Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I watch her go, my heart like a stone. She won’t ever understand—how could she, when she’s never experienced any of this before?
But I’ve seen it before. I know what it does to a person and how it can rip a family into pieces.
“That one doesn’t like me,” Rodrick says as he sinks the needle into his arm. “Ah, darling, that’s like coming home.”
“That one doesn’t like intravenous drug use and neither do I, but I don’t feel like you puking in the car on the way over. Don’t overdo it, I need you mobile.”
“Yes, right,” he says and sighs, leaning back. “Perhaps I need a break for a moment. Just a little shut-eye before we go.” He grins happily in the throes of the drug.
I remove the needle, pull off the band, and slap him hard.
He blinks at me and barely reacts, even though I hit him with enough force to make his face snap to the side.
I sigh and drag him out of bed. He’s a big guy, even if he is emaciated from years of hard drug use. He’s got no bag, no extra clothes, nothing but a messy hotel room filled with trash and drugs, and I definitely don’t want to know the details of this little arrangement.
“Listen, bud, I don’t know you at all,” I say as I pull him out the door and into the sunlight. The poor bastard hisses like a vampire and I wonder if he’s seen the outdoors in weeks. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful guy. Real charmer. But unfortunately, you got mixed up with the wrong director. I’m pretty sure Cowan’s going to get us all killed by the end of this.”
I pause at the top of the stairwell. Rodrick’s looking at me, glassy-eyed and spaced. Down below, Blair’s got the car running.
I grab Rodrick’s face and make sure he’s listening.
“If you fuck with the girl, I’ll kill you myself.”
He smiles awkwardly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I pull him downstairs, shove him in the back of the car, and Blair drives off, glaring like she’s going to rip up the road with her mind the whole way.
Chapter 11
Blair
“I didn’t agree to this.”
I jab a finger at Cowan. He steps back, barely avoiding me as I keep poking at him, barely keeping myself from throwing punches. The piece of human filth deserves to get beaten up or worse. Behind us, down the hall, Baptist is looking after Rodrick as the addict gets something to eat, takes a decent shower, and changes into clean clothes for what looks like the first time in a couple weeks.
“Nobody asked you to agree, suit. I couldn’t care less what you think of my methods. I will say that Rodrick was much worse off before I found him.”
I hesitate, breathing hard. “Worse off how?”
“Homeless. Desperate. I’m sure you can imagine the story. I plucked him from the streets, gave him shelter in that hotel, and made sure he had a stipend for food. He’s alive because of me.”
“He’s still an addict. He’s a goddamn mess.”
“Addicts can function. They can act. If they’re given the right amount of drugs, they can do almost anything, so long as they keep withdrawal at bay. The war on drugs—”
“I don’t want to hear your bullshit theories on American drug policy, you psychopath.” I stand there breathing hard, tugging at my hair. What am I involved in now? Cowan’s looking at me with a grim smile like he knows I’m going to break down, and the bastard’s right.
I’m going to break down.
I can’t handle this. I’m pregnant, still working with the father of my baby, and he doesn’t know. We also slept together, again, which was a terrible idea, but we did it anyway. And to make it all worse, Baptist insists on talking about it this time instead of pretending like it didn’t happen.
Cowan wins. I turn away and storm back to the room with the director on my heels. We head inside and find Baptist near the window, looking angry, while Rodrick sits on the bed in a clean robe with his legs crossed, flipping through the channels on TV.
“Roddy, darling.” Cowan greets his actor effusively like they’re standing in the middle of a Hollywood soundstage. “You look wonderful.”
“I look like a homeless junkie, Cowan. But that’s not far from the truth.” He grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Now, did you bring me my medicine?”
“Always.” Cowan reaches into his pack and removes a little baggie—
“Oh, fuck no,” Baptist says, coming forward, and for the first time since we met, Rodrick shows a flash of anger and snatches the drugs, gripping them tightly. “Cowan. You’re supplying him too?”
“You remember my South Philly friends,” Cowan says, gesturing toward me. “They also sold me heroin.”
“Good heroin, not that fentanyl-laced shit. I don’t feel like dying.” Rodrick stands. “Now, shall I cook here, or—?”