The Debt Collector Read online

  The Debt Collector

  Celia Crown

  Copyright © 2019 by Celia Crown

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are from the author's imagination or folklore, legends, and general myths.

  The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, and locales, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.

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  Editor: Syeda Erum Fatima Naqvi

  Contents

  Copyright

  The Debt Collector

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilouge

  Author’s other works!

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  The Debt Collector

  by Celia Crown

  Rebecca

  He’s big, he’s angry, and he does not have the patience to let me off the hook for whatever I did.

  I’m willing to dabble in black magic and call upon Satan himself to sell my soul to him just so I don’t have to be on the receiving end of Mr. Strangely Sexy’s very powerful hands.

  Apparently, I owe him money, and he’s going to take it back with interest.

  A debt comes with a high price, and he is more interested in me than the money.

  He’s going to take everything: my body, my soul, and my heart.

  I don’t want to stop him. Not that I can anyway; he’s a brute and a grouchy, old man who takes what he wants.

  Derek

  She’s a young, voluptuous girl with a rat’s nest for hair and skittish eyes. She’s ripe for a night of passion under me.

  She owes me two hundred thousand dollars in loans, and I have every intention of taking the money back through different means.

  I want her to be in debt with me forever. This way, she can’t escape no matter how hard she tries.

  What better way to chain her to me than make her pay off her debt through the means of my choice?

  Rebecca Shaw will have to get used to this older and stringer man taking control of her life.

  Love at fight sight is joke, but my obsession for her is not.

  Chapter One

  Rebecca

  “You should have seen him! He’s so sexy, oh my god, the twin of David Gandy!”

  I have nothing against older men. I think some of them are very attractive, but the way my campus dorm roommate is squealing over a nameless man in her bed is not the best sight to see.

  “The future Chris Hemsworth, the cousin of George Clooney, the reflection of Jon Kortajarena!”

  I scratch on the notebook with my pen. The chair under my butt is starting to hurt at how long I have been sitting here doing this freaking long assignment that Professor ‘I-Do-Not-Accept-Excuses’ Gomez demands to be submitted by tonight.

  “Sure,” I answer back.

  I need to concentrate on the last couple of edits in my citations before I deem it good enough for submission.

  “Why aren’t you excited?” Moira’s tone indicates a pout, and I throw the document into the submission box and click the button that seals my fate.

  “I have no idea what he looks like,” I said, twirling the chair around and supporting my chin on my arms.

  “I just told you!” she gasps, swimming her legs under her as she kneels with her excited movements.

  “He’s a God walking amongst us mortals,” she sighs, wrapping her arms around her body and squealing out loud.

  “You just dropped a couple of names. Why do you expect me to know what he looks like?” I roll my eyes.

  She takes personal offense to it, “You don’t know menswear models? How dare you call yourself a friend of the great Moira Mendez.”

  “You’re not that great if you’re not related to Shawn Mendez.” I stand up from the chair and stretch.

  “I wish,” she snorts, “Why do you know him but not George Clooney?”

  “His songs are always playing in campus, and I do recognize George Clooney.” I tie my hair up in a bun as the May weather in Florida is ridiculously hot.

  “And yet, you have no reaction to me seeing a man that could rival the legendary silver fox,” her jaw drops.

  “What do you want me to say?” I raise an eyebrow, fanning my shirt to ease the heat off my skin. “I’m not attracted to him.”

  There’s sweat under my boobs, and it’s grossly sticky. It’s not even afternoon yet and the sun is stronger than ever. I don’t need this much Vitamin D; I’ll roast under the sun before I could tan.

  “You—what… oh, heavenly Jesus, save me from this alien,” Moira prays with her hands clasping together and in a kneeling position on her bed.

  “He’s not my type,” I try to explain.

  Once Moira is on a roll with her words, no one can stop that big mouth. She said it’s good for sucking dick, and I still don’t know what to do with that piece of information.

  “He’s everyone’s type,” she scowls.

  “Gosh, the way he walks is like he owns this shitty campus. He exudes power and dominance when he stands in the middle of the open space. If he wasn’t so goddamn gorgeous, I would have pushed him away, but he isn’t your typical douchebag frat boy.”

  I nod to her, not listening any further as I slip on a pair of socks that are hidden under the bed mattress. I have stopped wondering how things get to places where they shouldn’t be; I found a fork in Moira’s makeup bag last week, and it didn’t cross my mind that it’s not supposed to be there.

  “I want to tap his ass, or he could throw me on the floor and we can have sex like wild animals. I’m open to both scenarios, and you can join us too, Becca.”

  I look up briefly, “No, thank you.”

  She falls on her bed, rolling to her side. “You’re going to die a virgin.”

  “At least it won’t be another frat boy heartbreak.” I throw back at her, and she whines in pain as she fists her shirt above her heart.

