I told myself I was paranoid. That it was just the rain and the dark and two years of looking over my shoulder making me see threats that weren’t there. But I’d learned to trust that feeling. It had kept me alive this long.
I walked faster. The footsteps behind me matched my pace.
My heart started pounding. I mapped the route home in my head. Two more blocks. One if I cut through the alley. But the alley was darker. More isolated. Bad idea.
Two men stepped out from the alley ahead anyway, blocking my path.
My stomach dropped through the pavement.
I knew them. I would recognize them in my sleep. In my nightmares. The loan sharks. Two years of paying and paying and paying, and they still found new ways to take.
“Sarah Tinsley.” The taller one said my name like he was confirming his target. He flashed me a sleazy smile to reveal crooked, yellow teeth.
My fingers tightened on my umbrella. “I paid everything last month. We’re done.” I met his dazed stare—he was definitely high on something.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He stepped closer. The other one circled around, cutting off escape routes. They’d done this before. A lot of times. “Your father’s debt isn’t settled.”
“Yes it is.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “You said sixty thousand. I’ve been paying for two years. We had a deal.”
“There was a miscalculation. Your father owed more than we initially thought.” He lit up a cigarette, his eyes cruel with greed.
“What?” I couldn’t believe what he was saying.
The debts have been cleared.
“A hundred thousand dollars more, to be exact.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process what he was trying to tell me.
“That’s not possible.” The words barely made it out of my mouth in the heavy downpour. “You said sixty. I paid sixty.”
“Interest. Penalties for late payment.” The shorter one’s voice was flat. Like threatening people was just another job. “Your father was very bad with deadlines.”
“My father is dead.” The words came out sharp. Anger burned somewhere in my chest, rising to my throat and working its way out of my mouth. “He’s been dead for two years. This isn’t my debt! Stay away from me!” I hissed.
“You’re his daughter. Same last name. That makes his debt yours, we’ve been through this.”
The rain got heavier, soaking through my jacket. My umbrella was useless, water ran down my face and I couldn’t tell if I was crying or if it was just the rain.
“I can’t pay that. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then find it.” He grabbed my umbrella and tossed it away. It clattered across the sidewalk and disappeared into the gutter. “You have three months.”
“Three months?” I wanted to laugh. To scream. “That’s impossible. I can’t make a hundred thousand dollars in ninety days. Nobody can.”
“Then I suggest you get creative.” He leaned in. His stink made me want to vomit. “Because if you don’t pay, we’ll have to take alternative compensation. And you won’t like how we collect.”
The shorter one pulled out his phone and showed me a picture.
Colin.
My baby brother. He was walking across campus in London. Laughing with his friends. Completely unaware that men with dead eyes were taking his picture. That his life was being used as leverage.
Everything went cold—colder than the rain, colder than I’d ever felt.
“Leave him alone.” I barely recognized my own voice.
“Pay us and we will.” He pocketed his phone like the threat was already forgotten. “But if you don’t, next time we talk, wemight bring you a piece of him. An ear. A finger. Something small to start with.”
