Chapter 25 #2
I wake up choking on my dry fucking mouth.
My head is pounding. It takes a few seconds for the room to stop tilting sideways.
The TV is still on, flickering the blue light of some late-night infomercial.
The sound is a soft drone that feels like I’m in some dream.
I have no idea what time it is...just that it’s still dark outside.
Micah is passed out beside me on the couch, one arm thrown over his face, mouth slightly open. Poor bastard must’ve stayed up to make sure I didn’t stop breathing.
My stomach twists. I blink a few times, trying to force my eyes to focus.
Everything feels so heavy, like my body isn’t ready to wake up yet.
Then I look down. There’s a dark smear on my jeans.
High on the thigh and crotch. A vivid reminder of everything I shouldn’t have allowed to happen.
Did she…say sorry after? I could have sworn I heard her. But maybe I’m just imagining.
I scrub a hand over my face. I don’t remember falling asleep. Don’t remember when she left. I just remember floating in and out, weightless and numb. I must have nodded really hard…
My phone vibrates weakly under my hip when I shift, and I pull it out. The screen lights up, stabbing white. I squint.
EMMA
Hey, are you okay?
Jude???
Please talk to me, I'm worried.
Just let me know you got home safe.
The last one is timestamped just after midnight. I stare at the screen until the words blur. A hot, sick feeling crawls up my throat. While she was worried about me…
I was—
I shut my eyes. Hard. Like maybe I can erase the last few hours by force. But I know that I can’t. My fingers tremble as I type.
I’m sorry. I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to worry you.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen.
God, I’m such a fucking asshole. I hit send anyway, and the message goes through.
I glance at Micah. Still asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly.
I don’t even know if he saw anything or just ignored us.
I was too high to function, but I do remember him trying to help me before Adriana barked at him to leave us alone.
My head drops back against the couch cushion.
I stare at the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead.
I can still smell her on me. I always can, the stupid bitch.
And Emma’s name glowing on my screen makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
I swallow hard, throat raw and honestly unsure of how many more nights like this I can survive.
The next time I come to, the room is washed in gray morning light. My neck hurts. My back hurts. Micah’s gone from the couch, but before I can think too much about it, I hear the coffeemaker sputtering to life. The smell hits a moment later. Ugh, thank fuck.
I push myself up, wincing at my sore back. Micah stands at the counter, leaning all his weight on his arms, head down like he hasn’t slept. He looks so fucking tired.
When he hears me shuffle, he sighs without turning around. “Hey.” His voice is hoarse. “You alive?”
“Barely,” I croak.
He nods once, reaches for a mug, and pours coffee with a shaky hand. He doesn’t give it to me. Just sets it near the edge of the counter like he doesn’t have the energy to leave his spot. And then I check my phone again to see no messages.
Micah finally looks at me. “You scared the shit out of me,” he says quietly. No anger, just exhaustion. “You came in nearly sobbing, man. You barely knew where you were.”
I flinch at the memory of the car, the steering wheel, and Emma’s face when I walked out. “I was just withdrawing,” I mutter.
Micah snorts. “Yeah. You shot up enough to knock a damn horse out, passed out cold, and then—” He gestures vaguely toward my lap. “Then...whatever the hell that situation was. With the bitch.”
Shame explodes in my gut, and I scrub a hand over my face. “Don’t,” I say.
“I’m not judging,” he says softly. “I’m just...worried, dude. This shit is fucked up, you know that, right? Especially with Emma...”
“Yeah, I know that.”
Micah pours a second mug of coffee and hands it to me directly this time, watching my face. “I’m not stupid, man,” he whispers, like the words hurt coming up. “I know you protect me. You kill. You fuck her. Everything.”
My eyes sting.
“I could have dealt with her last night. I should have. I’m fucking pissed at myself that I didn’t just do it. It’s not like you could have stopped me.”
I choke back a sob that desperately wants to surface. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just...“You sleep at all?” I ask.
He shakes his head, eyes dropping. “Didn’t want you choking on your own spit or some shit.”
The guilt hits so fast it makes me dizzy. I grip the mug tighter. “I’m sorry,” I say. The words feel pointless with how much I’ve said them to him.
Micah leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “Why did you do it? Adriana? Why do you keep taking it all?”
“I don’t want you having to deal with that,” I respond swiftly.
“But—”
“Micah, stop.” My command is flat, leaving no room for debate.
