Free The Collector by Kay Jaybee

you up. Come on, you need coffee.’
    Kit began to tug against his grip. She knew exactly how he’d got so dirty, and struggled to get free as he hooked a giant hand under her armpit and propelled her towards the joke of a café at the end of the street. ‘Let go you bastard. Just let go!!’
‘Ok.’ He stopped in the middle of the road and let go of her.
    She crumpled and hit the deck. ‘Do I prove my point?’
‘Whatever.’ Kit wasn’t even sure why she cared. After all, surely
the worst had happened. She’d worked off her debt. After surviving
that she wasn’t sure why the hell she was worried about being taken
for coffee. He was alone; that in itself was an improvement on last
night.
As she sat down on the cracked plastic chair she watched him
order two black coffees and an extra espresso. The shadeless light
cast a feeble beam around the room. Kit’s fingers landed in one of
the various sticky patches on the table. Gross. She knew she needed
to eat soon, but she was damn sure she couldn’t bring herself to eat
here.
‘You enjoyed last night, didn’t you.’ He spoke as though it was
an undeniable fact.
‘What!’ She spat the word. ‘I had no fuckin’ choice did I!’ ‘You could’ve paid Mickey.’
‘With what exactly?’
He stared at her. Her roots were beginning to show, she wasn’t
as blonde as she pretended to be, and the clothes she wore weren’t
quite designer. ‘ Knock- offs ,’ he thought.
‘You should turn tricks.’ His eyes were looking beyond her
clothes now. She felt as though she was being x-rayed.
‘I didn’t enjoy it.’ Kit realised she sounded sulky, like a spoilt
teenager. ‘I had no choice, not if I wanted to stay alive.’ They sat in silence. Kit downed her espresso after a few
mouthfuls of her accompanying Americano. It felt bitter, and she
had to gag to stop herself throwing it back up again.
‘You enjoyed it.’ It was said as a final statement. This time she
didn’t argue.
Kit looked at her companion more carefully. Not her usual type,
but then her usual type always screwed her over in the end. This guy
had screwed her over already, or at least his mate had; he’d simply
joined in. ‘I’m hungry, where can I get cheap food?’
‘Here?’ He gestured to the smudged blackboard declaring fat
with everything.
‘Not here.’
‘Okay, but there isn’t anywhere else. You are coming home with
me.’ He pulled his bulky frame out of the sticky plastic seat and
walked to the door. She followed. Why not?
His flat was not as bare as she would have thought it might have
been, but what amazed her most was how clean and tidy it was. He
smiled at her obvious surprise. ‘You expected a re-run of that
craphole we just had coffee in perhaps?’
‘Yes. You don’t give the impression of being house-proud.’ Kit
regarded his unkempt appearance and tried to square it with the
men from last night; but last night, she had to admit, was very much
a jumble of sounds, faces and discomfort. Kit couldn’t honestly have
said what part he’d played.
She had owed rent to the guy that owned the dump she lived in.
The dump she existed in would be a better description. He’d warned
her, but still she hadn’t been able to get enough money together. So
he’d told her she had to pay another way, before he “dealt with the
situation.” Kit knew his reputation and seriously did not want to
know what that meant, so she’d done as he instructed and walked
into town.
Sat at the bar smashing back Tequila shots, she’d guessed what
would happen next; but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the fact until
it actually did, just in case, by some miracle her landlord had
developed a hitherto unseen nice side. No chance.
He’d had a sickeningly false smile when he finally came in. ‘This
way.’ He picked her up by the elbow and propelled her into the pool
room. There were at least six guys around the edge of the poorly lit
table, maybe more. They looked at her with pure greed. ‘ You knew
this