Detective Ruben Ellis, consumed by despair, wants to die—but not before
finding the man who kidnapped and murdered his daughter. Meanwhile,
another victim is trapped in a sinister underground dystopia. With little
will left, can Ruben save her in time? His partner, Zander, and therapist,
Melissa, must help him navigate a mystery as dark and hidden as the
gold mines beneath Johannesburg. As they dig deeper, they confront the
mind-bending truth about Thing—the tormented figure in the basement.
Now You Suffer is a chilling, unforgettable thriller and the first in Gareth
Crocker's riveting new Ruben Ellis series.
Prologue
White River, South Africa
The junkyard car, a rusted sedan, dangled from the top of the crane like a dead beetle at the end of a spider’s silk. The old hoist was anchored down between a row of trees on the edge of a forest. Stowed inside the boot of the vehicle was something that had the power to turn dark everything that once glimmered and shone.
More powerful than any bomb.
A payload of blood, skin and bone.
A seven-year-old girl.
Detective Ruben Ellis stepped forward, his eyes tracking the car as it swayed and groaned in the wind above the treetops. Feeling his fingers tighten around the rucksack, he forced himself to look away and instead fix his gaze on a two-toned red-and-black Ford Ranger idling in the shadows behind the crane. As Ruben worked to steady his breathing, his phone rang.
“Hello, Detective. Thank you so much for coming,” the voice announced in a mock courteous tone. “I know it’s cold, but I’m going to need you to take off your clothes and slowly turn around for me.”
Ruben glared at the Ford’s darkened windscreen before doing as he was told.
He first removed his jacket and then his shirt before discarding his boots and jeans. Standing in his underwear, he raised his arms in a crucifixion pose and slowly pivoted on his heels to show that he wasn’t carrying a weapon. At two metres tall and almost a hundred and twenty kilograms, Ruben looked more like a heavyweight cage fighter or a Springbok loose forward than a member of law enforcement. His body bore the scars of a life lived not at the edge of a chasm, but one step beyond that. He’d been shot twice and stabbed multiple times. His right shoulder was pockmarked with shrapnel from a hand-grenade blast and one of his ribs was missing, courtesy of a twenty-metre plummet through a warehouse ceiling. He had lost track of how many bones he had broken. Some of his injuries were the result of his time spent in the South African Special Forces Brigade, but most came later, working as a detective in the murder capital of the world.
Ruben ignored the cold wind whipping against his skin and returned the phone to his ear. The voice continued. “I know all about your training, Detective. But you need to recognise that you have no power here. I am the rainmaker. If you do anything – anything to make me nervous I will push a button and your daughter will drop two hundred and thirty feet to her death. Are we clear?”
“We’re clear,” Ruben replied in a clipped voice, betraying none of the rage and anxiety clawing at his throat.
“Good. That’s good. Now pick up the bag and start walking.”
As Ruben reached for the rucksack and stepped forward, he quickly scanned his surroundings. He was looking for telltale flashes of metal or glass, anything to suggest that the kidnapper wasn’t alone. He needed to figure out what he was up against. Special Forces had taught him the value of observation, a skill he had honed over the years. It had saved his life, and the lives of others, on numerous occasions.
“Close enough,” the voice returned. “Now drop the money and step back.”
Ruben drew to a halt and tossed down the rucksack. Then he started to backpedal.
After a few seconds, the door to the Ford opened and a man of average height stepped out. He was dressed in blue denim and a black bomber jacket, his face covered by a sinister-looking ram’s head, complete with rubber horns and red plastic eyes. He held a silver pistol in his left hand and the remote for the crane in his right. Then Ruben spotted something else. The man’s gait. Not exactly a limp, more a lack of flexibility in the hips. Likely the result of some kind of accident. He was also wearing motorcycle boots. Ruben immediately began to construct a picture in his head.
Left-handed … biker … probably a member of a motorcycle gang … serious injury to the hips or spine … accent consistent with someone raised in the south or east of the city.
It was a decent starting point.