  “Don’t bring that up to me. I have sworn off those little boys!” There’s a fire in her determined eyes, “I’m more suited for older men, like the one who’s George Clooney’s twin.”

  “That is if he wants you,” I point out blatantly, standing to wiggle my toes in my socks.

  “I’m going to lock you out of our room if you keep destroying my steamy fantasy of him bursting through this door and kissing me senseless,” Moira threatens crankily.

  I tug on the strands of red hair that’s too tight in the bun, “Why don’t you just go find him and tell him that you want to tap his ass. I believe those were your words.”

  Moira jerks up, her beautifully brown skin glistening in pure gold as the sun hits her through the window. I can see why so many men are attracted to Moira, she’s absolutely gorgeous with her Hawaiian descendent traits.

  Moira likes to party with everyone, and sometimes, she would go home with a man or a woman, sometimes both if the other parties are up to it. She doesn’t mind being attracted to both genders as long as they don’t make fun of me for being a little on the fuller side; that’s the line that no one can cross because she would fight them if she hears about it.

  I have been made fun of all the time for being bigger than the swimsuit-clad women, especially because Florida markets being thin and tall. I’m neither,
and I’m fine with it., I have lived with it for the past years of my life, and it gets easier to hear through the mouths of older people.

  Maybe they’re worried and want to remind me that this is a city of beauty, or maybe they are just mean.

  Going to college is a weird experience. I really thought that people will judge me again. I was proven wrong when I saw gorgeous women walking around in summer clothing and flaunting their curves without a care to the world.

  I think they are truly stunning with their confidence.

  Well, that’s another thing I don’t have.

  Until I met Moira, no one had called me beautiful. She said it with so much awe and amazement when she first met me in our dorm, and it was the first time I felt genuinely myself for a few seconds.

  “But, Becca,” Moira wheedles, giving me a pout that instantly kills whatever plan I had of going out. “He’s mean. It’s part of his charm, but he’s so freaking scary. His face is in a permeant scowl, like to Scrooge!”

  “But he’s hot,” I remind her.

  Her eyes narrow, “Yes, he is. I need to take this chance. I’ll regret it if I don’t.”

  Moira nods definitively to herself, “If I try to back down, you have my permission to punch me in my lungs because I’ll probably lose my breath over how angelic he looks.”

  “I thought you said he looks mean; shouldn’t he relate to the devil more?” I laugh.

  “He’s got this complicated aura; I can’t explain it. A façade of an angel above a devil, a body of sinner, and a voice with panty-dropping deepness.”

  I extend her a helping hand, and she takes it to roll off the bed, “You need to lay off the literature books.”

  “I can’t,” she grumpily huffs, “I need to read them for my classes.”

  I hum, “Well, you could use the distraction so why don’t we go find your mystery man?”

  “You’d do that for me?” her eyes brighten, a smile spreads on her face.

  “Yes,” I affirm, letting her latch onto me while her body heat burns with mine. “You have to get rid of your dry-spell soon, or you’ll be a nymphomaniac.”

  Moira moves fast, throwing her clothes off and running naked around the room to get the most revealing outfit that she knows works on everyone who came across her. It’s a tight red dress that’s redder than my hair. It compliments her golden skin tone as she pads towards the mirror hanging on the closet cabinet door.

  Her big waves hang to one side, and she swipes a bold lipstick over her lips. She poses in a couple of ways to get the best angle to show the man she’s nonstop talking about.

  I’m kind of curious as to what he looks like. Moira likes sex and she has high standards, so everyone who she takes for the night is beautiful, but for her to go swooning over a man is a first for me. I have never seen her so out of her mind for a round of sex that she’s putting on dangerously-high heels.

  Hooker heels, I mentally snort.

  We always make fun of those heels because she had dubbed them ‘Hooker Heels.’ She wears them when she really wants to impress someone; they make her legs look miles long and toned.

  “I assume you’re not coming back tonight?” I ask, putting on my tennis shoes.

  I have some errands to run, and I need to restock on feminine hygiene products. While she’s off having a scandalous roll in the hays, I can get on with my day of classes and buying food to withstand the weeks of final exams.

  I can already feel the headache coming from future studying sessions.

  “How do I look?” Moira spins on her heels, smiling widely with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

  Her predatory hunger is coming out; I feel bad for the man who has her attention. She can be intense at times, and not everyone can keep up with her. Rumors around the campus tell a very vivid story of her prowess.

  “There’s no way he’ll be able to resist you,” I said, giving her a thumbs up and tapping my shoe on the floor for a better fit.

  “We have to go now. If he’s gone, I would never see his lovely ass again.”

  I let her drag me out of our room and pass some of the students in the common recreational area for the elevator. A couple of wolf whistles and a holler of offers come from students jokingly while Moira turns her head to blow kisses at them.

