Beautiful Liar (13 page)

“Nothing,” I said.

“Oh, come on. This isn't about what Giles said earlier, is it?” My silence said everything. “Well, take my advice and don't
pay any attention to him. You're doing this for the money, no other reason. You have nothing to feel guilty about. My brother's just a Goody Two-shoes. He always has been. It can be quite irritating.”

The dismissive way he said that annoyed me. Giles had only been looking out for me—which was more than Alex was. “Your brother's a good guy,” I said quietly. “He takes his responsibilities seriously. And he's been very kind to me.”

Alex stared at me. “Well, well.” His mouth twisted into a smirk. “It seems like you and my brother have quite the admiration club going. I've never seen him quite so defensive over a girl before, either.”

“I'm just saying, he seems like a good guy.”

“Unlike me, I suppose.” He held out the money I'd earned for the night. “Shame that I seem to be a necessary evil at the moment. But then, we're often forced to take strange bedfellows.”

I snatched the notes from him, and turned away before he could say anything more. But as I left the hotel suite, I realised Giles's warning had shaken me more than I would have liked.

I needed to end my association with Alex sooner rather than later. He was the kind of person who could easily lead me astray. I'd always been so good at sticking to my principles, and prided myself on having such a clear sense of myself—I wasn't about to let some guy corrupt me.

* * *

Half an hour later, I was standing outside the door of my room at the B and B, my hand in my bag searching around for my keys.

“Hey,” a heavily accented male voice said.

I started at the sound, and whirled round, my heart thumping loudly.

Two thickset men stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the hallway. It was Viktor and Vladimir Osipova, identical twins who were renowned on our estate for being two of Sergei's most vicious enforcers. They weren't especially tall—maybe just five ten—but they were built like brick walls. Just in case their physiques alone weren't intimidating enough, they both had shaved heads, angry scars on their faces, and their arms and necks were covered in tattoos.

I felt my stomach twist into knots—which always happened when I saw these two. For the past three weeks they had turned up first thing on a Monday morning like this, just in time for me to hand over the one and a half grand instalment of what I owed to Sergei. Once I'd given them today's, I'd have repaid six thousand pounds of the debt. That meant only another six thousand to go. Four more poker games and I'd be done.

“You have money for us?” It was Viktor who spoke. I could tell it was him from the long scar that zigzagged across
his right eye.

I unzipped my backpack and took the envelope of cash out and passed it to Viktor.

He opened it and quickly flicked through the contents before stuffing it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Right.” I shifted from one foot to the other, keen for them to leave now. “If that's all sorted, then I should get going—”

Viktor held up his hand, and I could feel the knots in my stomach tightening.

“Not so fast, my lovely.” I froze, knowing this wasn't going to be good. “Sergei is pleased you get him money on time.”

“That's good,” I said warily, already sensing where this was leading.

“But it has him wondering—maybe you get him rest quicker. Say, three thousand by next Monday.”

“What?” I couldn't keep the horror out of my voice.

“You heard.”

“But that wasn't what we agreed.”

Obviously Viktor wasn't too bothered about his boss being thought of as a man of his word, because he simply shrugged.

“He change mind.” He picked at the dirt under his nails. “He want cash sooner.”

I had no idea what I was going to do. Unless Alex magically had an extra poker night for me, I had no chance of
getting that money together.

“I can't . . .” I did a quick mental calculation. I'd managed to save a bit from my tips and wages at the club. “I could maybe scrape together an extra few hundred pounds—”

“This is not our problem.” Viktor's voice was firm. “You have three thousand by time we come next week.”

Before I could say anything more, Viktor nodded at his brother and they turned away—signalling that this wasn't open to further discussion. And leaving me wondering—what the hell was I going to do now?

* * *

I was on the lookout for Alex at Destination on Wednesday. I'd thought about calling him up, but it felt like something that should be discussed face-to-face. I managed to pull him to one side, and said, “Do you have any other nights you need me for? Like, maybe Friday or Saturday this week?” He'd asked me before about working those nights, but I'd told him I couldn't, because of my job at Destination. But now I wasn't so fussy. I looked around, making sure no one could hear. “I can always call in sick here if I have to . . .”

He cocked his head to one side, and studied me. “You really are desperate for money, aren't you? Now the big question is why. I might ask if you've got some secret coke habit you're funding, but you're far too straight-laced for that. So do you care to enlighten me?”

I thought about it for a moment. Part of me wanted to tell him, to share the burden of my situation. But I was worried about what he might do if he knew the truth. I couldn't imagine Alex insisting I go to the police, but I couldn't take the risk.

He must have sensed my hesitation, because finally he shrugged. “I see. So you still don't want to share.” I saw the wicked glint in his eye. “Of course, I could make the work contingent on you telling me . . . But I won't,” he added hastily, no doubt having seen the look of horror on my face. “Anyway, Sunday's all I've got. With Giles turning up, I've had to rethink venues, so the other games got cancelled.”

My heart plummeted.

He must have seen the worry on my face, because he frowned. “Look, if you're that desperate for cash, I can give you an advance.”

I looked up at him, and thought I saw genuine concern in his usually mocking eyes. It was tempting—the money meant so little to him, while it was the world to me. But I'd try to reason with Sergei first. Getting the money from Alex could always be a last resort—if I thought that there was any imminent danger to my sister.

“Thanks, but I'll be fine.”

It seemed like he wanted to press it further, but then decided against it. “If you say so.”

I made to go, but before I could walk away, he caught
hold of my arm. I turned round, and was surprised to see him serious for once.

“Look, I meant what I said. If you need money now, the offer still stands.”

I was so used to him looking either bored or mocking that seeing him so obviously concerned was hard to take.

