Penguin Random House SA has shared an excerpt from Now You Suffer, the new novel from Gareth Crocker!

Now You Suffer is a chilling, unforgettable thriller and the first in Crocker’s riveting new Ruben Ellis series.

This is a gripping, mind-bending novel that will pull you deep into the darkness …

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.

Read an excerpt:

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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.

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.

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• Extracted from Now You Suffer by Gareth Crocker, out now from Penguin Random House SA!

 

Categories Fiction South Africa

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