Driven Read online

  Text copyright © 2013 by Susan Kaye Quinn

  May 2013 Edition

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  www.SusanKayeQuinn.com

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. For information visit

  www.DebtCollectorSeries.com

  Cover by Steven Novak

  www.novakillustration.com

  The Debt Collector Serial

  EPISODE 5 – Driven

  Contains mature content and themes.

  For YA-appropriate thrills, see Susan’s Mindjack series.

  Driven is approximately 14,000 words or 56 pages, and is the fifth of nine episodes in the first season of The Debt Collector serial. This dark and gritty future-noir is about a world where your life-worth is tabulated on the open market and going into debt risks a lot more than your credit rating.

  Summary

  What’s your life worth on the open market?

  A debt collector can tell you precisely.

  Lirium pretends he’s a willing debt collector for the mob while deciding whether he can trust Ophelia to help him escape.

  Recommend read first:

  EPISODES 1-3

  And

  EPISODE 4 - Broken

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  I look in the mirror and check my bruises.

  The ones on my face have faded to light-brown imprints of fists. It’s been a week since Kolek’s men used me for a punching bag—my punishment for trying to escape. According to Valac, it could have been worse. I haven’t had a chance to ask Ophelia. Or confront her for betraying me and sabotaging our escape. She hasn’t come to visit, and they haven’t let me out of my room. The only person I’ve seen for a week has been a small-mouthed man who delivers my food, gives me a disdainful look, and leaves without a word. It’s like I’m living in a hotel with unfriendly room service. And locked doors and black, metal bars on the windows.

  The bars are to keep me in, not anyone else out.

  I twist and look over my shoulder. The bruises on my back have turned yellowish brown. I hope that’s a good sign. They look better than the green, fist-sized blotches that still cover my stomach and part of my chest. I gingerly press two fingers into my belly. The sharp pain that used to be there is starting to fade. I have to push deeper before I find it, and I’m not too eager to do that.

  I wash up and pull on an undershirt. The supply of clothes in the dresser drawers is dwindling, and my pinch-mouthed keeper will have to start taking away laundry as well as dishes soon. I slowly ease to the floor and force my body through a set of pushups. Then I lean against the side of the bed, not liking how that simple effort made my insides moan and my chest wheeze. I don’t think I’ve broken anything important; otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do pushups at all.

  I breathe through the pain while I flip open my palm screen.

  Technically, I could send a message to Candy or the police, but I’m also certain that Kolek is tracking my phone, and I’d be dead before anyone arrived to help. As if anyone would come. A memory of Elena and her apple perfume holding vigil at Tilly’s bedside flashes through my mind, and I press my eyes closed against it. The price of me not returning to Madam A’s isn’t just failing to rescue Ophelia and serving a mob boss who trafficks in life energy. Madam A promised to put Tilly at the bottom of the list for transfers if I didn’t come back. It eats a hole in my stomach that grows larger with each passing day. I hold on to the hope that Madam A’s not the type to carry through on something that might actually hurt the kids. And that Elena won’t find out.

  I suck in a breath, open my eyes, and bury that thought under a mountain of determination to get out of Kolek’s mob. I can’t chance making a run for it again—Kolek won’t bother with beating me up a second time. The only way out is to convince him I’m not going to try… then bide my time. He won’t keep me locked up in my room forever. He’ll want to use me again, and when he does, I’d better do a damn good job of convincing him I’m worth keeping alive… at least until I can figure out a way to escape.

  I swipe through the pages on my palm screen, keeping my searches innocuous. We’re in LA, so the news is mostly gossip out of Hollywood. Some young actor having a meltdown or going into rehab, throwing away all her potential. I skip over that, but the real news isn’t any better. People dying. Wars brewing. More legislation supposedly tightening the regulations on bean counters, to make sure they account for every last actuarial factor before transferring someone out. All of it is depressing, so I end up watching TV. I’ve seen more shows in the last week on my palm than I have in the last two years. It helps keep me from going out of my mind with boredom, but only barely.

