Page 19 of Ruthless Savior
He's right, and I hate that he's right. I set down my fork and look at him—really look at him.
He’s unsettling in more ways than one. Handsome, well-dressed, sophisticated, obviously rich, powerful. He could do anything he wanted to me. He could destroy my life or change it for the better permanently. He has so much power that it makes my skin crawl, and I stare at him for a long moment, at the chiseled lines of his face, the confident set of his shoulders, the hardness around his mouth. This is a man who isn’t toldno. Who gets what he wants.
And I can feel myself relenting.
I look away quickly, focusing on my plate. "My mother has cancer."
"I know." His voice is calm. As if I just told him that it snowed.
I take a deep, slow breath. "The treatments are expensive. Even with insurance, we're talking about tens of thousands of dollars that we don't have." I take a sip of water, buying myself time. "I tried everything legitimate first. Payment plans, medical loans, and even asked my boss for a raise."
"But it wasn't enough."
I shake my head. "No. It wasn't enough." The words taste bitter. "My boss gave me a card, said he knew someone who could help with a short-term loan. Just to get through the worst of it."
Ronan's expression darkens. "Your boss sent you to Rocco?"
“He sent me to Neil,” I correct. “I don’t know his last name. The card only had a number on it. I called it, and I was told to go to Flanagan’s Bar downtown. The bartender sent me to a back room.”
Ronan stares at me. “And you at no point thought this was a bad idea?”
Anger flares in my chest at the thought that he’s being condescending. “My mother hascancer,” I repeat. “She could be dying. We need money. So yes, of course I thought it was a fucking bad idea. I also didn’t think I had a choice.” I sneer at him, motioning to our surroundings. “Not that I would expect you to understand what it feels like to be desperate for money.”
He doesn’t flinch. My appetite for the fancy food has vanished.
“You didn’t know he was a loan shark?”
“Of course I knew once he told me the interest rate. But again, I didn’t think I had achoice. And I thought—"God, how naive was I?"I thought it would be like in the movies. High interest, intimidating collection methods, but ultimately just business."
Ronan breathes in and out slowly. "How much did you borrow?"
“Thirty thousand. With a thirty-five percent interest rate.” I feel my cheeks heat as I say it out loud, and I see Ronan’s eyes widen.
“Thirty-five.”
“I didn’t?—”
“I know. Please, continue.” He sits back, waving off a member of the staff as they come in to take our plates, and I let out a sigh.
“The payments seemed manageable at first. A thousand a week, which was steep but doable if I was careful."
Ronan nods. "What changed?"
I think about those first few weeks after I took the money, how relieved I felt to finally have a solution to our problems. Mom's treatments continued without interruption, the doctorswere optimistic about her response to the chemo, and for a brief, shining moment, I thought I'd actually figured it out.
"Mom's treatment changed. Became more aggressive, more expensive. The chemo made her weak, so she needed someone at home during the day to help her. I needed to take out more money. Another ten thousand." I'm staring at my hands now, unable to meet his eyes. "The payments went up. I fell behind."
“And the first time you were behind?”
“The interest went up to forty percent on that payment, like he’d told me it would. I sold some things of mine, scraped it together. Then I was late again, right before Thanksgiving. I’d expected a holiday bonus from my boss, and it didn’t come through.” I touch my face gingerly, just below my eye. “That’s when I got these.”
Ronan’s jaw tightens. “And after Thanksgiving?”
“I was supposed to have the payment, plus the forty percent. I didn’t have it. I asked him for another week, and—” I swallow hard. “He called that morning, warning me to show up with the money or he'd come looking for me."
Ronan tenses. "What happened when you got there?"
The memory comes back in flashes, each one worse than the last. The smoky bar. The way the customers looked at me, the way they always did, that felt harder to tolerate each time I went back, Neil's predatory smile as I walked into that back room.
