Broken (Debt Collector 4) Read online

  Text copyright © 2013 by Susan Kaye Quinn

  April 2013 Edition

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  www.SusanKayeQuinn.com

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  Cover by Steven Novak

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  The Debt Collector Serial

  EPISODE 4 – Broken

  Contains mature content and themes.

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

  Broken is approximately 15,000 words or 60 pages, and is the fourth 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 tries to free himself and Ophelia from the Kolek mob, but Valac has other plans for him.

  Recommend read first:

  EPISODE 1—Delirium

  EPISODE 2—Agony

  EPISODE 3—Ecstasy

  Or Get Debt Collector (Episodes 1-3)

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  I watch Ophelia’s chest rise and fall. The curve of her breast under the sheet would be enough to hold my attention, even if I wasn’t concerned that she might stop breathing. I must have fallen asleep, though. I’m surprised to see bright morning sun slitting through the blinds and throwing stripes across the pale gray comforter of her bed. Our bed, at least for now. My hand lies on her pillow, ready, in case she needs another life energy hit to fight off the death that hovers over her. I won’t let it take her, but it’s already stolen the pink from her cheeks, leaving dark hollows under her eyes and dry wrinkles on her lips.

  She licks them while I watch, lighting a fire in me that hopes she’s waking up. She makes a soft sound and nestles her face deeper in the oversized white pillow of Kolek’s guest bedroom. Although “guest” is a term that doesn’t really apply to us. I’m guessing our status is somewhere between “prisoner” and “employee,” thanks to fellow debt collector, betrayer, and general asshole, Valac. Killing Valac fights for top priority in my mind along with finding a way out of our involuntary servitude as debt collectors for the mob and helping Ophelia recover from his attack.

  But in the meantime, I’ll settle for the chance to be in Ophelia’s bed.

  A strand of her long, raven-black hair falls across her face. She frowns, but doesn’t open her eyes. I gently lift it away, letting the silky softness of it run across my finger. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks confused.

  Then her lips smooth out as she smiles. “Still here?”

  “Nowhere to go, at the moment.” I move my palm to her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I could use a boost.” She works a hand free of the covers, spilling them open to reveal her steel-gray pajamas. Kolek has a thing for grays and whites. Nearly everything here comes in those artificial colors of elegance, down to the pajamas he supplied for Ophelia last night. I left my trenchcoat and boots on the floor, but I’m still wearing the same collared shirt and pants I’ve had on since I first met her—which seems like forever ago, but was only yesterday. I’m wishing now that I had changed, but staying by her side took precedence.

  She doesn’t seem to mind. Her warm fingers find the bare skin of my left hand, which is resting on the mattress between us. She boosts a small hit of life energy into it, and I immediately cycle it back through my right palm on her forehead. I’m afraid she doesn’t have any to spare for boosting, but she holds onto the hand between us when I try to move it away.

  Her eyes close again, but her lips curve in an almost smile. I’m feeling it too, the pleasure response that comes from the boost, even though we’re just trading the same life energy back and forth between us. I inch my body closer and lean in to kiss her, just lightly. Testing the waters. She smiles under it even before I pull back.

  “Stealing kisses again, guppy?” she asks, eyes still closed.

  “We need to have a serious conversation about that nickname,” I say, then move in to kiss her again. This time I’m not testing. Her lips part under mine. The buzz from the life force boosting is nothing compared to the electric feel of her tongue playing tag with mine. But then, she said an experienced debt collector could transfer with any part of their body, and if there’s one thing Ophelia has, it’s experience.

  I move my free hand to her cheek. She shifts to cup my hand against her face, still transferring. I focus on pushing life force there, instead of the conventional position, as she calls it, palm-to-forehead. It feels awkward, like writing with your wrong hand, but I’m surprised how easily the energy flows once I concentrate. I experiment more, sliding my “new” transfer hand to the back of her neck, pulling her deeper into the kiss, but still cycling life energy into her. Both are getting me high very quickly.

  She pulls back and I don’t mind, but only because I’ve moved on to kissing her jawline and working my way to her neck. I move my hand, still transferring, to her shoulder, slipping under the crisp, cotton pajamas in order to keep contact with the soft warmth of her skin. And because I want to touch her a lot more.

  “I think you forgot, guppy,” she says lightly, pulling slightly away from my touch. “I don’t have sex with debt collectors.”

  My lips pause in their exploration of her neck to whisper, “I thought saving your life might at least get me to second base.”

  She coughs a laugh and pulls further away. It’s a good sound to hear. She stops transferring, so I do too, removing my hand from under her clothes and resting it lightly on top of the bedding. We’re both high on the boosting anyway, and she probably needs a breather.

  She smiles. “I seem to recall being a lot better off before you arrived.”

  I cringe because it’s true. “You didn’t have to jump Valac. I would have found a way out of there for us.” Which feels weak, given that we’re still trapped here.

  She reaches for my cheek, which is rough with a serious lack of shave, and she pulls me in for a quick kiss. “That’s for trying to rescue me, guppy. Especially because it was such a tremendously stupid thing to do.”