  My regular morning check of the mortuary reports doesn’t turn up anyone named Tilly.

  It grates against me like an itch I can’t scratch that I don’t know her last name. That I never asked Elena. Not that it matters one way or the other. There’s nothing I can do from inside Kolek’s compound. Still, I search every morning. I’ve tried paging through the regular public records, too, but kids’ files are sealed until they’re eighteen.

  Or until they turn up in the morgue.

  My door slides open without a tone or any sign of warning. I close my palm screen before I look up, expecting to see pinch-mouth back to gather up my breakfast dishes.

  It’s Ophelia.

  I stare for a beat too long, then push myself to my feet. “Back to finish me off?” The bitterness in my voice fans the hot coals of my anger and flares it to life again.

  The door closes behind her. Her little black dress hugs the soft curves of her body. Spots of light ripple across the metallic sheen of the dress’s fabric. Half the thing is black netting that reveals more of her chest than it hides.

  I hate that I notice.

  “Lirium, baby…” She takes a hesitant step toward me.

  “Seriously?” I ask. She freezes mid-step, still half a dozen feet away. “I think you can stop with all the pet names. Save it for the other suckers you lure in to work for Kolek.”

  She didn’t bring you here, a stupid voice inside me says. That was your idea. The stupid part also feels a twinge at the look of pain on her face.

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but she has the decency to drop her gaze and study her pale fingers instead of me. “You’re not going to believe me—”

  “Probably not.”

  Her shoulder twitches. She nods. “I don’t blame you for being angry, ba—Lirium.”

  I take a small amount of satisfaction from the way her hands twist, one gripping the other, like they’re in some kind of battle to hold back her discomfort.

  She finally looks up, eyes dark and round and soft. “But if I hadn’t stopped you, there’s no way you would have made it out of there alive.”

  “I guess we’ll never know.” I want her to say she was wrong to betray me, not make excuses for it. I may have been an idiot for trying to rescue her, for caring about her enough to try, but when we had a chance to run she didn’t have to cut me down before I got two steps out the door.

  She slides closer, untwists her hands, then stops at my stone cold look. “Lirium—”

  “You didn’t have to come with me,” I cut her off, neglecting the fact that I wouldn’t have left her behind. “But you didn’t have to stop me either. You’re worse than Valac. At least I already knew he was a lapdog for Kolek.”

  She stares at me with those big, dark eyes. “If I had run with you, they would have shot us both before we left the building. If I had let you run without me, they would have killed you. And you’re only here, stuck in Kolek’s mob, bec
ause of me, baby. I know that.”

  I cringe at the pet name, and I open my mouth to rebuke her again, but she’s still talking.

  “I’m not going to let them kill you, not if it’s possible for me to prevent it,” she says. “But running then was a Guppy move, baby. I had to stop you.”

  Her hands are spread wide. They’re asking forgiveness. Part of me wants to believe she was trying to protect me. That she’s not simply a “survivor,” as Valac calls her, willing to suck the life out of me to save her own skin. But the betrayal still stings. Anger and hope take turns churning my bruised stomach.

  I don’t let it show on my face.

  She inches closer in her teetering spiked-metal heels, peering up at me with solemn eyes, like she’s hanging on every breath that’s heaving out of my chest. She’s close enough that I can smell her lilies-and-rose funeral perfume.

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “Maybe.” A sinking part of me wants to latch onto her explanation like a life raft. Practically speaking, I don’t have a lot of options for help inside the Kolek estate. If she won’t escape with me, then I’ll at least need her to not stand in my way. The last thing I want is to have to fight her. I’m not strong enough, even if I wasn’t half beaten up. Plus the idea of fighting Ophelia makes my stomach tie in knots. Part of me—the part clinging to the life raft—is still hoping she’ll change her mind. Want to come with me the next time.

