Page 14 of The Deal

I prop up the mop and broom against the weatherboard siding. As I straighten, I arch my back slightly, trying to ease the tension in my weary muscles. Before I can function again, I need a hot shower and a few hours of sleep.

As I round the side of the house, I open and close my hands a few times, trying to regain feeling in my fingers. That bucket was so heavy that I even contemplated ditching it multiple times on my long walk home, but replacing it all by Monday morning wasn’t an option, so I persevered.

When I reach my bedroom window, I wiggle my fingersunder the small gap and use both hands to slide it up, then hoist myself inside.

This is how I usually enter the house—not conventional, I know, but a couple of guys kicked the front door in late last year. They were chasing up my father’s gambling debt.

I’ve come to call that moment his rock bottom, but the truth is my father has hit that point countless times since my mother left. Whenever I think he can’t sink any lower, he somehow finds a way to fall even further into that dark hole that has become our reality.

He was beaten within an inch of his life that night, and they threatened to return the following day to finish off the job if he didn’t produce the money he owed them.

Over the years, I had managed to put a small amount of money away each week. It wasn’t a lot, but it added up over time. It was a safety net, but I used it to get my father out of his bind. It didn’t cover the entire debt, but I begged and pleaded with the thugs, and they agreed to let me pay the rest off. That’s when I took on job number three … the one I no longer have.

As if things weren’t already hard enough. I feel like I’ve been chasing my tail ever since. The silver lining to all that was my father finally agreeing to stop gambling, and to this day, he has kept his word.

As for our broken front door, the landlord is an arsehole and thinks I should be grateful for him letting us live in the squaller we now call home. There was no way he would fix it—getting him to repair anything is the equivalent of pulling teeth without a local anaesthetic—and I couldn’t afford to pay for it, so the door has been permanently nailed closed ever since.

We have a back entrance, but the door often jams. The minor flooding we get in the backyard every time it rains has caused movement in the house over the years, so the onlyway to open that door is with a wing, a prayer, and a hefty shoulder barge. Hence why the window is the easier option.

Once inside, I test the light switch and silently thank the electricity gods when I see we still have power. Even though it wouldn’t be the first time it’s been cut off, it would pose countless other problems, like no hot showers, means for cooking, or a way to keep food cold.

My life is a never-ending cycle of disappointment, a roller coaster I desperately hope to escape one day.

I move to my dresser and grab some clean underwear, a singlet, and a pair of sleep shorts from the drawer. I’m in desperate need of a shower.

On the way to the bathroom, I stop at my father’s bedroom door and place my ear against the wood. A slight grin tugs at my lips when I hear him snoring on the other side.

Although he’s been on his best behaviour lately, I can’t shake the fear that he’ll slip up again. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s given in to his inner demons and let me down.

I love my dad. I do. I can’t imagine where I’d be if he’d abandoned me the way my mother did, but I miss the father he used to be. Somewhere along the way, the roles shifted, and I became the carer … the parent. I try not to dwell on it—every moment spent looking back only keeps us from moving forward. There are better things for us on the horizon … I have to believe that.

Half an hour later, despite being dead tired and burdened down by the clusterfuck I’ll have to deal with in the morning, the only thing on my mind when I climb into bed is a pair of dark-brown, piercing eyes.

Chapter 6

Alexander

Ipace back and forth in the downstairs control room of the hotel, watching Antonio sift through tonight’s footage. I’m antsy and can’t seem to stand still. Why? Because apparently, I’ve lost my fucking mind.

He’s not looking for evidence of the brawl that erupted inside the bar. No, he’s combing through the footage of the reception area, searching forher—my little enigma.

I stayed in the penthouse long enough to keep my pride intact, resisting the urge to follow her and beg her to stay like some desperate fool. I was proud of myself for not letting my desire for that woman control me.

After showering and changing into a fresh suit, I came straight down here, where my perfectly laid plan promptly fell apart.

“Is that her?” he suddenly says, stopping me in my tracks.

I close the small distance between us and grasp the back of his chair, leaning in to examine the screen more closely.

I don’t answer his question; I’m too busy watching her as she crosses the space with the same confidence she first entered.

“Switch cameras,” I order as soon as she moves out of the frame.

“What exactly are you looking for?” he asks.

I have no fucking clue.

“Just do as I tell you,” I snap.

---