Page 8 of Covenant

No, no, no.

I almost drop my phone in my haste to open my banking app. My throat is so dry I can’t even swallow, it clicks over and over, trying to come to terms with what this means. But I know. It’s clear.

And there it is, in black and white.

My available balance, once my overdraft has been cleared, is two hundred and sixty thousand dollars.

I don’t pause. I move straight into my other banking app, willing it to be different. But nope. Another one hundred thousand is merrily sitting there.

What in the actual fuck?

I asked for fifty thousand—a sum that would cover the next wave of Jackson’s rehab. I figured I’d find another way to catch up on the mounting medical bills later.

Now though, I don’t have to.

This can’t be happening.This is so much money. What will they ask of me in return?

I should be overjoyed, jumping up and down, screaming that there’s finally a light in the darkness.

But that darkness is still there. It’ll remain there, overshadowing everything, until I know what they want from me.

I sit for far too long, just staring at the screen. It’s only when my back starts to protest that I realize there’s no going back. I’ve got the money now. I don’t know what the fuck they will want from me as payment, but I may as well clear some of our debts.

Who knows if I’ll be able to do it in a few days? I might be incarcerated, or somewhere deep in Peru smuggling cocaine up my ass.

Or dead. There’s that too.

Reluctantly, I force my thumbs to move. Before I can transfer any money, an email pops up at the top of the screen. It’s from Universal Health, the company I was about to pay. The subject line has me freezing.

Thank you for your payment.

What the fuck?

I scan the email frantically to find that my account has been cleared.

Cleared.

Before I’ve finished processing that, a text from my landlord appears.

Landlord

You’re lucky you paid today, you little shit. I’ve literally got the eviction notice on my counter. Fuck me over with rent again and no one will be able to save you.

“Fuck,” I drop my phone, raking my hands over my exhausted face. A disbelieving laugh breaks from me. “Fuck.”

Not only has The Firm filled my bank accounts again, they’ve paid all my debts.

I feel sick, nauseous from relief and dread. Oh god, they’re going to bend me over and fuck me.

Maybe even literally, but this is what I asked for. I asked for my ass to be plundered.

“Wyatt?” Jackson shouts from his room, and I stand up so abruptly that I knock a kitchen chair over.

“Coming,” I say and move into the bedroom, trying to steady my shaking limbs. “What’s up?” I ask when I see him lying in bed, the controller on his lap, his pale skin waning.

“I didn’t hear you move for a while and thought you died.”

I mean, I feel like perhaps I have died and this is some kind of eternal bad dream. Is it bad? I can’t quite tell. It’s limbo, perhaps. One I can’t escape until I have answers.

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