“I'll bear that in mind.”

That night, I called Sergei to let him know that I wouldn't be able to make the additional payment on Monday. He seemed agreeable enough on the phone. But I couldn't help feeling unnerved. I suspected that now he'd got it into his head I could pay more he wouldn't let up.

My only consolation was that April was away on a geography school trip over the weekend. I'd be able to see how the land lay with Sergei on Monday, and make a decision about what to do from there.

After Giles's threat, Alex was forced to move the venue for the next poker game. So instead of using a suite in one of his father's hotels, he organised to hold it at a private apartment in the heart of Chelsea. When I asked Alex who it belonged to, his reply was vague—a friend, who was out of the country and had let him use it for the night.

The mansion block was quiet and discreet, and the apartment itself was as chic and impersonal as the hotel. The game passed uneventfully, and I made another one and a half thousand pounds—a lot of money, but still not enough to meet Sergei's new demand.

When I left the apartment at four in the morning it was raining heavily, the water bouncing off the pavement. Unlike at the hotel, there was no doorman, so I huddled in the doorway, keeping an eye out for a cab.

I'd been waiting for about ten minutes, when a sleek
silver Porsche pulled up in front of me. I looked up, expecting to be asked for directions, but instead I saw Alex leaning over from the driver's seat.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he called as the electronic window wound down.

“What does it look like? Waiting for the chauffeur to bring round my car.”

His mouth twisted in amusement at the sarcasm in my voice.

“Come on. I'll drive you home.”

I hesitated for a split second. He saw my doubt, and swore under his breath.

“Oh, for God's sake.” I could see his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “It's just a lift. You'd seriously rather get soaked out there than get in a car with me?”

I suddenly realised how ridiculous I was being. After the game, I'd changed back into my street clothes, but even they weren't standing up well in the weather—my trainers and the bottoms of my jeans were already soaked, and the wind kept whipping sheets of spray towards me. And I was turning down a lift from Alex because . . . well, why exactly?

Before I had a chance to change my mind, I sprinted across the pavement to the car. I threw open the door and jumped inside, shaking my hair out like a wet dog. I rubbed a hand across my face to clear the water from my eyes, and realised that I'd dripped all over the smooth buttery leather
of the bucket seats. But that wasn't my only concern. As I looked down, I saw my T-shirt was soaked through, so you could see the outline of my bra, as well as my cold, erect nipples pressing through the thin material. It was then that I felt Alex's eyes on me. I turned to see a little half-smile playing on his lips.

“What?” I folded my arms across my chest, trying to preserve some modesty.

He affected an innocent look. “I'm just waiting for you to tell me where I'm taking you to. Or would you rather stay here all night?”

I felt myself flush as I realised my mistake. “Oh . . . right.”

I told him the address, and once I'd fastened my seat belt Alex sped off. I settled back in my seat, content to watch the city slip by. I loved London in the early hours of the morning. The streets were empty, and the bright lights of the streetlamps shimmered in the puddles like rippling rainbows.

It had been a long night, and neither of us bothered making conversation. It was only as we neared my road that I began to wonder if I'd made a mistake. I thought of the rundown building, and realised that I didn't especially want Alex to see my current abode. But I knew there was no way I was going to be able to get him to drop me elsewhere, so I'd just have to put up with it.

As the streets grew rougher, I could see Alex looking out
the window, assessing his surroundings. He didn't make any comment, and his customary impassive face revealed little, but I knew he was aware of just how squalid the area was.

Finally he pulled up in front of the entrance to my building.

“You live here?”

I could hear the shock in his voice, and for a moment I saw the block through his eyes. It was a shame that the resident meth-heads were hanging out on the steps. They didn't really do much to raise the tone of the neighbourhood.

“Not all of us get to buy luxury apartments with our trust funds,” I said, trying to lighten the moment. But Alex didn't look amused. Instead, his eyes were firmly fixed on the dilapidated red-brick building.

“I get that, but still . . .”

I unfastened my seat belt, and went to open the door. To my surprise, he did the same.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Coming in with you.”

“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “I'm not exactly the kind of girl who needs to be walked to her door. And you're certainly not the kind of guy who does the walking.”

“Then consider this virgin territory for us both,” he fired back.

Before I could stop him, he was out of the car. I could have argued back, but it seemed easiest just to let him accompany
me upstairs.

My room was at the top of the building, which meant an excruciating trek up five flights of stairs. We didn't speak as we began the climb. I expected him to give up halfway, but he kept following me up, uncomplaining. He really was serious about making sure I got to my room safely.

Finally we reached my corridor.

“Well, you can go now,” I said as we walked past my neighbours' doors. “This is me—”

The words were hardly out of my mouth when I stopped abruptly. My door was ajar, and it didn't take a genius to see from the paint scratches by the handle that the flimsy lock had been jimmied with some kind of tool.

I looked up at Alex, and saw him frowning. It was too much to hope that he wouldn't have noticed.

“I'm guessing you didn't leave it like this?” he said.

Before I could reply, he moved in front of me and pushed the door open. The light switch was right inside the door, and he found it straight away.

I gasped as I saw the state of the place. It had been perfectly neat and tidy when I had left, but now it was torn apart. All the furniture was upturned and my clothes lay strewn across the floor. Someone had taken a knife to the mattress and pillows, so there were white feathers scattered over the room. It might have looked pretty if it wasn't so obviously threatening. But what stood out the most was the
blood-red writing sprayed across the walls, which read:
Pay Up.

I stared at the words, unable to tear my eyes away. Cold fear spread through the pit of my stomach. What if I'd been there? What would the men who did this have done to me? And as I wasn't there, would they have moved on to April?