Читать книгу Marked For Revenge - Emelie Schepp, Emelie Schepp - Страница 9
Оглавление“JUST SWALLOW IT!”
Pim gave a start and met the man’s eyes. He stood, leaning over the table with his face a few inches from hers. He was wearing a dark gray shirt with rolled-up sleeves.
She looked at the capsule in her hand. It was larger than a grape tomato and had more of an oval shape than she had expected. The contents were tightly packed in layers upon layers of latex.
Noi sat next to her and looked pleadingly at Pim, nodding almost imperceptibly in encouragement. You can do it!
They were sitting in a room above a pharmacy, the stairs to which had really been more of a ladder. A fan on the floor hummed from one corner of the room. Even so, it was hot and smelled musty.
She’d had no problem swallowing the tablet that neutralized her stomach acid. It had slid right down. But the capsule looked so huge, she thought now, pressing against the coating with her pointer finger and thumb.
The man grabbed her arm and slowly pushed her hand toward her mouth. The capsule touched her lips. She knew what she was supposed to do and her mouth instantly went dry.
“Open up!” he said between clenched teeth.
Pim opened her mouth and placed the capsule on her tongue.
“All right then, chin up and down the hatch with it.”
She looked at the ceiling and felt the capsule drop far back on her tongue. She tried to swallow, but she couldn’t. The capsule refused to go down.
She coughed it up into her hand.
The man slammed his fist onto the table.
“Where did you find this piece of garbage?” he said to Noi, who turned white as a sheet. “I can’t afford idiots, do you understand that? Time is money.”
Noi nodded and looked at Pim, who avoided meeting her gaze.
“Try again,” Noi whispered. “You can do it.”
Pim shook her head slowly.
“You have to!” Noi insisted.
Pim shook her head again. Her lower lip quivered and her eyes watered. She knew that she was lucky, that she should be happy that she had this opportunity. She wasn’t used to good luck, but when Noi told her about the possibility of earning quick, easy money, her heart had leaped in excitement.
“Okay, that’s it! Get out of here!” The man grabbed Pim’s arm and pulled her to standing. “I have plenty of others who want to earn some cash.”
“No! Wait! I want to!” Pim screamed, resisting. “Please, I want to! Let me try again. I can do it.”
The man held her tightly. He glared at her for a moment, at her narrow, bloodshot eyes, red cheeks and compressed lips.
“Prove it!” he said.
With a bottle in one hand, he grabbed her jaw, forced her mouth open and squirted lubricant into her mouth three times.
He held up the capsule.
“Here,” he said.
Pim took it and popped it into her mouth. She attempted to swallow. Poking it with one finger to move it farther back into her mouth, she only gagged more.
She grew more panicked.
She stuck the capsule down her throat again, thrust her chin up. But that only resulted in more gagging.
Her palms were damp with sweat.
She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, poking the capsule as far down her throat as she could.
She swallowed.
Swallowed, swallowed, swallowed.
Slowly, it slid down toward her stomach.
The man clapped his hands together and grinned.
“There you go,” he said. “Only forty-nine left.”
* * *
The first blow was aimed at her head, the second at her throat.
Jana Berzelius deflected Danilo’s fists with her lower arms.
He was in a rage, darting from side to side, trying to land blows from every direction. But she fought against him, got her right fist up, ducked, jabbed with her left and then kicked. She missed but repeated the movements, quicker this time, striking Danilo’s knee. His leg buckled slightly, but he kept his footing. She knew she had to make him lose his balance and fall, so she kicked again—this time at his head. But as she did, he grabbed her foot, wrenching it forcefully to the left. She was twirled around and landed flat on her back on the cold, hard ground. In almost the same movement, she rolled to the side, hands in defensive position, and jumped to her feet.
Danilo was standing completely still in front of her, waiting, his nostrils flaring and teeth bared.
He rushed toward her, throwing himself forward. At the same moment, she bowed her head, holding her fists in front of her face. Using all of her strength, she raised her foot and kicked in defense.
She hit her target.
As Danilo crumpled to the ground, she pounced on top of him and was about to put one knee on his chest when, with a primal roar, he threw his weight around so that they rolled together and he ended up on top. He sat astride her, punching her in the ribs with all of his strength.
Grabbing her hair, Danilo pulled her head toward him, lifting it from the ground. She tried to lift her upper body to lessen the pain, but his weight on her chest made that impossible.
“Why are you following me?” He leaned forward, hissing in her face.
She didn’t answer. She was thinking feverishly: this can’t happen, she couldn’t let him win. She knew far too well what he was capable of. But she was trapped, her arms under his legs. She reached out with her fingertips, trying to find something to defend herself with, but there was only ice and snow.
An unpleasant feeling began to wash over her. She hadn’t counted on ending up on the bottom. She had been intending to ambush him—she’d had the advantage from the beginning.
She clenched her fists and flexed her muscles, summoning all of her energy. Swinging her legs into the air, she drove her knees into his back. Danilo arched backward, losing his grip on her hair. She kneed him again and again, trying unsuccessfully to hook one leg around his neck.
He wouldn’t budge.
He grabbed her hair again.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he snarled, beating her head against the ground.
The pain was incredible. Her vision went black.
He slammed her head against the ground again and again, and she felt how the strength ran out of her body.
“Stay away from me, Jana,” he said.
She heard his voice as if in a fog, far away from her.
She didn’t feel the pain anymore.
A warm wave washed over her, and she realized she was about to lose consciousness.
He raised his fist, holding it near her face without striking her. It was as if he was hesitating. Meeting her gaze, panting, he said something unintelligible that echoed as if in a tunnel.
She heard a shout that seemed to be coming from far away.
