Page 3 of Vengeful King

Why did you borrow in the first place?

Shit.

I stand at the desk while the woman pulls my information up. I pull out my checkbook and start to fill it out. It’s all I can do to pay the balance due. I keep my face neutral, not letting my mouth move or my brow wrinkle. I focus on the writing and ignore everything else.

I try to pretend this is fine, that I’m just any other person in the world juggling paychecks and payment deadlines.

But it’s tough. Shit is getting bad. Money is running out.

Actually, it’s been gone for a while. Once upon a time, I had enough but then everything hit at once. I’m not just struggling through this moment, this room. I have old medical bills I still haven’t caught up on. I have my mother’s bills.

And more than all that, I borrowed money from someone I shouldn’t have, to try to pay it all.

I don’t even know the man’s name—I just know him as Mr. V.

A friend of a friend put me in touch with a guy who works for Mr. V, and I managed to arrange a loan through some shady back channels. It was nerve-wracking. I knew it was a risky thing to do, but I also knew I had to do it. I had to get the money somehow. My mother was counting on me.

It seemed to work at first. I took care of things I needed to and cleared some of my outstanding bills. But the red came seeping back in. It pooled around my ankles again, and now I’m starting to drown.

I owe Mr. V repayment.

And I don’t have it.

My hands shake a little as I give the woman the check and then make a beeline for the entryway. I shove my way out the front doors and drag in a lungful of air. It smells like rain, but the sun is burning hard and bright. I press the heels of my palms against my closed eyes for a second and almost jump when my phone vibrates.

Slipping it out of my pocket, I swipe the screen to read the text from a number marked “Unknown.” I open it, and all I see is a time and place.

Shit.

I know what this is about, and it came faster than I expected it to. I knew repayment was expected, I just thought I had more time.

All the worry in my chest starts to roil. It churns like a hurricane, whipping my thoughts around as I stand staring at my phone. Worry turns to panic, my pulse quick and breath shallow.

According to the message from Mr. V, I’m expected to be in an abandoned lot in a shitty part of town tonight. Nine o’clock, when it’s dark. When people might dismiss the sound of a gunshot as a car backfiring.

I curl my hand around the phone, gripping it tight. I don’t want to face this. I’m afraid. I’m not ashamed to admit that, and I’m not stupid for fearing it. I’m smart.

But I’m not smart enough to get out of this.

Part of me wants to run. It would be easy, in a way. I have no reason to cling to the life I have here. I don’t have a job I love or people who would report my absence. It’s not like I have dozens of friends who would look for me, or miss me. It’s not like I have an entire family here in Boston.

But I have my mom. And I can’t leave her like that. Not when she’s at the end of the line, in a facility, with no one else to visit her. I won’t let the last days of her lucid life be spent with strangers in an Alzheimer’s ward.

I have to go.

Moving on autopilot, I climb into my car and drive home, my mind racing. After the check I just wrote, I don’t have shit in the bank. So I scramble for all the pockets of cash I have stashed away, all the emergency bundles meant to be the last drops in the bucket.

But it’s not enough. Not even close.

I borrowed over one hundred thousand dollars from Mr. V.

By the time I finish pulling cash from tins and pillows, I barely have a thousand.

* * *

The parking lot I’m in is empty. Only one of the three tall lights is properly illuminating the place. The lot is isolated, away from the city, so far out of the way that they could do whatever they wanted and no one would know. No one would care.

I know this could be it. I could be walking into my own funeral. But I don’t have a choice.

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