  “You’re welcome.” I move to kiss her again, but she puts two fingers across my lips, stopping me. I sigh, blowing air across them.

  “But I did have to stop Valac, or at least distract him,” she says. “He’s not someone you want to tangle with.”

  “Actually, I’d very much like to kill him.”

  She gives me a look like I’m a child again. “Lirium, you’re out of your depth here.”

  I narrow my eyes. “He said you were his mentor. Is that true?”

  “Yes.” She shifts away from me, propping her head in her hand and digging her elbow into the pillow. “Years ago. He was a guppy, like you, about to wash out of the program. I helped him and for a while… he found a purpose.”

  “And what’s his purpose now? Other than sucking the life out of fellow debt collectors?”

  “I’m not sure.” She frowns. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. Honestly, I was surprised to find him here, although I knew he was working for an east side mob. I just didn’t know which brother.”

  Which reminds me of something that’s been scraping at the edges of my mind while trying to find Ophelia. “I thought that you getting picked up by the mob… well, I thought it was my fault.�
�

  Her quizzical look puts a cute wrinkle on her forehead. I smooth it out with my finger, then let it trail down her cheek. She allows it, but just barely. I don’t push my luck.

  “Remember how I told you I brought sex workers to my apartment?” I ask. “Well, I thought one of them had tracked me down and sold me out. I figured you were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. But now…” I still wasn’t entirely sure that Madam A didn’t sell me out. We certainly weren’t free yet, and Valac wasn’t the help I thought he would be. But she had warned me about coming here, something she didn’t need to do. And she genuinely wanted my help with her charity; she had real reasons not to want me trapped in the mob.

  “And now?” Ophelia asks, capturing my attention with a soft hand on my cheek.

  I lean into it. “Now, I think maybe it was just bad luck. The police said Kolek had control of my neighborhood. Maybe someone recognized one of us as a debt collector on your way into my apartment. I can’t think of how else his thugs would have known where to find you. Or me.”

  Ophelia drops her gaze and plays with the white sheet between us. “I’m afraid they knew where to find you because I told them.”

  I’m so stunned I don’t say anything.

  She looks up. “I didn’t mean to. They came to the door and asked for you. They were already in the building, so I thought you had given some low-life friends a swipecard. I said you were out buying ice cream. They didn’t bring out the guns until after that.”

  “So they were looking for me?”

  She shrugs, but drops her gaze to the sheet again. “Maybe. They never asked if I was a debt collector. They just hit first and made demands second. They already knew what I was. I should have figured that out before I told them where you were. At least then…”

  I gently lift her chin with my fingertips. “It’s not your fault they came after me.”

  She purses her lips, unconvinced.

  “And it was my choice to come after you.” I softly touch the bruise on her cheek. “Besides, I’m not done rescuing you yet. And at some point, I’m going to kill Valac. Just wanted you to know that ahead of time.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You don’t stand a chance against him.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” But she’s right. Last night I couldn’t fight his ability to drain me. I don’t know why we were so unevenly matched, but it gave me new appreciation for how long Ophelia held out against him. “How did you get to be so strong, anyway?”

  The door to our bedroom swishes open, and Valac strides in carrying a paper bag, swinging it from the looped rope handles. If I thought he was overly fashionable yesterday, it’s nothing compared to today’s slicked-back blond hair, imported leather shoes, and a white silk shirt that clings to his chest and shoulders. It’s like he’s auditioning for a magazine spread.

  “Rise and shine, little birds,” he sings out, too loud, as if we’re not a mere five feet away. Ophelia leans away from me, and Valac glares at her and our too-close cuddling on the bed. “Well aren’t you two adorable?” The contempt in his voice is for Ophelia, but I can’t figure out why. Does he think we’ve done more than cuddle? I don’t think they were lovers, based on Ophelia’s rules about such things. Plus his tastes seem to run to young men, not beautiful female debt collectors.

  His gaze lands on me. It softens for an instant, then he shakes his head. “For God’s sake, Lirium, at least get cleaned up.”

  He whips the bag toward us, and I manage to keep it from hitting Ophelia.

  “You have twenty minutes to get presentable,” he says. “Then it’s road trip time!” He sings the last few words, turns on his heel, and leaves the room.

  Once the door shuts, Ophelia reaches for the bag and dumps it out. Clothes for both of us spill onto the bed. Our assigned attire is high-end like Valac’s.

  “At least we’ll be well dressed,” Ophelia quips. Her face is still sallow, the glow from the boost already fading.

  “What is your history with him?” I ask, pulling out the black silk shirt and pair of tailored pants meant for me. She doesn’t say anything, so I push further. “If we’re going to get out of here, I need to know what his problem is with you.”

  “He doesn’t have a problem with me, Lirium.” She avoids my questioning look. “He has a problem with you.”

  “He just met me,” I protest.

  She gingerly climbs down from the bed, her silver-shimmer dress clutched in her hand. “I call first shower,” she says as she heads for the side door to the bathroom. I don’t like the way each step looks like an effort. I know that feeling. Like the marrow has been sucked from her bones, and she thinks they’re going to break.

