CHAPTER SIX: IMPENDING DANGER

Damian’s POV

The drop-off point is an abandoned half-opened warehouse with a lot of crates and rusted metal containers.

“Hurry up,” I speak rudely to the driver, but he wears an unusually happy smile.

When we approach a tunnel, the driver begins to whistle as he turns on the radio and loud music roars out of the car’s speakers. He mimics the song and sings aloud, “Country rose, take me home, to a plaaace, I belooong. West Viginiaaaaa.”

The lyrics he sings are totally wrong, but it is just the comfort I need as I am about to trade my freedom and liberty for an ungrateful lover.

When the vehicle roars towards the middle of the alley, the driver stops the humming, stares at the rear-view mirror, and places his hands into a cabinet of the car.

Then the unthinkable happens.

He takes out a pistol and points it straight to my head. “Hand over the briefcase now,” he shouts.

I hesitate, contemplating my next line of action, but when he cocks the military pistol, it finally dawns on me. This guy will either kill me or take the money away.

So I quietly hand over the briefcase to him.

“Now step out of the vehicle,” he roars, still pointing the pistol at me.

I quietly step out.

“Good boy! Now turn your back and count to ten!”

I turn my back, tears flowing from my eyes like a river. As I begin to count, I hear the roaring sound of the engine as he zooms off. My heart panics as I run after the car, but my legs fail me.

Then I see a man on a bike slowing down to take a call, and a crazy idea pops into my head.

I wave violently as the bike approaches me. “Sir, please can you show me the direction of…”

Before he can sense any strange movement, I punch him hard on the face as I hijack the bike and fire crazily after the taxi.

This bike is power amplified. It tears right through the air, and in seconds I roar crazily as I approach the taxi that stole my briefcase.

The driver panics as he picks up the gun and fires blanks. My speed has long passed the speed limit, and it now draws the attention of the policemen who start their engines and trail my bike.

The gunshot draws their attention, and they turn on the siren and join the chase. The driver panics and runs his vehicle into one of the roadblocks.

I step on the gas like a madman, but one slight misfire and my bike loses balance. It dangles like a pendulum clock and finally comes to a halt when I step on the brake. The bike survives, but I don’t. That brake sends me flying meters away as I land on the bare floor. Raw hot tarred road damages my joints and tendons.

But I immediately get up. Walking like a zombie, I advance towards the crashed vehicle. The police watch in awe.

The driver is already unconscious, so my work is made easy. Retrieve the bag and head to the meeting point.

I pick the bag up and step forward as the policeman points his gun at me. “Put your hands behind your back!” he shouts.

And in seconds I get arrested.

“Please sir, can I make a phone call?” I plead with the policeman. Shock overwhelms him when he sees the desperation I use in pleading, so he uncuffs me and gives me ten minutes.

I call the criminals, but the phone doesn’t connect. I fidget in desperation, then a bold idea surfaces.

I put a call through to Mike, and in seconds the call connects.

“Hola! Hu da fuck is this?” he barks through the phone.

“It’s me, Damian. I’ve been arrested!”

“What daaaa heeeeelll! How did you get yourself into that mess?”

I take three good minutes to explain everything in a hurry. I don’t miss any detail.

He sighs. “Pass the phone to the cop.”

“Sir, my brother wants to speak with you.”

The police neglects the phone and cuffs me again, but the aide picks up the phone out of curiosity.

“You are such an idiot! Why would you take a criminal’s call? Don’t you—”

“Sir!!!!!” the aide interrupts him mid-sentence. “You might want to really take the call!!!”

The policeman answers the call, speaks for about two minutes, then stares at me awkwardly. He walks towards me and unlocks the cuffs.

“Sir, you are free to go.”

I am genuinely shocked how someone goes from calling me a criminal to putting an honorable title on my name.

I don’t have time to think. I go straight towards the designated location with my money in hand.

…………

I observe the environment closely. It looks as if this spot has been untouched for ages. Well, that’s not my business. All I am concerned about is getting Alessia to safety.

I am a little scared, but now isn’t the time for fear. I have to pick up the pieces of the courage I once had, finish the drop-off successfully, and bring my everlasting love home.

“Caleb?!” I call out loudly.

No response. Then the phone in my pocket vibrates, snapping me back to reality from the mini trance I am immersed in.

A deep male voice speaks, annoying enough to get on my last nerve.

I recall the pain, shame, and disgrace the voice puts me through, sending me into panic, borrowing from loan sharks, and putting my life in danger.

“Place the bag by the red container. Walk away, and do not turn back.”

It jolts me back to reality.

“Let me hear from him, please. I need to know if she—”

Before I can conclude my statement, it interrupts me. “Sharrap.”

Then I hear a screeching sound, and he speaks again. “Damian… Damian, please—”

The line goes off, and I feel a surge of anger within me. But I’m too weak to stand. I lose all will to fight. My legs feel wobbly and my joints frail. It takes a lot of courage to remain standing.

I walk instinctively, placing the stack of money in the duffel bag at the side behind the red metal container, and then I turn back in dismay, feeling defeated. I walk away, not looking back.

I leave the fragment of my life behind, knowing that the content of that bag has been the remnant of my savings, my life’s worth of sacrifices, and pain.

As long as Caleb is safe, that’s all that matters.

Then I hear a roar. A screeching of tyres, and then a dark car speeds off and disappears into thin air.

After the handover, I collapse to my knees on the wet floor, head spinning rapidly. Nausea mixes with relief and exhaustion.

I have nothing left. No savings, no car, and no inheritance.

I don’t know that this moment, this blind act of devotion, will be the first stone in the avalanche that buries me.

Just then my phone buzzes, as a voice tears through the phone.

“Your contact says in twelve hours you’ll begin remitting your loan. I’m gang leader Scott… and I’m calling to collect.”