Chapter 54

Chapter 54
Elise's POV:

The back seat. A moving car. The driver just beyond the partition up front.

These facts flickered through my mind for a second before being drowned out by everything else.

His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt. Palm against the bare skin of my waist, the rough texture of his fingertips making me shiver slightly. Those were calluses from years of gripping guns or whatever else he handled—just like the man himself, hard in every inch.

The kiss lasted a long time.

Long enough that I forgot where we were, where we were going, why we were in the back seat of this car in the first place.

When he finally released me, my breathing was uneven. He looked unchanged—except his collar was looser than before, his sleeves rolled higher.

"Satisfied?" I asked. My voice came out huskier than I'd expected.

Victor looked down at me, the corner of his mouth carrying a hint of something between a smile and not.

"Not bad," he said.

Not bad.

I rolled my eyes. He saw it, and his smile deepened.

The car was slowing down. I looked out the window—this wasn't the direction back to the tattoo shop. Not toward the villa either.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To watch a good show," he said.

---

I never imagined that the "good show" Victor mentioned would take place at Benjamin's house.

Benjamin Miller's yard was surrounded.

You could see it from far away. When the headlights swept across, I saw the yard packed with people—more precisely, packed with men. Three or four burly guys in dark jackets formed a semicircle, compressing the space to its minimum. Two more sat on the low wall outside the yard, cigarettes dangling from their mouths, as if standing guard over something.

And neighbors. Several older people stood across the street, pointing and whispering. Someone was recording with their phone.

The car stopped at the corner. Not pulling up to the front gate.

"How did you know?" I asked Victor, watching the scene outside the window.

He didn't answer.

"Benjamin's creditors," I said. "Mr. K's people. You found out?"

He still said nothing.

"The anonymous envelope was you too, wasn't it?" I stared at him. "The offshore account information—you had someone look into it."

Victor glanced at me.

"Too many questions," he said.

Then he pushed open the car door and got out.

I followed. The May night breeze hit me, and only then did I realize I was covered in sweat—whether from what we'd been doing in the car earlier or from the fear of seeing this scene now, I couldn't tell.

We stood in the shadows at the street corner, about thirty meters from the yard. Close enough to see what was happening, far enough not to be noticed by the people inside.

The light in the yard came from a single dim yellow bulb on the porch. The light fell on the figure kneeling on the ground—

It was Benjamin.

He was kneeling in the center of the yard on the concrete, something beneath his knees—maybe a rag, maybe his own jacket. His upper body was bent forward, both hands pressed against the ground, his head lowered so far it nearly touched the pavement.

I couldn't see his expression. But I could see his back shaking. Violently, uncontrollably shaking.

Standing in front of him was a man.

Not tall, but built. A scar ran down the back of his neck from behind his ear to his collarbone. He wore a black leather jacket over a gray T-shirt. Hands in his pockets, weight shifted to one leg, watching Benjamin at his feet with an almost bored posture.

"Miller," the man's voice carried even from this distance—not because he was loud, but because everything around was so quiet. "I'm asking you one last time. Where's the money?"

Benjamin's voice was muffled and unclear. Like crying, like begging. I couldn't make out the specific words.

"Time's up," Scar Neck said, his tone flat as if discussing the weather. "Mr. K's deadline was today. You can't come up with the money now, we can't help you."

Benjamin was saying something. Speaking fast, fragmentary, mixed with phrases like "give me one more week" and "I'm really trying to figure it out"...

"I heard you have two pretty attractive daughters."

Benjamin's voice cut off abruptly.

Scar Neck tilted his head slightly, as if considering something amusing.

"Though," he said, "I heard one of them hasn't been coming home much lately."

His gaze shifted past Benjamin's shoulder toward the front door of the house.

Margaret stood there.

Her face looked like crumpled paper in the dim yellow light. Both hands gripping the doorframe so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Mouth open but making no sound.

Anna was hiding behind her. Only half her face visible. Eyes wide, rims red—she'd been crying, or was about to, hard to tell.

"If cash isn't enough," Scar Neck continued in that same flat tone, "we don't mind taking other things as payment."

His gaze landed in Anna's direction.

"For instance—young people. At the docks over there, eighteen or nineteen-year-old girls are still pretty popular."

Margaret let out a scream.

The sound didn't seem human. More like the final wail of an animal caught in a trap.

She tried to rush out, but Anna behind her grabbed the hem of her clothes and pulled her back. The two women's forces struggled at the threshold, neither willing to yield.

Benjamin tried to get up from the ground, but one of the thugs stepped on his back and pressed him back down.

"Stay down," the man said.

I stood at the street corner, watching it all.

This was Benjamin Miller. This was the man who had spent five years making me afraid, making me compliant, making me think I could never escape his grasp.

At this moment he was kneeling before a group of loan sharks' enforcers, like a dog with a broken spine.

And Victor stood beside me, hands in his pockets, watching all of this with the posture of someone watching a show.

As if he knew all this would happen tonight. As if he'd parked the car at this street corner, timed everything so precisely—just to let me witness this scene with my own eyes.

Benjamin's creditors coming to collect, Mr. K's people. They were even prepared to take Anna as payment.

A good show.

He was right.

This really was a good show.