Page 4 of A Debt So Ruthless

“What? Someone’s gotta do it properly now that Brian turned out to be a giant asshole.”

I cringe at his name. The name of my very recently ex-boyfriend.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. At least he’s been gone all Christmas break. He’s back in Ottawa with his family.”

“Good,” Willow says, nodding with satisfaction, eyes crackling. “Because if he keeps up this stalker boy routine, I’m going to have to sic Ronan on his ass.”

Ronan looks like a dishwasher at the pub, but he’s actually there as security, one of Darragh Gowan’s enforcers. He’s a brooding, tattooed mountain of a man, and I can’t help but picture him punching Brian in the face with his meaty hammer of a fist.

I dated Brian for the first half of this school year, from September until right before December exams. He’s a law student at the University of Toronto where I study music. I thought he might actually be the one I’d lose my virginity to.

Until he tried to take it before I was ready.

I clench my teeth, my stomach twisting when I remember that night in his apartment. The beer on his breath as he caged me in with his body and told me he’d waited long enough. The hunted, animal fear that made me freeze, that left me unable to move, unable to fight back, unable to say a single fucking word. It was only when he clumsily undid his belt and knocked a glass from his bedside table to the floor, stepping on the broken pieces and stumbling, that I could move again. I bolted from his apartment and completely ghosted him after that.

Only problem is that he’s developed an infuriating habit of turning up everywhere I go, begging for forgiveness and promising to be better. I’ve found him lingering outside classrooms and exam halls and even, once, outside the small music school where I teach violin to kids. In all honesty, I’m kind of surprised he went back home for Christmas at all. I thought he’d stick around just to keep following and pressuring me, and I’m beyond grateful for the distance his absence has created.

Willow must be sensing my mood, because her expression softens.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Dee.” She draws me into a perfumed hug. “I’m not trying to be insensitive. What happened with Brian was fucking shit, and if he ever crosses my path, he better fucking watch himself. I just want your first time to be good. To be on your terms.” She pulls back, staring at me steadily with serious green eyes. “If you give something away, no one can take it from you.”

“Something can always be taken from you,” I whisper bitterly. It’s a lesson I’ve burned into my brain for ten years, starting the day my mother died.

Willow looks like she’s about to say something else, but as her mouth opens, the resounding shout of “Ten!” makes us both jump.

“Already?” I ask, looking around in shock.

“Guess so! Happy birthday, babe!” Willow clinks her glass against mine and then drains it. I do the same, losing myself in the rosy feeling of champagne’s warmth spreading through my body. I need the drink – I know what comes next. It happens every New Year’s Eve. A requirement of my father’s. I can already see him beckoning to me from across the room, ready for me to dazzle his friends and clients by playing Auld Lang Syne.

I love playing, but absolutely hate performing. My father likes it, though. Likes having the talented daughter he can put on display since he no longer has the talented wife. Mom was always the performer, the star. Not me.

Willow already has another drink in her hand when I set down my glass. As the people all around us chant together, “Five, four, three!” I grab my violin and head for the centre of the room.

I’m just setting my bow to the strings when bitterly cold air hits my skin, making goosebumps prickle. Somewhere in the house, a door is open, or a window. Which doesn’t make any sense, because this is January in Ontario.

The sound of fireworks split the air, but even though it’s New Year’s that doesn’t make sense, either, because it sounds like it’s coming from inside this very room. It’s only when screaming breaks out, and the sound repeats and intensifies, that I realize it’s gunfire.

Chapter 3

Deirdre

I crouch to the floor, hugging my violin underneath myself, the most precious thing I have. Which is probably stupid. Really, really stupid. I should drop it, protect my head, and crawl to safety. But this violin was my mother’s, and I can’t let it go. Swearing, my heart slamming, I keep it tucked underneath my body, the bow in my hand like a blade, and army crawl under the nearest table of abandoned food. I tuck the violin and bow against the wall, then spin on my hands and knees, trying to make sense of the scene before me.

Only there’s barely a scene left. Almost everybody is gone. Relief pours through me when I see Paddy dragging Willow out of the room towards the front door. She’s fighting him, though, and through the ringing in my ears I distantly hear her screaming my name. Suddenly, her eyes find mine, our gazes locking, and she fights her father harder, but he loops his thick arms around her waist and hauls her out into the winter night.

Tears stream down my face, my throat contracting. I’m so happy she’s gone, that she’ll be safe.

But now I’m alone.

Where’s Dad?

New terror grips me. If someone came into this house to attack, who else would they be looking for but the owner of that house?

No! My dad’s just an accountant. He’s not an enforcer, a soldier, an assassin. He’s not a boss someone would have any reason to take out. So why the hell is this happening?

And where the hell did he go?

I’m not the only one with that question. I realize I’m not truly alone. Mr. Byrne is slumped over on the hardwood floor, clutching at a profusely bleeding shoulder, while a pair of black shoes approaches him. One of the black shoes presses against Mr. Byrne’s crotch, hard.

---