and then a woman walks onto the porch. The pieces of my fallen-apart world snap back together. Nothing matters, not the old life I worked so hard to delete or the redefined one I so carefully constructed. As before, as every moment in her arms, there’s only her. She’s wearing a pair of tight jeans with a fitted red polo neck jersey and a black coat. Her body is toned, slimmer than I remember. Curls the color of ruby wine and dark chocolate tumble over her shoulders and frame her delicate face. I pivot to her like a planet in orbit. I want to jump out of the car and rush over the lawn, take her in my arms and kiss her dizzy, but the husband she had is nothing more than a bad memory. I slam my palm on the steering wheel, feeling the pain in my soul. This is the price I bargained for her life, and I’ll be damned if I don’t honor my vow.
The trio loads Connor and shitloads of baby stuff into a Honda. I don’t know how they fit everything, but eventually they’re all in. Valentina drives. Keeping a safe distance, I follow them south. It’s when we near Bryanston that I understand their destination. Parking in the lot of a weekend bio market, they take their load from the car. I stop two rows away where I have a good view and roll down the window. First Rhett assembles the stroller and lifts my son inside. There’s a great deal of bickering between him and Quincy about whether the cover should be up or down. Eventually, Valentina puts a diaper bag in Quincy’s hands and a basket in Rhett’s before taking the stroller from the disgruntled men and pushing it over the grass toward the stalls.
“He needs another blanket,” Rhett calls after her. “It’s only sixteen point seven degrees with a wind at five kilometers per hour.”
She ignores him, swaying her hips as she maneuvers the off-road stroller over the polls of wild grass and dry heaps of upturned earth as if it’s a breeze.
“Val!” Quincy runs to catch up. “Put up the umbrella. He’ll burn.”
I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. It’s the first time since dying that my mouth curves into anything that remotely resembles warmth or friendliness. The pussies. I never imagined they’d turn into two such fuss balls, but I’m right there with them, suddenly worried that Connor will burn in the autumn sun. This is South Africa, after all. There’s a big hole in the ozone layer right above our heads.
A young guy in a beige trench coat stares at my woman as she strolls past.
That’s my wife, you dickhead.
The vulgar ogre turns his head to look at her ass. I’m about to jump from the car and rub his face in the dirt when Rhett and Quincy give him a glare that makes him look away.
Good.
I breathe easier. I should stay in the car, but my desire to get a closer glimpse is too big. Connor is bundled up in blankets, so I couldn’t get a good look to see if he’s grown taller. And Valentina… She’s changed. There’s a new kind of self-assurance about her. If I didn’t know her so well, I’d have missed the tight set of her shoulders, indicating that her life is far from easy or stress-free. She’s a token of strength and resilience, of the love and loyalty that drew me to her in the first place.
I get out of the car, lock up, and trot toward the rows of stalls. Snaking my way through organic pumpkins, jams, honey, and home-baked breads, I follow the small group. They stop at a coffee corner to greet a couple who are having scones and what looks like Rooibos cappuccino. The woman has bleached blonde hair and the hulky man wears a washed-out Spiderman T-shirt over a sweater. Kris and Charlie. After exchanging a few words, Valentina and her entourage leave Kris and Charlie. Valentina stops at various stalls, conversing with the vendors while Rhett and Quincy keep an eye out and carry the produce. I’m relieved that my men are protecting her like bloodhounds. To the unknowing eye, they’re just two guys trailing after a woman, but I know they’re scouring the area and sniffing the air for danger. From the reports I received in Switzerland, I know Valentina can’t afford to pay them, which means they must stay out of loyalty and love, the very characteristics I admire in my wife. It looks like she cultivates them in everyone who crosses her path. Look at me. Here I am, tailing her like a hungry wolf, desperate to protect and care for her.
Circling around the farm produce, I move one row up and walk down the other side so I can cross the object of my obsession for a closer look, but when I reach the spot where they were seconds ago, they’re gone. Shit, where are they? I turn in a quick, frantic circle, and smack into someone with my back.
