Lover Awakened (Black Dagger Brotherhood #3)(135)

“Rally, I want three hundred worth of Queen up here. Make sure it’s fine-granule.” The Reverend eased back in his chair. “Straight up, I don’t think you should take that kind of powder home with you. You don’t need that shit.”

“Not that I’d take any direction from you, but you told me I should go hard-core.”

“I retract that comment.”

“I thought symphaths didn’t have a conscience.”

“I’m half my mother’s boy, too. So I have a little.”

“Aren’t you lucky.”

The Reverend’s chin dipped down, and his eyes flashed pure, purple evil for a split second. Then he smiled. “No…all the rest of you are fortunate.”

Rally arrived moments later, and the transaction didn’t take long. The folded packet fit neatly in Phury’s inside breast pocket.

As he was leaving the Reverend said, “That stuff is very pure. Dead pure. You can sprinkle it in your blunt or melt it and shoot up. But a word of advice. It will be safer for you to smoke it. You’ll have more control over the dose.”

“So familiar with your products.”

“Oh, I never use any of this toxic waste. It’ll kill ya. But I hear from folks about what works. And what’ll give you a toe tag.”

The reality of what he was doing shimmered across Phury’s skin on a nasty little tickle. But by the time he got back to the Brotherhood’s table he couldn’t wait to go home. He wanted to numb out completely. He wanted the deep nod that he’d heard heroin gave. And he knew he’d bought enough of the drug to take him to heavenly hell a couple of times.

“What’s the matter with you?” Butch asked him. “You can’t sit still tonight.”

“Nothing doing.” As he put his hand inside his pocket and felt for what he’d bought, he started tapping his foot under the table.

I am a junkie, he realized.

Except he didn’t have enough left in him to care. Death was everywhere around him, the stench of sorrow and failure polluting the air he breathed. He needed off the crazy train for a little while, even if it meant getting on another kind of sick ride.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Butch and V didn’t last long at the club, and they were all home a little after midnight. As they walked into the vestibule Phury was cracking his knuckles, a flush breaking out under his clothes. He couldn’t wait to be alone.

“You wanna eat?” Vishous said, yawning.

“Damn straight,” Butch said. Then he glanced over as V walked off for the kitchen. “Phury, you with us for some chow?”

“Nah, I’ll see you later.” As he hit the stairs he could feel the male’s eyes on him.

“Yo, Phury,” Butch called out.

Phury cursed and looked over his shoulder. A little of his manic drive bled out as the cop’s knowing eyes burned up at him.

Butch knew, he thought. Somehow the guy knew what he was up to.

“You sure you don’t want to eat with us,” the human said in a level voice.

Phury didn’t even have to think. Or maybe he refused to let himself. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Careful, my man. Some things are damn hard to undo.”

Phury thought of Z. Of himself. Of the shitty future he had little interest in slogging through.

“Don’t I know it,” he said, and took off.

When he got to his room he shut the door and dropped his leather coat on a chair. He took the packet out, grabbed some red smoke and a rolling paper, and doctored up a blunt. He didn’t even consider shooting up. It was just too close to addict status.

At least for this first time.

He licked the edge of the rolling paper, pressed the joint up tight, then went over to his bed and sat back against the pillows. He picked up his lighter, flicked it so the flame leaped to life, and leaned into the orange glow, the hand-rolled between his lips.

The knock on his door pissed him off. Fucking Butch.

He clicked off the lighter. “What?”

When there was no answer, he kept the dutchy with him and pounded across the room. He threw open the door.

John stumbled backward.

Phury took a deep breath. Then another. Chill. He had to chill.

“What’s doing, son?” he asked, stroking the blunt with his forefinger.

John brought up his pad, wrote a few lines, and turned the thing around. I’m sorry to bother you. I need someone to help me with my jujitsu positions, and you’re so good at them.

“Oh…yeah. Ah, not tonight, John. I’m sorry. I’m…busy.”

The kid nodded. After a pause, John waved good-bye. Turned away.

Phury shut the door, locked it, and went right back for the bed. He flicked the lighter on again, put the blunt between his lips—

Just as the flame hit the tip of the hand-rolled, he froze.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t…He started gasping. As his palms grew wet, sweat broke out above his upper lip and under his armpits and all down his chest.

What the f*ck was he doing? What the f*ck was he doing?

Junkie…junkie motherf*cker. Low-life junkie…motherf*cker. To bring heroin into the king’s house? To be lighting the shit up in the Brotherhood’s compound? To be polluting himself because he was too weak to f*cking deal?