  I don’t know what she doesn’t want to discuss, but I’m not going to push her on it now. Besides, I don’t have time to worry about it, not if I want to be ready for Valac when he returns. I need to keep him off guard, thinking that I’m going along with his and Kolek’s plans. Hopefully we’re getting dressed to go somewhere, and anywhere is better than being locked in Kolek’s mansion, if I’m looking for ways to escape.

  And I definitely need to get Ophelia away from here before Valac decides to settle whatever grievance he has against her. Or if she’s right, against me.

  Freshly showered, shaved, and wearing Kolek’s imported clothes, I feel far too much like a younger version of Valac. He’s riding in the back of the stretch sedan, wedged in between Ophelia and me, his long legs reaching nearly to the glassed-in barrier between us and two of Kolek’s thugs up front. Unfortunately, I recognize them, even though they’re dressed in high-end suits today instead of hoodies. One’s still sporting the bruise I gave him with two pints of ice cream, and the other has a burn mark on his forehead that matches the one on my right palm. Before, in the alley, they didn’t shoot me—probably because they were supposed to bring me in alive. But I doubt they’ll hesitate this time.

  We don’t travel far. The car rolls to a stop at a gated-up shop in the middle of a cluster of jammed-together buildings. There’s a closed electronics store, an illegal biomechanics shop, and a deli that looks like it still serves food, but I wouldn’t chance eating there. Even the bright morning sun fighting its way through the smog can’t pretty up the grime that coats the crumbling pavement and graffiti-covered walls.

  The thugs take positions on either side of the shop door. There’s no sign or markings to indicate what used to be sold here, but the boarded-up windows say it’s long been closed. Valac speaks into his palm, calling someone. I hold Ophelia’s elbow once she climbs out of the low-riding sedan. Her silver dress runs like rippling water over her body, but I’m too concerned about the sunkenness of her cheeks to give that the focus it deserves. Her long, black hair fans around her, brushing my arm as I keep her from stumbling on breaks in the concrete. Whatever Valac has planned for us, I’m hoping I can take the brunt—Ophelia’s in no shape for anything.

  The door of the shop rattles, and a mole of a man opens it. He has a sparse collection of wiry hairs competing in their attempt to cover his head. He barely comes up to my shoulder, and his spindly fingers twist around each other in a nervous dance while he backs up to let Valac in. The mole man ducks his head as Ophelia and I pass, his super-magnified eyes peering at us out the side of his too-thick glasses. The thugs follow us, and the mole man closes the door.

  The shop reminds me of Dr. Brodsky’s secret lab, only dingier. Boxes of parts crowd the walls in teetering piles. They’re filled with human-looking things that are really mechanical. Most look discarded, coated with rust and wires sticking up like lost fingers. Valac leads us to a workbench that’s similarly grimy and lined with electronic scanners and instruments I don’t recognize. Mole Man threads between the thugs, darting like a mouse afraid to get caught standing still. He stops in front of Valac, and I swear, he squeaks.

  “We have a couple new collectors, Pawel,” Valac says.

  “Oh!” Pawel twitches like he’s received some kind of hidden jo
lt. “Do you need a burn? Of course you’ll need a burn.” He dashes to the workbench. “Maybe a full spread disabler, too? I’ve got one of those right here, right here…” He runs his spindle fingers across several devices, setting them askew. “Here, right here, it was just here—”

  “Pawel!” Valac cuts him off.

  Pawel jumps a foot in the air before turning. He jams his back against the rough wood edge of his bench.

  Valac’s voice turns soft. “Just a burn will be fine. We have an appointment to keep.”

  Pawel’s hand shakes as he pats the air in Valac’s direction. “Of course! You’re a very busy man. Very busy.” He twists and snags a small gun-shaped device off the bench. Instead of a barrel, it has a squarish, flared metal tube, like a tiny, elongated loudspeaker. “This!” He waves it in the air, showing it off to Valac. “This is the best microwave gun, very tight focus. I modified it myself. Just what you need. And I calibrated it only yesterday—”

  Valac pushes the tip of the gun away with his finger, so it’s no longer pointing at him.

  Pawel’s eyes go wide. He hastily tips the gun up to the ceiling and flicks a look at me and Ophelia. She leans against me, the effort of simply standing in the shop causing her face to draw down further. Valac gestures with his chin to the two thugs, who come up behind us. They peel me away from Ophelia, one on each arm, and since they’re not bothering her, I don’t resist. They bring me to the bench, next to Pawel.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on, Valac?” I ask. Pawel’s gun still points at the murky rafters of the shop.

  “Well, that would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?” Valac says.

  I glare at him. The thug holding my right arm grins. He’s the one with the burn mark still on his forehead. He grasps my arm at the wrist and elbow and wrestles it flat on the bench top. I’m leaned over, but two-pints-of-ice-cream thug grips my other arm, so I’m stretched awkwardly between the two of them.