Chapter 27 #2
Adriana steps back as I reach for the handle.
I don’t knock. I just fucking walk in. The owner is behind his desk, casually leaning back like it’s just another day for him.
Middle-aged, expensive suit, thinning brown hair, a face tight from stress or too much plastic work. He glances up, and then his eyes widen.
My jaw tightens at the immediate confrontation. Adriana slips her arm from mine and stands near the wall. “Let’s keep this as simple as possible, because I don’t want to be here,” I say. “Alexei Morozov. You owe him money.”
He waves a dismissive hand, feigning a more casual arrogance that I know he doesn’t feel. “I’m aware of the debt. But sending one man and a pretty little thing to intimidate me? Psh. His men are much more intimidating.”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. He thinks I’m harmless. My eyes dart over to a photo of his wife and two kids on his desk. I step toward him, keeping my voice low. “I’ll kill your family. One by one. Don’t believe me? Fine. I’m not against proving that I should be taken fucking seriously.”
His cocky smile dies instantly. He swallows hard and leans back in his chair. “Right,” he mutters. “Message received, asshole.”
I breathe once to steady myself. “Alexei wants confirmation on the payment plan before it becomes a problem.”
He huffs, annoyed but no longer bold enough to show it. “I said I’ll pay. Tell him he’ll have it soon.” Before I can respond, he glances toward Adriana. His expression suddenly shifts. “And who’s she supposed to be? Is this little whore your girlfriend?”
Adriana snorts. “Fuck you.”
All the restraint I walked in with burns off in a second. I grab the owner by the front of his shirt and yank him out of his chair. It topples backward and crashes to the floor. He stumbles, wheezing, trying to claw at my hands, but I shove him hard against the wall, forearm across his throat.
Adriana sucks in a breath behind me.
The man’s face reddens as he tries to breathe, his pulse hammering under my arm.
“You don’t get to talk to her like that,” I say. “Stop being a fucking asshole. You think I’m just a messenger? I’m not killing your useless ass right now because I’m controlling myself. I could. And I wouldn’t give a fuck.”
He gags, fingers digging into my wrist.
I lean closer, lowering my voice. “You’re already on his bad side. Don’t make the mistake of getting on mine.”
He nods frantically. His eyes are wide, panicked, pleading.
“Good,” I say, finally releasing him.
He collapses forward, coughing and gripping the edge of the desk for balance. I straighten my hoodie and step back like none of that exerted any of my strength. I feel Adriana’s stare on my back. She’s shaken but silent.
The owner wipes sweat from his forehead and nods quickly. “I’ll pay. Tomorrow morning. You can tell the Russian fuck that.”
I give a short nod, watching him until he looks away. Then I turn and walk out of the office, my pulse still thundering, hands still shaking as the door shuts behind us.
Adriana follows me into the hallway, pale in the dim blue light as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “For...stepping in.”
I stop walking and look at her. She’s being sincere, actually sincere, which is rare for her.
But my nerves are shot, and the coke is still buzzing in my skull.
Gratitude isn’t something I can hold right now.
“I don’t care,” I say, sharper than I intend.
We keep walking, slipping through the back corridor until we’re outside in the afternoon air.
I rip off the mask and breathe deep, trying to reset myself.
I admit...there is a high that comes with these confrontations. I can’t say that I like it exactly, but I do have a physical response that would suggest that maybe I might.
We get into my Audi. Adriana sits with a huff, slamming my door.
“Chill. Don’t slam the fucking door,” I snap, and she just rolls her eyes. I pull out my phone to text Alexei before starting the engine.
Done.
He pays tomorrow.
I hit send and toss the phone onto the passenger-side dash, exhaling hard. I pull out of the alley, driving fast enough to feel the road but not fast enough to draw police attention.
Adriana watches me from the corner of her eye. “You okay?” she asks.
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine.”
I don’t have the bandwidth to hold anyone else’s anxiety. Not when I’m drowning in my own.
She shifts in her seat as I take the highway exit toward her hotel. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she tries again.
“Jesus. Stop asking.”
She bites her lip, finally falling quiet.
When I pull up to the valet drop, she unbuckles slowly and turns toward me. “Come up with me?”
I shake my head immediately. “No.”
Her green eyes narrow as she drags a nail up my arm. I tense. “What’s got you suddenly so uninterested? You used to always come to my room. What the fuck, Jude?”
I swallow hard. “Maybe the fact that I overdosed onstage in front of twelve thousand people fucked me up. Maybe I know I’m probably going to die soon.