  She lets out a breath, a slow leak through pursed lips, like she’s gently blowing out a candle. It makes me want to touch her, but I’m not that much of an idiot. Touching Ophelia is like flirting with death and hoping it won’t decide to get serious with you.

  “At some point,” I say, “I would really like to work up from Guppy status. Minnow at the least. I think I’ll start by not turning my back on you for a while.”

  A small smirk erases the kissable look of before, but then it’s replaced by a frown. She reaches for my face. I lean away, taking a half-step that bangs my legs into the bed.

  She pulls her hand back but the frown remains. “How bad did they hurt you, baby?”

  I’m tempted to tell her they crippled me for life and it’s all her fault. “I’m fine,” I say.

  She runs a look over my chest, then reaches for the bottom of my t-shirt.

  I grab her wrist. “But I’m not in the mood to play show and tell right now.” I flick her hand away, keeping skin contact only long enough to let her know I’m serious.

  Her lips draw into a thin line. “I didn’t know… they wouldn’t tell me what they did to you. Even Valac refused to talk to me about it, just said you were still alive. I insisted they couldn’t send you out on collections, not yet. I told them I would do any collecting they needed while you rested.”

  “So you’re responsible for a week of me being locked in my room?” I’m desperate for a life energy hit, but a week of no collections also meant a week of no payouts. That probably did buy me time to recover.

  “I would have come to visit sooner, but they wouldn’t let me.” She takes a step closer again, and I allow it. Probably because I really am an idiot. She’s close enough to touch me, but she doesn’t, leaving a space of heated air between us. “Let me help you heal, baby.”

  She reaches for the bruise on my cheek, and this time I don’t flinch away. Her soft hands are slightly cool until the life energy trickles in and heats my skin. I feel the buzz immediately, and I lean into her hand before I even think about what I’m doing. It’s been so long, and the rush feels so good… the ache from the bruise starts to fade. I should cycle this life energy back to her, but then again, she owes me. I keep my hand at my side.

  With her free hand, she lifts the corner of my t-shirt to peer at the bruises underneath. This time, I let her. Maybe if she sees the full impact of her decision to betray me, she’ll be more willing to come with me next time.

  She sucks in a breath. “Lirium… I’m so sorry,” she whispers. The transfer to my cheek stops, and she lifts my shirt with both hands. I let her pull it over my head. She takes a deep breath, gaze roaming my chest. It does something to me, and only then do I realize that letting Ophelia take off my clothes is a serious mistake.

  I bend to reach for the t-shirt she’s dropped on the floor, but her hands on my chest stop me. I straighten, and she carefully lines up one of her small hands with one of my bruises and starts to transfer. The buzz ripples through me, right at my core, and I’m almost instantly high. She slides her other hand to find another bruise and floods it with life energy. She’s intent, gaze on my chest, soft breaths brushing against my skin. Her first hand shifts to a new bruise and transfers more. She’s reaching me deep inside, easing the aches and pains, bringing my whole body alert. She keeps moving, shifting, drawing her hands lightly across my chest as she seeks out my wounds.

  It’s insane how much I want to pull her down to the bed. Even though I’m still angry as hell. A fire heats my cheeks that has nothing to do with the life energy coursing through me. Am I really this easy to manipulate?

  I grab her wrists again, gently this time, and pull them from my body. “I’m fine. Really.” I bend down to scoop up my shirt and slip it on. Maybe I’m not a complete idiot after all. “Did you come here just to apologize and heal my wounds?”

  She steps back, dropping her gaze.

  “I didn’t think so,” I say. “So, what is it? Valac letting me out to play again?”

  “He wants you to come on collections today.” She looks up at me. “I can tell him you’re still healing. You don’t have to go. I can do them myself.”

