“We don’t have any money here” was the first thing she thought to say. “You did,” replied the taller of the two men, pressing the barrel of his gun against the back of my head, forcing my face down. “Or, he did, at least. Our money, and a lot of it.”
“There’s a TV, laptops. Just take what you want and go.” she said, a picture of trembling defiance in her negligee, silhouetted in the kitchen doorway, one hand steadying herself against the frame, fingers tight, tips pressed to the painted wood. “Not even close to enough, sweetie,” he answered. “And besides, we aren’t here to collect. Your little boyfriend here is going to be an example to what happens to people that don’t take their debts seriously.” The barrel was an oppressive presence against my scalp, I visualized my brain meat spread across the floor, my fingernails pulled out, bones twisted to cracking. My heart was beyond racing, it quivered in my chest, a cold flush running over me.