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze flicking to my arms, then away again. He breathes out slowly. “You’re gonna burn out,” he says quietly. “If you keep going like this...something’s gonna give. One day you won’t wake up, do you understand me?”
I stare into the coffee, watching the surface tremble with the slightest shake of my hand. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”
Silence settles between us as I think about how worse off I am than Micah. I use more. I spiral more. But I guess it’s understandable considering I fucking kill people. My phone buzzes on the counter. For a second, hope flares. But it’s Adriana. The name makes my stomach sink.
ADRIANA
Nolan wants a meeting today at 2. Don’t be as fucked up as last night.
I sigh, and text back.
Why? He never gives a shit if I’m high or not.
Within moments, my phone vibrates again.
ADRIANA
Alexei is going to be there. He’s stricter. And believe it or not, Jude, I give a shit about you. Alexei’s men are scary.
I chew my lip as I contemplate her message. If she is nervous, that’s not good. Alexei is a much bigger player in the world of criminal activity. He makes Nolan look like the neighborhood drug dealer standing beside a cartel member.
Okay, I’ll be there.
ADRIANA
See you there, baby ;)
I set my phone aside and rub my face. “I am apparently meeting with Alexei today.”
Micah freezes. And he’s probably thinking what I am. What does he want me to do for him now?
The Wednesday afternoon traffic is unusually and annoyingly busy in Portland when I pull into the underground garage beneath Nolan’s building. My stomach twists the whole elevator ride up. By the time I reach the penthouse hallway, I already know something is off.
Adriana opens the door before I can knock.
She looks wired and exhausted at the same time, like she hasn’t slept but is somehow still buzzing.
She grabs my sleeve and pulls me inside without a word.
Nolan is at the dining table, sitting ramrod straight.
It’s weird for him. His jaw works like he’s grinding his teeth.
He nods at me but doesn’t smile. That alone makes my skin crawl. Then, I see them.
Two men I’ve never met stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows, shoulders squared, arms folded behind their backs. They definitely look like ex-military. Cleaner than thugs, calmer than dealers. Their eyes don’t blink much.
Alexei sits between them, relaxed in a leather chair. He doesn’t stand or greet me. Instead, he lifts his eyes and studies me with a horrifying patience that turns my insides to ice. “Mr. Graves,” he says, with a grim smile. “Come in. Welcome to my Portland home.”
Adriana lets go of my sleeve. She steps aside, rubbing her arms. Nolan rises, but his hands tremble slightly, and he quickly laces them behind his back to hide it.
When I sit, Alexei’s gaze tracks every movement like he’s reading me more thoroughly than any drug test ever could. It’s the men behind him that scare me the most. Their stillness. Their certainty. Like they’ve taken lives and felt nothing.
“You know why I wanted to see you,” Alexei begins.
I swallow. “No.”
He smiles, just barely. “You killed for me,” he says softly. “Impressively, I might add.”
The memory slams into me, and I hold his gaze.
Alexei continues, his voice mockingly warm. “You handled yourself better than I expected. And you proved something important. You are a man who is willing to do what needs to be done. And that anger?” He raises his dark brows. “Lethal.”
My chest tightens. I want to deny it, to explain that I’ve been operating on pure self-preservation. And that my anger doesn’t control me anymore. But I can’t say any of that.
“I can use a man like you,” he says, his Russian accent thick as hell. “Someone with reach. Someone no one would suspect. Someone who understands pressure. Not to mention, you’re accustomed to traveling.”
Adriana shifts her weight anxiously, chewing the inside of her cheek. Nolan’s expression is fixed, but sweat beads at his temple.
I lick my lips. “What’s going on? What exactly do you want from me?”
“That is the right question, boy.” Alexei leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“Your lifestyle gives you access. Hotel staff. Fans. Industry people. Drivers. Crew members. Every day, you casually cross paths with opportunities none of my men ever get near. And I have several...issues in Portland that you can help me with.”
His eyes narrow slightly, studying my reaction. I keep my face blank.
“You can move things. Deliver things. Collect what is owed. Send messages without ever raising suspicion.” He pauses, letting the meaning sink in. “And when necessary, you can do more than that.”
My fingertips go cold, and I feel like I need to clear my throat, but I’m too fucking nervous to do it. To show any weakness. “You want me to be a courier,” I say. My voice sounds flat. “And...more.”