  “I told you. I’m fine.” And more importantly I need to collect again to build up my strength. I don’t want to fight Ophelia, but if I have to go up against her—or Valac—I can’t afford to be drained and half-dead. Valac is right: Ophelia is a survivor because she’s smart. She doesn’t make stupid mistakes, and she doesn’t waste her life hits trying to cope with the horror of what she does. I need to be stronger than that to have any chance of getting out.

  Ophelia frowns, like she doesn’t think it’s wise for me to leave my room. Like I’m still a wounded puppy.

  I give her my best stone-cold look in return. “Do I need to dress up for collections this time? More life hit parties?”

  Ophelia gestures to her club-ready dress, like it’s obvious.

  “Right,” I say. “Tell Valac I need some new clothes.”

  I’m riding with Ophelia and Valac in the mob-mobile, the same black sedan we used on my first adventure out with Kolek’s two henchmen. The same two who turned my chest into a mosaic of their fist-prints. Ophelia’s boost has gone a long way in easing the lingering aches and pains, but I’ve hardly forgotten. I’m sure they haven’t either, judging by the smirks Nico keeps sending my way from the front seat.

  I’d say something, but the bullet proof glass between us is fairly sound proof as well.

  I glare at Nico until he turns forward and says something to the two-pints-of-ice-cream thug, whose name I still don’t know.

  I turn to Valac. “Are these guys going to be a problem?” I flick a look up front. Nico’s having a laugh with two-pints, at my expense, I’m sure.

  “Just don’t give them a reason to do anything,” Valac says. “Kolek is very unforgiving when his minions damage his debt collectors. Unless it’s by his orders.”

  “Well, then, we should have no problems.”

  Valac gives me a sideways look. He’s even more fashion-forward today, in a starched gray-silk shirt and a tie that is a dead match, both of which contrast with his black leather pants. The patches on Valac’s jacket echo Ophelia’s midnight-metal dress and silver stiletto heels. My black silk shirt and tailored pants complete the set. We’re obviously coordinated, but I can’t decide if it’s Ophelia or Valac dressing us. Probably Valac.

  “Nice jacket,” I say, just to throw him off guard. It does so… spectacularly. His blond eyebrows fly up, then furrow, like he’s trying to figure out if I have
a head injury. “It suits you,” I add with a smirk to confuse him more, and he half-turns in his seat to regard me anew. Ophelia rolls her eyes behind his back, and I try to tame the grin, not wanting to be too obvious. I want to convince Valac I’m fully on board with being a mob collector, but being too chummy will only make him suspicious. “So, who are we all dressed up to impress this time? More socialites getting high on life hits?”

  Valac hesitates, still thrown by my brief fashion commentary. “No, little bird.” He gives me an intense look, like he’s trying to figure me out again. “I was starting you out easy before.”

  “Life hit parties are beginner level?” I ask. “What’s advanced? Resurrecting someone from the dead?” We’re only inches away in the car, and I just touched a live-rail from Valac’s past—that someone died. Someone he couldn’t save. I know it. He knows it. Even Ophelia leans forward a little, trying to gauge Valac’s reaction, but his gaze is locked with mine. The moment gets a bit thick, so I break it off, smoothing the fabric of my slacks, and saying, “Well, whatever it is, I’m up for it. I’ve had plenty of rest. I’m ready for more.”

  Valac nods, but I’m not sure he agrees. “We’ll be collecting first.” Something over my shoulder, outside the window, catches his eye. The car rolls to a stop. “And… we’re here.”

  We climb out, one by one. The neighborhood is run down, but still alive. A couple of businesses have people wandering in and out, but the main traffic is a gambling salon with wall-sized screens that showcase all the online and social gambling games available. I frown as I check out the steady stream of decidedly low-rent customers trailing into the salon. With most gambling online, the few physical casinos tend to cater to high-potentials with lots of cash to burn. You can get anything from a high-end sex worker to a Broadway show at the casino palaces, but this place is no palace. And the people shuffling past the blaring screens aren’t the kind to lay down serious money on a show.