Twirling, I catch the woman I bumped into before she stumbles. The apology dries on my lips. Valentina stares up at my face. For a defining moment, the world falls away as we look at each other. My body goes as stiff as a stick. Will she recognize me? Her eyes search mine as if she’s trying to make a connection, but then they go blank. My disguise works. She doesn’t have a clue. Holding her so close, literally in my arms, makes me heady and drunk. Every follicle on my body pricks, coming alive with static electricity that crackles over my skin. A whiff of delicious raspberry reaches my nostrils. The silkiness of her hair brushes over my fingers where I still clutch her arms. Her lips part slightly, dragging my attention there. It takes every fiber of my being not to bend down and suck those lips into my mouth.
Valentina finds her tongue first. “I’m sorry.” She steps back, breaking our awkward stance. Her eyes remain friendly, but caution slips into her expression.
Good girl. She’s right to be wary of strangers, especially strangers who touch her and stare at her for a few seconds too long.
I drop my arms and force a smile onto my face. “The apology is mine. I didn’t see you.” God, I can’t get enough of her. I don’t want her to go yet. Just a bit longer to drink in her face and the warmth of her presence. Before she can turn away, I say, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
Her laugh is soft. Husky. “It’ll take more than that.”
Rhett and Quincy step up from behind, giving me the evil eye, but I ignore their thunderous faces, plunging on before she gets away.
“Is this your baby?”
Warmth floods her voice. “Yes. This is Connor.”
I peer inside the stroller and almost choke on my emotion. My son gives me a full-blown smile. A smile. He smiled at me. I swallow down my pansy tears and jubilant laughter, keeping my voice even. “How old is he?”
“Ten months.”
Connor grabs the finger I hold out greedily. I chuckle. “He’s handsome.”
“He is,” she says with pride. “Looks just like his daddy.”
Something pierces my heart. I straighten and look at her left hand. She’s still wearing her wedding ring. I grow warm and fuzzy inside like I have no right to. I have no right to be happy for her grief or loyalty, not that she’d give me either.
Not ready to let her go, I grope around for a subject in my head when my gaze falls on the overflowing basket in Rhett’s hands.
“You don’t joke around with the shopping.”
She wipes a stray curl behind her ear. “It seems like a lot, doesn’t it? But my guys,” she winks in Quincy and Rhett’s direction, “eat like horses. I prefer to support the local farmers, plus it’s organic.”
That sounds just like her.
“What about you?” She eyes my suit. “You’re not dressed for market shopping.”
“I’m meeting someone.”
“Oh, I better let you go, then.”
Don’t.
Tilting her head, she regards me with a quizzical expression. “Have we met?”
The mask on my face stays in place as I hold out a hand. “Gregor Malan.”
She accepts my proffer
ed hand and gives a firm shake. “Valentina Louw.”
More warmth spreads over me as she uses the surname that stamped my possession on her, like my lips, my cock, my belt, and my seed. Fuck, I need to get a grip.
“It was a pleasure bumping into you, Gregor Malan.”
Her smile is so fucking sweet I want to lick it from her lips. “Like the apology, the pleasure is all mine.”
Only pure willpower enables me to take the first step, and the second, and the third, each farther away. I shouldn’t look back, but I’m only human and a lustful man at that. When I glance over my shoulder, Rhett and Quincy are on my ass. Good boys. They’ll come second if they’re stupid enough to take me on, but I sure as hell appreciate that they keep the wolves at bay.
Rhett blocks my way. “We’d like a word with you.”
I glance at Valentina. She stopped at a fruit stall with her back turned to us. “You left your friend unprotected.”
Quincy widens his stance. “It’ll only take a minute.”
“Are you interested in her?” Rhett cocks his head in Valentina’s direction.
Consent (The Loan Shark Duet Book 2) Page 25