  I look over to see them pretend to get shot with the arrow and fall back onto the ground; some pretended to faint from her beauty. I try not to laugh at everyone’s playfulness. It’s known around campus that Sandy Hall is the dorm where all the comedians and carefree people reside.

  The elevator descends down quickly, and I glance down at my shoes; they’re old but still functional. My shorts and a t-shirt are my daily outfit. I have no one to impress by dressing up in clothes that are more expensive than my tuition.

  The good thing loans help out, so I am able stay all four years. This is my final semester before graduation, and I need to get through final exams to be at the graduation ceremony.

  I honestly thought this last semester was going to be the easiest one for me because I have taken all my core classes, which leaves electives to fill in the required credit score that I need. For some reason, these classes are so hard, and I know that online professor reviews are not reliable, but this is ridiculous.

  I was lied to when one of the classes had a one-point score for difficulty, but it ended up being the worst thing I have ever taken. I’m stressed every time I step foot into that lecture hall, and I’m sure other students agree with me too.

  Moira drags me towards the common area where students are sunbathing in the sun.; Some are studying under the harsh glare of the light while a band is playing soft classical music.

  It’s a nice atmosphere to immerse myself into. If I had the time after I run my errands, I’d like to sleep in the shades while being surrounded by the warmth of the sun.

  “Okay, the last time I saw him was when he was walking down this way.” Moira points at the wide area.

  One student near us hears the conversation, “You mean that brooding hot dude?”

  A thought plagues me: why would a man who is so hot that the students are talking about him and old enough to be my dad walk around campus where there are more young people than the raves.

  He could be a new professor or a student getting his degree. It makes me wonder if he’s a doctorate student because they are almost always older than other students.

  The possibilities of who he is could be endless.

  The voice of the student becomes a pitch higher with unnecessary coos. He giggles with a slur. “Oh, my handsome man went that way.”

  He points to a direction that leads to the art building. I could imagine him as some funky art professor. It wouldn’t be the first time I have seen a professor who doesn’t match the stereotypical job description.

  “Thanks!” Moira screams over her shoulder as she attempts to run but also not fall on her face. I stay behind her just in case her ankle gives out from her heels.

  “Okay, okay. Quickly, I have to see my dream man. Oh Jesus, I know I have been a thot my whole life, but give me this chance!” Her tight dress rides up her thighs, and I bite my lips to not laugh.

  “Maybe you should talk less and walk more,” I suggest.

  She frowns and shows me her tongue; it’s rather childish and I did it back to her.

  “You try walking in these—” her voice creaks off, and I hear the most disgusting gasp ever.

  Moira stops, and I do too. I follow her eyes to the man who does live up to her hype.

  A silver fox; older, peppered hair, and a suit that can barely contain his massive body and bulging muscles. I can feel the power he radiates even from the distance between us, but what makes me stop breathing is when he meets my eyes over Moira’s bold red dress.

  His grey eyes darken.

  I dart my eyes somewhere else. I can understand why Moira thinks this man is grouchy. His face is handsomely unapproachable, and his body language wards off other people who want to approac
h him.

  His suit is utterly sinful on him, and I can’t ignore the ring of tattoos on his arms with his dark button-up shirt rolled to the elbows. Muscles rip from his forearms, and I hate to think about what is under his dress shirt, probably more defined muscles.

  It’d only make sense if he’s strong all over. Having burly arms and a puny body creates an awkward picture in my head. I laugh hiding my face in my hand as I focus on Moira’s hyperventilating breathing.

  I pat her back, and she seems to recognize my touch, relaxing and fixing her posture as the man walks up to her.

  A spark of envy hits me, but self-consciousness laughs in my face for being unattractive.

  “Go get him, tiger,” I whisper in a low voice, turning my body to the other direction.

  Walking away with his heavy gaze on my back is hard. I’m conscious of the way I walk and the way my body feels. I risk a glance backward and my throat closes; he’s keeping his eyes on me.

  I saw them from a distance, and it’s not hard to see the distinguishable color of his eyes, but the closer he gets, the clearer it gets.

  That doesn’t negate the hammering in my ribs at his scowling face.

  I turn away and take in a shaky breath.

  He’s intense.

  Looks angry too, I told myself.

  I don’t know how Moira is going to handle a man who is so intense that he could set my hair on fire, but I doubt she would complain about his rough treatment.

  “Rebecca Shaw.”

  I freeze at his baritone, velvety voice that sends shivers down my spine. It resonates in my head, and I mentally shake that effect on me and push my head up to pretend that I did not hear him.

  “You’re mine.”

  As Moira said, ‘If a situation is bad, you have to nope out of there.”

  That’s exactly what I did; I turned the corner and into another building. The smell of charcoal hits me, and I realize that it’s the art building, which means the man probably came out of here.

  I don’t know how he knows my name, but I’m not staying longer than I have to. He’s a bit too much for me to handle. One look and I was about to faint from how scary he is, and I thought Professor Gomez was bad.