Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Charleigh

I am yanked to my feet before my father can answer.

“WHAT do you want?” I scream at the man who grabbed me, the one with his hair styled into a weird man bun.

Who is equally as handsome as the bald one who swiped my phone.

“This is none of your business,” he says, looking at me so intently I am forced to look away for a moment.

I stretch up to my full height. I am tall, but still not tall enough to see this man eye-to-eye. So I look up at him because I have no choice. “Get off me, creep,” I hiss, trying to shake him away.

To no avail.

Victoria on the other side of my father, arms crossed tightly, paces the floor. Does she know something?

She must.

The first man, the one who looks familiar, steps in front of me and tilts his head with a curious stare. “You sure have turned out to be quite the beauty.”

Who is this person?

He turns to the others. “Guys, look how grown-up Gil Gates’s daughter is now. How old are you, pretty girl? Eighteen? Nineteen?” he taunts.

“None of your fucking business—” I start to say.

“She’s twenty, Vadik. Now leave her alone. Please,” Pops says in a weak voice.

Vadik’s eyes widen. “Damn. I thought when I saw you at my father’s funeral two years ago you were jailbait for sure. Shit, you were eighteen. I could have hit on you if I didn’t have all those losers sucking up my time, supposedly paying their respects.”

I wince at his vulgar words and remember. I did see him that day at the funeral I went to with my dad. It was for a man he did business with and his wife, who both died in some sort of tragic accident. On the sign outside the funeral, the name was Alekseev, and there were tons and tons of people, far more than there were at my mother’s funeral. And they were very dressed up, not simply, like my mother’s friends were.

Pops told me the Alekseevs were from Russia. Guess the name stuck because I’d never heard a Russian name before.

“I do remember you. Your dad…” I trail off.

What am I doing, engaging with this man?

He lights up at my recognition and breaks into a grin. “Yup. Papa burned up in a house fire, along with Mama. Didn’t he, boys?” he asks, looking at the other two men.

Who bear a slight resemblance to him.

Because they are brothers.

It’s all coming back now.

What do they want from Pops? And what is this man doing speaking so cheerfully about his father’s death? What is wrong with him?

“You’re the Alekseevs then, right?” I give the guy holding my arm a dirty look.

“My head hurts,” my father wails from the floor, distracting us all for a moment.

But only a moment. Seems these guys have done this before. “That we are, Miss Gates, the Alekseev brothers. I’m Vadik, the man on your arm is Kir, and that over there is Niko. The baby of the family.”

I look at Niko to see how he receives this acknowledgment. He just shakes his head with a small laugh.

“Why did you hurt my father? What do you want?” I demand. I want answers.

Yeah, right. Like I can force these men to do anything, much less answer a simple question.

Kir loosens his grip on my arm, not entirely letting go. “Why don’t you tell your daughter what’s going on, Mr. Gates? She deserves to know what kind of person you are.”

Anger swells in me. My dad will never win any Father of the Year awards. But he is my dad. And I want to know what the hell is going on.

“Oh, honey,” he groans, reaching for me, but just brushing the hem of my blue jeans. “I… I have some debts.”

Vadik drops his head back with a loud roar. “Some debts, Mr. Gates? Sounds like you are downplaying the mess you are in, sir. Do we have to show you again just how much trouble you’ve gotten yourself into?”

Debts? Pops has debts? While we’re pretty much middle-class, my father makes a modest living from the pawn shop and we’re not wanting for the basics in life. I can’t imagine why he’s in debt.

And why these men care.

Unless…

I turn to him. “Pops, do you owe these men money?”

*****

Charleigh

Victoria continues her pacing, avoiding my gaze. Yup. She knows something.

And Pops, the blood around him turning dark and crusty since his bleeding has pretty much stopped, cowers under the menacing form of Vadik. From the floor, he nods slightly at first, and then with a bit more vigor. “I have… gambling debts, Charleigh. A lot of them. Debts I owe to these guys.”

That can’t be. I know Pops plays cards. Poker games of all kinds. But he plays friendly games with his buddies. Not for money. Not real money, anyway. Just change. Quarters, nickels, dimes. That sort of thing.

