Page 6 of Ruthless Savior
He straightens, his expression clearing. “Nothing. Just—be careful.” He gives me a once-over, but it’s not the kind of hungry look that I’ve been feeling like grease on my skin since I walked in here. “Neil’s not an easy man to deal with. Especially for a pretty girl.”
“I—thanks,” I manage, feeling my hands start to shake a little. “I’ll be fine.”
I don’t sound nearly as confident as I wish I did.
I cross the room to the door that the bartender indicated, still feeling all of those eyes on me. I knock once, firmly, and a cigarette-hoarse voice comes from the other side. The same one I heard on the other end of the phone, earlier.
“Come in.”
The man that I see as I open the door—Neil, I suppose his name must be—isn’t exactly what I expected. I’d expected a balding man with a potbelly, but he’s younger than I thought—maybe mid-thirties—with a full head of dark hair slicked back with way too much gel and a lean frame that borders on skinny. He’s wearing a suit that’s just a touch too big for him, but it still looks out of place here—too fancy for the cramped space I step into in this trashy bar..
His office, I guess, if it could really be called that. It’s small enough that I’m standing way too close to him from the moment I step in. He’s sitting behind a small desk that’s seen better days. Boxes of alcohol and flats of beer are stacked around the edges of the room, and it smells like sweat and mold in here.
He doesn't stand up, doesn't offer me a seat, although there’s a folding chair in front of his desk. His eyes rake over me appraisingly, and I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest. "You're prettier than I expected."
I don't know how to respond to that, so I don't.
"Sit," he says finally, and gestures to a chair across from his desk.
I sit, trying to project more confidence than I feel. Everything about this, from the moment I made that phone call, screamsmistake. But what the hell am I going to do? I’ve come this far. I need this, or I wouldn’t be here at all. I’m desperate, or I would never have called that number.
I’m sure that’s the case for everyone who finds themselves in this cramped, musty room.
I draw in a slow breath through my mouth. "Thank you for meeting with me."
"Right to business. I like that." He leans back in his chair, studying me like I fascinate him. "You said you needed thirty grand. To start.”
I swallow hard. It sounds like such a huge number. Itisa huge number. I’m no idiot—I work in finance. I know how heavy of a burden that kind of loan from a reputable institution is, and Neil is the furthest thing from reputable that I can imagine. "That's right."
"For your mother's medical bills."
I nod tightly, feeling that prickle of desperation over my skin. "Yes."
He tilts his head slightly, appraising. "And you can pay it back."
"I can pay it back," I confirm, though the words feel hollow. We’re stretched so thin as it is, I don’t know how I’m going to scrape together regular payments. But maybe they won’t be that high. Maybe I can handle it. Maybe?—
"What kind of work do you do?" Neil’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I refocus.
"Financial analysis. I work for a consulting firm downtown. You know my boss, I guess—he gave me your card. I told you on the phone… Richard Brooks?”
“Ah, right.” Neil eyes me. “You make good money?”
Something about him makes me not want to tell him anything about how much money I make. But I’m sure he needs information about my financials, just like a bank would.
“Good money for my age,” I say finally. “I’m just out of college. I make a little more than the average, I guess.”
He nods. “Alright. Here’s how this works. I’ll wire you the thirty thousand. Your bank is probably going to freeze it temporarily, so I hope you don’t need it for a week or so. You’ll pay me back a thousand a week, plus interest. You bring the cash here once a week, on Sundays. Understood?”
My lungs feel tight, and I try to regulate my breathing. “How much interest?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. "Thirty-five percent."
My stomach drops. Thirty-five percent is over another ten thousand in interest on top of the loan. And I doubt this is the last loan I’ll need from him. I feel dizzy at the thought of how much I could end up owing this man, how long I could be on the hook for weekly payments.
I feel sick. My mom worked hard, sacrificed all her life, so I could go to a good college without student loans. I worked hard to get scholarships to offset the burden, and I got such perfect grades that, between that and her savings, I graduated debt-free. The kind of dream that most people in this country can’t even fathom being a reality.
Now I’m going to have to sink myself into worse debt than that.