Or that you assaulted me the other night while I was walking the fine fucking line of overdosing again.
And maybe, just maybe, that makes me not give a shit. ”
Her mouth twists, eyes flicking away. “You work for me, too.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not high on meth, Adriana. I’m not going to fuck you.”
“I don’t like working with Nolan, you know,” she murmurs, softer now. “I hate my life, too. I’ve hated it for years.”
I don’t have the patience for this. “Could’ve fooled me. Honestly.”
She scoffs. “Fine. But don’t make this a habit. I’ll tell Nolan you’re falling short on your responsibilities to me.”
“Shut up, Adriana.”
She pauses with her hand on the door, her expression twisting with disappointment. “I wish that you would just like me. You’re the only person that doesn’t make me want to run away. We’re more similar than you think.”
My knuckles go white around the steering wheel. With a huff, she steps out and slams the door.
The highway back to Seaside seems endless.
My hands are shaking before I even hit the next exit.
Emma’s face drifts through my mind—her voice, her warmth, her hope.
She has no idea who I’m becoming. And sooner or later, I’m going to have to tell her how deep I’m in.
..or walk away and let her think I never loved her at all.
I pull into the driveway with Adriana’s perfume still clinging to my hoodie. I’m going to need to wash the damn thing now. Inside, the house is warm, dim, and smells faintly of cheap broth. Micah is sitting cross-legged on the couch, hunched over a bowl of ramen, slurping noodles like an animal.
He looks up, mouth full. “Sup.”
I snort. “You’re disgusting, dude.”
He waves his fork at me. “Starving artist. Let me live.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can utter a witty response.
But the moment fades fast, leaving only the familiar ache crawling up my spine.
I walk straight to the coffee table. My hands know the route without thinking.
I open the drawer and find the black case.
My pulse kicks, and I eagerly remove my hoodie.
When I glance back at Micah, his eyes are already glossy and unfocused. High as hell.
“Order something real,” I mutter, handing him my phone before flicking on the lighter.
“Hell yeah,” he grins, already scrolling. “I’m thinkin’ Thai. Not even remotely noodled out yet.”
I’m not listening anymore. I sit on the edge of the couch, strap my arm, and ready the needle. The sight of it makes something inside me recoil, but the craving steamrolls everything else. My veins are already jumping.
I slide the needle in. Push the plunger.
The world softens instantly. My body loosens like someone let all the tension bleed out at once.
I fall back into the couch, head tipping against the cushion.
Warmth floods my limbs. My heartbeat slows to a crawl.
Micah is still tapping on my phone beside me, like I didn’t just inject heroin.
Like we’re just two friends hanging out, not destroying ourselves slowly.
“She’s cute as fuck for this,” he mumbles.
My eyelids lift halfway. “W—what?”
He holds the phone up. “Emma. She texted. Wants to hang out tonight. Asked what we’re doing.”
A bolt of guilt stabs through my high. I take a slow breath, sinking deeper into the heroin’s pull. “Tell her,” I say quietly, licking my lips. Speech is fucking difficult right now. “That we’re not doing anything tonight.”
Micah glances at me with a pointed look, but doesn’t argue. “Alright.” He types something, thumbs moving fast. “Sent.”
My phone buzzes again in his hand, but I don’t ask.
Micah hesitates before speaking again, voice lower now. “So...the meeting. With Nolan and Alexei. What’d they want?”
I close my eyes. The gentle hum inside me makes it easy to drift, easy to pretend it doesn’t matter. “Sent me after a club owner who—who owes Alexei money.”
Micah stiffens a little. I feel, rather than see, the tension. “Seriously? Alone?”
“Adriana came,” I mutter. “Alexei wanted her there. For some stupid reason.” I muster a breathless laugh.
He swallows another forkful. “I don’t think she understands that she is also in danger.”
“Yeah.” My head lolls to the side, the ceiling blurring. “Whatever.”
“Jude…” Micah’s voice is thin now, worried. “This is getting bad. Being indebted to Nolan was one thing...but Alexei is so much worse. Maybe we should really talk to Nolan about their partnership.”
The heroin swells like an ocean tide, warm and heavy. I let myself sink beneath it, let the worry, the fear, the entire world slide out of focus. “I know,” I whisper. “Yeah.”
Micah’s still talking, but the words blur together as the high
wraps around me like a warm blanket. My limbs go slack, my heartbeat slow and steady. I drift further, deeper.