I look at the Alekseev brothers, who stare back with blank expressions. This must be business as usual for them. Just another day at the office, roughing up someone who got on their wrong side.

Bastards. Fury grows in me and I get ready to tell them off. But my tongue is tied.

Vadik’s blue-eyed stare takes me right back to that moment in the funeral home where our eyes met. I didn’t know anything about him. Hell, I still don’t. But his penetrating stare, two years ago, shook me to my core. I inexplicably dreamt of him for weeks after that day. And his gaze today is no less intense. I tear myself away from his scrutiny as a protective measure. Like if I let him look at me for too long, I’ll be under his spell. He’ll gobble my soul alive, leaving me nothing but a shell.

I’m afraid he’s already doing that.

How can I feel such a strange attraction to someone who’s hurt my father? What kind of daughter am I?

But I have other, more important things to figure out right now.

“Pops? If you have debts, why don’t you just pay them? You have money, right? Let’s pay these men and get them off your back.”

My father looks up at me from the floor, the blood dried to a muddy stain on his previously white shirt. He extends my hoodie toward me. I take it even though I plan to chuck it, first chance I get. “Char,” he says in a soft voice, “if I had the cash, I’d give it to them. For fuck’s sake.”

Oh.

I see. And, as much as I’d like, there’s little I can do to help. Every cent I earn helping out in the pawn shop goes to my bookkeeping courses, where I hope to earn myself a certificate that will allow me a profession that’s respectable. Like my sister in New York.

Where I’ll sit behind a desk and get deli sandwiches for lunch every day. Where I can buy a couple nice skirts and blouses at someplace other than Target, as well as the kind of trench coat I see the office girls wearing to work in the warmer Illinois months. They look so chic, with their high-heeled pumps, nice handbags, and glossy lipstick. They are important. They do important work. They go to meetings and they take notes.

I know all this because my instructor tells me this is how bookkeepers work. She says I’ll never get rich, but I’ll be comfortable.

Which is fine by me. I don’t need a lot of money. Just enough to take occasional weekend trips to see a show in Chicago. Enjoy a nice dinner out. Buy my sisters the sort of birthday presents they deserve.

But until I finish my certificate, I have none of these things. Which is okay, because I know if I work hard, I will have them.

This is no help to my father’s situation, though.

“Hey!” I shout as the younger brother, Niko, takes a step toward my father. My sharp voice stops him in his tracks, and an amused expression washes over his face.

Like these guys give a crap what I think.

“Gates, you have twenty-four hours to come up with the money you owe us,” he says softly in my dad’s direction, like he doesn’t want to be the heavy.

“No!” Dad wails. “I can’t get it that fast. C’mon guys. I’ve known you for years. I was friends with your father.”

Kir scoffs. “You sponged off my father, Gates. You were no friend of his.”

Oh my god. That’s why we were at that funeral. The one Pops didn’t want to go to alone.

Ever since Mother died, he can’t go to funerals by himself.

The brothers head toward the door with me right on their tail.

“Honey,” Victoria says, reaching for my arm.

I brush right past her.

“Look. Gentlemen,” I say, choking on the word, “can we work something out here? Like a payment plan?”

Vadik looks at me sadly. Fine, I don’t know how this stuff works. But there are always multiple solutions to any problem.

Right?

“I… I will try to pay it. How much time can you give me?” I ask desperately.

The three of them laugh as they push the store’s front door open, jingling the old bell I’ve been listening to all my life.

“Don’t stand in the doorway, kid,” Kir says, gesturing with his chin that I should get back in the store. “You don’t want to attract attention.”

But I decide to press my luck and ignore him. He wouldn’t hit a girl, would he? “Wait. Look, it’s clear he doesn’t have the money. If he doesn’t have it now, he won’t have it in twenty-four hours. What will happen then?”

Vadik and Kir ignore me and walk to their car. Niko, the one who’s more softspoken, turns to me.

“You’ll see, Charleigh. You’ll see in twenty-four hours.”