Wretched (Never After Series)(38)

She crosses her arms.

“You know, you’re a real piece of work,” I bark, anger dripping through my system like lava burning through rock.

She grips her hair and then slaps her thighs with her hands. “I’m not even doing anything. Holy shit, and people say I have mood swings?”

“Oh, well at least you know you’re psychotic.”

The air thins.

She grins maniacally. “Okay.”

I frown. “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

She doesn’t answer, just swipes her palms down that flowy skirt she always wears and hops out of the car, marching toward the small house at the end of the street.

Closing my eyes, I exhale heavily and pound my fist against the wheel. “Fuck!”

Jumping out, I jog after her, not wanting her to walk into a situation she might not be able to get out of. But I shouldn’t have worried, because when I finally catch up, she’s already inside the house, a guy on his knees in the center of the room, her giant gun pressed against his head.

And maybe if she didn’t drive me so crazy, I would realize that I’ve made a mistake.

Because while it’s true that I don’t know if my mom is alive, Brayden Walsh’s mom died of cancer.





19





EVELINE





Cillian is one of our drug dealers. He’s not high enough for access to my father, or into our daily business dealings, but he is Liam’s little cousin, and with Liam acting incredibly on edge lately, I figured it was a good time to pay him a visit. Introduce myself and make sure there isn’t anything funny going on we need to know about.

I walk in the door without knocking—idiot keeps it unlocked—and head straight toward Cillian, who jumps up from the ratty couch, his baggy jeans practically falling down his legs.

Anger pulses through my veins from my fight with Brayden and I use it to fuel me, knowing that normally, I wouldn’t be coming in so strong, but not finding it in me to care.

“Hi, Cillian. Nice place you’ve got.” Bringing up my leg, I kick his knee out until he drops to the floor and press my gun to his head.

“What the fuck?” he yells.

“Shut up,” I hiss, pushing it harder into his temple.

From the corner of my eye, I see Brayden rushing in the door behind me and my grin widens as he takes in the scene.

The house itself is nothing special. An old couch with a brown blanket draped over the back and mismatched tables that have lamps with no shades. There’s a tiny kitchen to the left and a small circular breakfast table directly in front of it where a woman sits, her mouth gaping open as she watches what’s happening. My eyes scan the room, noticing for the first time the bricks of heroin—my heroin—cut open and being rebagged.

I tilt my head, surprise flowing through me. “Brayden, be a doll and go tell me what’s on that table.”

Brayden follows my gaze, and walks over, his jaw muscles clenching when he sees it up close. He reaches out, grabbing the cell phone sitting next to the woman and tucking it in his pocket. “Just in case you get any ideas.” He winks at her.

“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” I say. “Tell me that’s not powder being cut and branded as ours?”

Brayden clicks his tongue. “Can’t tell you that, sweetheart.”

I tsk, glancing back down at Cillian, his blond hair matted against his forehead. “Has someone been a naughty boy?”

“Fuck you. Who the fuck even are you?” he spits.

“Oh, just your resident psycho.” I grin. “Isn’t that right, Brayden?”

Brayden groans, his face tilting back to the sky. “Christ, you’re still on that? Can we focus, please?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I’m perfectly focused.”

Cillian snaps his hands out and tries to grab my wrist, and I bring it back quickly before slamming it down on the side of his head. He collapses, hitting the wood floor with a crack, and I move my leg, placing my heel into the meat of his side. I feel it pressing in against his ribs and I lean forward so all of my weight is bearing down. He whimpers.

“See?” I smile at Brayden.

The woman sitting at the table has tears in her eyes, her hands covering her mouth.

Brayden shakes his head. “Ridiculous.”

I look at Cillian. “If I let you up, will you promise to be a good boy?”

He groans and nods, the palm of his hand still covering the gash in his temple.

I release him and crouch down, my elbows resting on my knees, my gun hanging between my legs. “You know, I just realized I never answered your question. I’m Eveline, and I’m dying to know what the fuck you’re doing with my drugs.”

“I’m not doing shit,” he grunts. “Just what you guys told me to.”

“Oh?” Standing up, I walk away from him and to the table, brushing by Brayden as I peer over the woman’s shoulder.

“Please,” she whispers. “I don’t—”

“Ssh.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Bricks are sliced open, piles of powder being transferred and mixed before being rebagged and branded again with our logo. My eyes squint at the sticker on the new bag. It’s identical to mine; the silhouette of a monkey with bat wings. My body shakes from the audacity of their replication. My eyes continue to move along the table, noting the baking soda and rat poison.