Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Linnea
“Fucking hell, Dad! How could you do this to us?”
I have my suspicions, of course. Either my father, stupid, naive, but nevertheless loving man that he was, thought he was freeing me and mom by taking his own life… or something far more abhorrent happened, which I don’t want to consider, so I stoically stick with the first option.
But now, along with drowning in grief, we’re also drowning in a debt that’s laced with a terror unlike anything I’ve ever known.
Dad meant well, of that I’m certain. My mum got ill and when she was refused life-saving treatment because our insurance didn't cover it, he decided to take out a loan. He just wasn’t very careful about who he took the money from.
Or I guess he was just desperate after he tried all the legitimate means.
Like I said, naive. He thought it would be like a bank, pay a set amount each month, which mostly covered the interest, and whittle away at the capital in slow, measured increments.
But that's not how the mob works. And now, not even a month after dad's death, they're knocking on our door, demanding full payment. A payment which is now double what he borrowed.
I crumple the debt letter in my fist. It looks all legitimate and above board at first glance, despite the extortionate interest rates and fees, the details neatly printed on official headed paper.
It was only after a visit from a loud-mouthed, hot-headed thug, who threatened things I don’t even want to think about, that I realized how wrong I was, and the true impact of Dad’s death came to light.
"I miss you, Dad. You have no idea how much I wish you were still here. Not just for me, but for Mom too. She's a shadow without you...."
Fuck! I'm talking to a ghost.
The coroner called it suicide, but if I’m being totally honest, I’m not so sure. Especially after my little chat with ‘Reggie’.
I don’t think that’s his real name, he just has some kind of hero worship of the Kray twins, given his fake cockney accent and the way he swaggers around in an ill-fitting pinstripe suit.
He might be bordering on ridiculous and trying way too hard to act intimidating, but I don’t doubt he’s as nasty as they come.
I still can’t shake the chill that ran down my spine when he casually mentioned how easy it would be for my mom to have an ‘accident’ if we don't pay up soon, and how he can help me make the money. The insinuation makes my stomach heave.
Worse, without dad, we don’t have a solid income. His life insurance policy refused to pay out after the suicide verdict, another thing that makes me think he didn't take his own life. He was always so protective of both me and Mom. No way he’d have deliberately left us in this mess.
Or maybe I want to believe that because the alternative, that he took the coward’s way out and left us holding the bag, doesn’t bear thinking about, either. Honestly, neither scenario is any better.
I glance at the crumpled letter in my hand, then at the bills piling up on the kitchen counter. We're barely scraping by as it is, and now this?
"I don't know if I can do this without you, Dad," I whisper, my voice breaking in despair.
We don't have the kind of money these people are demanding. We never will. Mom's still recovering; she shouldn't even be working the few hours she does at the diner. And even though I’ve dropped out of college, my measly wages from the cleaning jobs I’ve taken don't even cover our mortgage, let alone this monstrous debt. Because yeah, another little nugget of information I discovered was that dad remortgaged the house to cover some of mom’s treatment costs, as well as taking out this impossible loan. Now we’re in danger of defaulting and having our home repossessed.
The bank might not rough us up or demand payment in kind, but it also won’t balk at evicting us and throwing us out on the street.
There’s no way I can tell Mom any of this. Not yet at least. Not until I have to. She's already a shell of herself, grief etched into every line on her face. This would shatter her even more.
I’m googling for high-paid jobs with minimal experience, desperate to find a solution, when I spot it. A small ad so discreet, I almost miss it.
‘High-paying opportunities for open-minded, adventurous individuals,’ it proclaims. ‘Discretion assured.’
My stomach churns as I consider what ‘adventurous’ might mean in this context.
But with the clock ticking and Reggie's threats echoing in my ears, I know I don't have the luxury of being picky.
Reaching for my phone with a trembling hand, I punch in the number before I can talk myself out of it.
But still, I hesitate with my finger hovering over the call button.
I doubt it's anything good, but what choice do I have?
The mob's deadline looms, a ticking time bomb ready to shatter what remains of my family.
"Here goes nothing..."
As it rings, I try to steel myself for whatever comes next. I mean, let’s be real here, I’m not naive. I’ve got a pretty good idea of what this might entail.
My hands sweat as I wait for the call to connect. This is insane. I'm a good girl - or I was, before Dad died and left us drowning in his debts. Now I'm just a girl who's running out of options.
"Primal Fantasies," a sultry-toned woman says when the call connects. "How may we fulfil your deepest desires?"
Yep, exactly what I expected, just dressed up in fancy. I guess that’s a good thing, though.
"Actually, I'm calling about the ad. For, um, employees."
“One moment, please.” There's a pause, then a click as I'm transferred. A man's voice, low and gravelly, comes on the line. He’s all business and there’s not so much as a single pleasantry. “Name?"
"Linnea Reed."
"Age?"
"Twenty-three."
"Do you have any kink experience?"
Jesus, okay, so that’s not what I was expecting. I hesitate, then go with the truth. There are some things a girl just can’t fake. "None. But I'm a fast learner."
He chuckles, and the sound sends shivers down my spine. "Fortunately, sweetheart, we have plenty of clients who relish the opportunity to initiate an ingenue, and we don’t get too many, so they command top dollar. If you’re serious, give me your email address and I’ll send out details."
The moment I've rattled it off the line goes dead, and I’m left staring at my phone.
Did that really happen?
It must have, because seconds later, my phone chimes with a message notification, and I open the email that will change my life.