As the kidnapper edged towards the money, his eyes flicked left and right, checking the trees for movement. He never thought to look above the trees, however, to the top of a distant hill where Ruben’s partner and former army sniper, Zander Malan, was lying on his stomach under a tarp – the scope of his Barrett M82 rifle tracking the kidnapper’s every step.
“Ruben stopped breathing, transfixed at the sight of the falling car.
Of his falling child.”
The hidden earpiece in Ruben’s ear crackled to life.
“Seventy per cent,” Zander said in a low voice.
“Negative,” Ruben whispered, barely moving his lips.
“Copy,” Zander replied, his finger shadowing the trigger.
As the kidnapper reached the rucksack and snatched it up, Zander spoke again. “Eighty per cent.”
Again Ruben resisted. “No.”
The kidnapper then quickly retreated, making his way back to the Ford, glancing over his shoulder as he moved. “Good boy,” he yelled. “You’re doing great.”
Ruben wanted to tell the man to go and fuck himself, but said nothing.
“If he gets in that fucking truck, it’s the flip of a coin,” Zander warned.
Ruben felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. He couldn’t take the chance. “Hold your fire.”
Despite every synapse in his brain urging him to take action, Ruben watched on helplessly as the kidnapper emptied the money onto the backseat of the truck before hurling the rucksack away. Stepping up to the driver’s door, he turned to look at Ruben one last time.
“You know what, Detective?” he called out, slowly shaking his head. “You really fucked up this time.”
With that, he raised his right arm and did the unthinkable. He pushed the button on the remote to release the catch at the top of the crane.
Then everything happened at once:
There was a loud click and the junkyard sedan began to tumble through the air.
Zander took his shot, clipping the kidnapper in the neck.
Ruben stopped breathing, transfixed at the sight of the falling car.
Of his falling child.
The kidnapper, eyes wide, clutched at his neck before disappearing into the Ford.
The plummeting sedan smashed into the ground with enough force that the surrounding trees shed their pine cones. As Zander unloaded more shots, Ruben ran. His vision narrowed. All he could see was the mangled wreck, lying buckled and twisted on its roof.
Devouring the ground in front of him, Ruben thought he could hear his daughter’s screams. He would only later realise that they had been his own.
Unable to access the boot, he shoved his hands through the shattered window of the back passenger door and began to rock the vehicle. The metal popped and groaned in protest. Then Ruben drove his shoulder into the side of the vehicle and pushed with everything he had. The sedan rose and then fell onto its side. Ruben scrambled around to the boot.
“Kayla! Kayla! I’m here!” He yanked at the handle.
When the boot refused to open, he began kicking at the lock. When that didn’t work, he dropped to his knees and pounded on the lid with his elbows and fists.
Finally, the lock gave up its hold and the boot sprung open. Struggling to see through his tears, Ruben reached in blindly, grappling through the darkened interior. Then he stopped. Wait, that made no sense. How could the boot be empty?
He hadn’t even considered that.
Stripped bare of its carpet and insulation, three words had been spraypainted in red on the rusted metal. A phrase that would prove to be a death sentence.
Now You Suffer.
PART 1
KAYLA ELLIS
The sun had only just risen when Kayla Ellis leapt onto her father’s bed and began tugging at his arm. “Up, up, up! Wake up, Daddy! Wake up!” she sang. “It’s my birthday day.”
Ruben kept his eyes screwed shut and groaned. “What are you talking about? It’s not your birthday day.”
“It is! It is! I’m six-years-old now.”
Ruben cracked open an eye. “That’s impossible. If you’re six that means I must be forty. I don’t want to be forty.”
“Daddy, get up!” Kayla pleaded, now pulling at her father’s elbow. “I want to open my present.”
Ruben pulled a face. “What makes you think I bought you a present?”
“Because you love me.”
“What if I forgot?”
“You can’t forget to love someone.”
“No, I mean what if I forgot to buy you something?”
Kayla scrunched up her nose. “Then I’d be really sad and you’d be a horrible daddy.”
Ruben considered her words and then sat up. He smiled at her. “I don’t want you to be sad.”
