Page 57 of Rot

What if she was paying him off, and he’d tracked us down to collect? That wouldn’t look too good in the eyes of the police.

Once the guy made it to the front door, he rang the doorbell. I supposed I could’ve pretended no one was home, but that wouldn’t stop him if he wanted inside. He’d break in anyway, so it was best to see what he wanted.

Plus, I was curious.

I straightened myself out, made sure my hair wasn’t totally unkempt—had to look like a cute, unassuming girl so he’d take one look at me and dismiss me—and then I went to answer the door. As I pulled it open, I smiled at the man. “Hello?” I asked, my voice soft.

The man wore all black, along with black leather gloves—not a good sign. His dark-haired head wore a buzz cut, though at least he’d taken off his sunglasses. A guy in his thirties, I’d say. He took one look at me to size me up, and then he glanced behind me, at the empty house. “Most girls these days don’t answer the door when a stranger knocks,” he remarked.

He didn’t give me the chance to respond; he simply pushed inside the house, shoving me aside as he walked in. “Excuse me,” I said, “I didn’t invite you in.”

The man smirked. “Good thing I’m not a vampire, then.”

Ah, sarcasm. Haven’t heard enough of that, lately.

He went around me to close the front door, flicking the lock with one hand while his other reached behind him and pulled out a shiny black Glock that had been hidden in the waistband of his pants, beneath his shirt. He held it up to me. “You know what this is, don’t you, Sloane?”

So the man knew who I was. Interesting.

“Looks like a gun,” I remarked, as calm as ever. Guns didn’t scare me. Nothing did. “How do you know who I am?”

“I know who you all are. You, your mother, the woman who owns this house, and her son. I’ve been watching you for a while. Ever since my boss told me to. You know why?” He took a step toward me, running one of his fingers along the top of the gun to draw more attention to it.

“No,” I spoke, not staring at the gun, but instead into the eyes of the stranger. A normal person might be quaking in fear at being approached by a man like him, but I was no normal girl.

The man stopped when he was less than a foot in front of me, the gun between us. “I work for a… let’s just say someone who specializes in cleaning up messes rich people leave behind. We’ve been working for your family for years, Sloane. Well, for the other Sloane Karnagy, but she’s dead now, ain’t she? As my boss was trying to tell your dear, sweet mom, our rate’s gone up.”

Oh.Oh. I understood what’s going on now.

He set the gun against my head, trying to intimidate me, trying to make me fearful of my life. “And your mom hasn’t paid up, so now we want interest. You and me are gonna get to know each other real good while we wait for your mom.” His words promised certain things that would terrify anyone else.

He’d pounced today because I was home alone. He thought my mother cared about me enough that she’d give him and his boss all the money they wanted. I doubted they would’ve pulled this when they dealt with my grandmother, but my grandmother was a much stronger woman than my mother; anyone could see that. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out anyone could walk all over Penelope Karnagy.

And, judging from the caliber of person this guy was and what he probably did on a daily basis, I doubted he’d stop at me. If my mother didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d hurt Aunt Maggie. He’d hurt Elias too, if he could.

The thought pissed me off, but I held my fury inside, speaking calmly, “Should we go to my room, then?” Getting tied up was the last thing I wanted; if that meant I had to pretend to play his game for a while, then so be it.

“No. We’re gonna go in here, and you’re gonna call your mommy and tell her there’s a man waiting for her.” He pulled the gun away from my head and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me to the living room, where he shoved me back onto the couch. The pistol was once again pointed directly at me. “Your phone, now.” He extended his free hand, waiting.

I managed to not roll my eyes at him as I gave him my phone. He held it in front of my face, unlocking it, and then he searched my contacts for my mother’s number, dialing. Only when the phone had rung twice did he hit the speaker button and offer it back to me.

It rang and rang and rang, and eventually I said, “I don’t think she’s going to pick up.”

“Leave her a message then. She’ll get it.”

This guy seriously had no idea how not close my mother and I were, but whatever. I’d do as he wanted, seeing the fact that he had a gun and could, theoretically, shoot me. When the robot voice told me to leave a message for Penelope Karnagy, I did just that.

“Hey, Mom.” That should be enough of a hint that something was wrong here. “There’s a nice man here to talk to you. He says you owe him and his boss money. Come home whenever you get this, thanks.” I hung up the phone after that, turning the screen down and setting it on the couch beside me.

The man picked up one foot and set it on the coffee table, and then he leaned down on it, no longer pointing the gun at me, but still holding onto it. He appraised me in a new light; I could tell he was starting to think I wasn’t just some rich snob who’d had to run because her grandmother had met an untimely and very messy death.

“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” he muttered.

“And what did you think I would be?”

He smirked. “I’ve dealt with rich assholes all my life. They always think their problems can go away if they pay enough—and usually they’re right. There’s a lot of money to be had cleaning up messes.”

He wasn’t quite answering my question, but at the same time, he was. He was expecting me to be a spoiled rich girl, haughty, someone who thought her money could make it all go away. Instead, here I was, watching him with as much interest as he watched me, not haughty and smug but simply calm.

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