“Hey!”
She didn’t recognize the voice.
She tried to move, but the pressure on her chest made it impossible. Fighting to keep her eyelids open, she looked straight into Danilo’s dark eyes.
He glared back at her. “I’m warning you. Follow me one more time and I’ll finish what I started here.”
He held her face a half inch from his.
“One more time and you’ll regret it forever. Understand?”
She did, but was unable to answer.
She felt the pressure on her chest release. The silence told her Danilo was gone.
She coughed violently and rolled to her side, closing her eyes for a long moment...until she thought she heard the unfamiliar voice again.
* * *
Anneli Lindgren laid a plate with two pieces of crispbread on the kitchen table and sat down across from her live-in partner, Gunnar Öhrn. Both worked for the county police, she as a forensic expert; he as a chief investigator.
Steam rose in wisps from their teacups.
“Do you want Earl Grey or this green tea?” she asked.
“Which are you having?”
“Green.”
“I’ll have that, too, then.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“No, but you’re always saying I should drink it.”
She smiled at him and as she opened the tea bags, music came drifting in from Adam’s room. She heard their son singing along.
“He seems to like it here,” she said.
“Do you?”
“Of course.”
She could sense Gunnar’s anxiety in the question, so she answered quickly and without hesitation. It was the only way to avoid any follow-up questions. He was always nervous about everything, overthinking, analyzing, obsessing about things he should have let go of long ago.
“Are you sure? You like it here now?”
“Yes!”
Anneli dropped her tea bag into her cup and let it swell with hot water as she listened to Adam’s voice, the music and lyrics he had memorized, and watched the color from the tea leaves seep into the water, counting the number of times she and Gunnar had lived apart but then together again. It was too many to remember. It might be the tenth time, maybe the twelfth. The only thing she could be sure of was that they had lived together off and on for twenty years.
But it was different now, she tried to convince herself. More comfortable, more relaxed. Gunnar was a good man. Kind, reliable. If he could only stop harping on every little thing.
He rested his hand on hers.
“Otherwise we can try to find a new apartment. Or maybe a town house? We’ve never tried that.”
She pulled her hand away, looking at him without bothering to voice an answer. She knew the look on her face was enough.
“Okay,” he said, “I get it. You’re happy here.”
“So stop nagging.”
She sipped her tea, noting that there were approximately ninety seconds left of the song Adam was playing. One guitar solo and then the refrain three times.
“What do you think about the meeting with the National Crime Squad tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’m not thinking anything in particular. They can come to whatever conclusion they want. We did a very good job.”
“But I don’t understand why Anders Wester would come here anyway. I have nothing to say to him.”
“What? That really sexy guy is coming?”
She couldn’t help teasing him. There was something in his unnecessary worry, his jealousy, that she got a kick out of. But she regretted it immediately.
He glared at her.
“I’m only kidding,” she said.
“Do you really think so?”
“That he’s handsome? Yes, at one time I did.”
She tried to look nonchalant, amused.
“But not anymore?” he asked.
“Oh, stop it,” she said.
“Just so I know.”
“Stop! Drink your tea.”
“Are you sure?”
“Stop nagging!”
She heard the guitar solo. Then Adam’s voice singing the refrain.
Gunnar got up and poured the contents of his teacup into the sink.
“What are you doing?” Anneli asked.
“I don’t like green tea,” he said, heading for the bathroom.
She sighed, at Gunnar and at the music she could barely stand. But she didn’t want to end the evening with yet another argument. Not now, when they had just decided to try living together again.
She was already tired.
So tired.
* * *
“Hello? Are you okay?”
Robin Stenberg knelt down beside the woman who was lying on the ground in the fetal position. The chain from his ripped jeans clattered as it touched the hard concrete. He saw she was bleeding heavily from the back of her head and was just about to poke her when she opened her eyes.
“I saw everything,” he said. “I saw him. He went that way.”
He pointed toward the river, his hand trembling.
The woman tried to shake her head.
“Ffff...ffeh...ehlll,” she tried to say, her voice thick.
“No,” he said. “You didn’t fall. You were attacked. We have to call the police.”
He got up and dug around in his cargo pockets, looking for his cell phone.
“Nuuuh...” she said.
“Shit, you’re bleeding really bad,” he said. “You need an ambulance or something.”
He paced back and forth, unable to stand still.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he repeated.
The woman moved a little, coughing.
“Don’t...call,” she whispered.
He found his phone and typed in the passcode to unlock it.
The woman coughed again.
“Don’t call,” she said again, clearer this time.
He didn’t hear her as he typed in the emergency number. Just as he was about to hit the green call button, his phone disappeared from his hand.
“What the...”
It took a few seconds before he understood what had happened.
She had gotten up and now stood before him with his cell in her hand. Blood was dripping down from her head over her left ear.
“I said you shouldn’t call.”
For a moment, he thought it was a joke. But when he saw her threatening look, he understood that she was serious. He saw how she was examining him and despite being fully dressed, he felt almost naked.
Her eyes swept quickly over him, noting his black hat, heavily lined eyes, tattoo of eight small stars on his temple, pierced lower lip, lined denim jacket and worn-out military boots.
“What’s your name?” she asked, more a command than a question.
“R-Robin Stenberg,” he stammered.
“Okay, Robin,” she said. “Just so we understand each other, I fell and hit my head. Nothing more.”
In shock, he nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“Good. Take this now and go.”
The woman tossed his cell to him. He caught it clumsily, stumbling backward a few steps and began to run.
It wasn’t until he was inside his apartment on Spelmansgatan and had locked the door behind him that the magnitude of what he had just witnessed sunk in.