“Is it a bike?” Kayla asked, unable to contain her excitement. “The one we saw at the shop? With the ribbons?”
Ruben wiped his eyes and then turned serious. “You’re still too little for a bike. We’ve spoken about this.”
“The brutal kidnapping and murder of a precious seven-year-old. A little girl who, more than anything, loved to ride her bike.”
“But we can put those little wheels on. I won’t ride fast. I promise!”
“Angel, listen to me. It’s my job to keep you safe. What if you fall and break an arm?”
“But you break lots of stuff! You always tell me it doesn’t matter.”
Ruben smiled to himself. He couldn’t deny it. “Well, it’s really painful and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
As Kayla’s shoulders sagged and her chin dropped, Ruben reached out and squeezed her hand. “Hey, I tell you what. Why don’t you fetch me my shoes and we’ll go to the living room and see what we can find?”
Dejected, Kayla lifted her head and nodded slightly. “Okay.”
“Good girl,” Ruben replied, using his thumb to wipe her fringe out of her eyes.
Kayla slipped off the mattress and looked down for her father’s shoes.
“They’re under the bed,” Ruben said.
Kayla let out a small huff and then lowered onto her haunches. As she lifted the edge of the blanket, something pink and silver glinted back at her through the gloom. Her eyes locked onto the ribbons fixed to the bicycle’s handlebars. Her mouth dropped open. “My bike! My bike!” she screamed. “It’s my bike!”
Ruben peered over the edge of the bed and smiled down at her. “Happy birthday, Angel.”
“I love you, Daddy! I love you sooo much!”
“Love you too, big girl.”
As Kayla reached for the bike, Ruben climbed off the bed and helped her pull it out. When he had lifted the gleaming bmx onto its wheels and straightened the handlebar, Kayla clamped her hands over her mouth and let out a squeal.
“So I’m guessing you like it?” Ruben asked.
“I love it! I love it! I love it!” she replied, throwing her arms around Ruben’s waist and squeezing hard. She then reached for the handlebars and hoisted herself onto the seat. Her eyes lit up and she smiled broadly. But then, just as suddenly, her excitement appeared to dim a fraction.
“What is it?” Ruben asked. “Something wrong?”
Kayla fell silent for a moment and then looked out the window at the morning sky. “Will Mommy be able to watch me ride?”
Ruben followed her gaze and felt his stomach tighten. “Of course she will. She sees you every day. I promise.”
But when he turned back to Kayla, she was no longer there. And he wasn’t in his bedroom any more. He was standing out in the street, staring at a burning building. An abandoned factory that had been set alight to destroy all evidence linking it to the brutal kidnapping and murder of a precious seven-year-old. A little girl who, more than anything, loved to ride her bike.
Ruben sprinted for the building, preparing to catapult himself into the blaze, but was tackled first by his partner, Zander, and then by half a dozen cops and firefighters who faced the battle of their lives to restrain him.
Zander kept screaming. “She’s gone, Ruben! She’s gone! You can’t save her! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!”
His words were like razor blades in an echo chamber.
They cut. And cut. And cut.
*
As always, the dream hollowed Ruben out in a way that made him feel as though his organs had been scooped out with a shovel. It had been more than a year since Kayla’s murder and yet the nightmare persisted unabated. He would’ve ended his life months ago, if it wasn’t for one crucial thing keeping him alive. His all-consuming obsession with finding his daughter’s killer. So much of his waking time was spent imagining what he would do to the man. The violence he would bring. The torture.
As he pulled himself up in bed, the alarm on his mobile began to chime. He turned it off and plodded to the bathroom. Towards another interminable day in an interminable life, one he was desperate to escape. All he wanted was to be back with his wife and daughter. There was nothing else. To see their faces and hear their voices. To apologise to his wife. To own up to his part in their stalled marriage. To somehow try to make amends for the horrible thing he had done to her. And to hold his precious daughter and tell her how much he loved her. And how sorry he was for failing her.
But that would have to wait.
Until the monster could be caught.
Extracted from Now You Suffer by Gareth Crocker, out now.
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