Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
MALO
T he first thing I’m aware of when I open my eyes is the pain in my throat, and the crushing sensation of weight all over my body. I groan and try to lift my head, but my neck screams in protest, and I stay right where I am against the rigid pillow.
I squint, trying to figure out where the hell I might be. I can smell something sterile, and I figure I must be in the new infirmary, the “little shed” that Stitches keeps to make sure we’ve got somewhere to go if we need some serious medical attention, a new addition after our last run in with Las Rosas.
I try to cast my mind back, figuring out what happened to bring me here. I remember going to the bathroom, taking out the small clear bag, racking up a line, and then… nothing. No, not nothing—flashes of something—someone calling my name, someone’s hand on my forehead, the feeling of a weight on my chest and Chuy, someone I haven’t thought about in a very long time.
Shit. Whatever the hell was in that stuff Antonio gave me really did a number on me. Fuck I know I’m going to have some serious explaining to do. I manage to peel my eyes open and take a look around, and that’s when I see Maria, standing over me, in a white lab coat, glowering down at me like she wants to land a punch to my jaw.
“Good to see you, too,” I tell her, my voice croaking out of my throat painfully. Fuck, what’s wrong with me? I can hardly speak. She closes her eyes, letting her chin rest against her chest for a moment before she looks up to face me again. I can tell how exhausted she is, and I wonder how long I’ve been out. How long since I took that line and wound up in this place?
“Fucking hell, Malo,” she spits at me, and she dives toward me. I can only close my eyes and brace myself for the hit I know is coming. I’m surprised when she wraps her arms around me and holds me tight. My limbs are too leaden to hug her back, but I close my eyes and inhale the scent of her. I don’t know exactly why she’s so mad at me, but I can muster up a few ideas.
“I’m sorry,” I croak as she pulls back, slumping into a seat next to me. She runs a hand through her hair, and pulls off the gloves she was wearing. Her hair is scraped back into a messy bun, away from her face, like she’s been working on something.
“What happened?” I ask, and she gazes at me for a moment before she responds.
“You really don’t know?” she asks, and I nod, though I have some ideas. It sends a jolt of pain along my back, but I ignore it. Maybe I deserve it, after all the shit I put them through.
“You took something,” she explains to me, her voice low. “Some synthetic drug. I… I’ve been trying to figure out what it is all afternoon, ever since they got you in here and intubated.”
“Intubated?”
“You had a breathing tube down your throat,” she tells me. “Your breath was weak, Stitches was worried we were going to lose you.”
She shakes her head, swallowing hard. I can see how difficult this is for her, and I fucking hate that I’ve laid this all at her feet. She doesn’t deserve this. I know it’s not the first time Maria has seen me get fucked up, but this… this is something else entirely. I can feel in my body how close I came to ending it all, and I can’t lie – it scares the shit out of me.
“Hey, I’m still here,” I add, reaching over for her hand and gripping it tight. I expect her to pull it away in annoyance, but she doesn’t. She just gazes at me, this achingly sad expression on her face, as if I need any more reason to feel guilty right now.
“Just barely,” she mutters. “That shit… I ran it through some tests, isolated the compounds. That’s how we were able to get you stable again, give you some meds to counteract the worst of it. It’ll be a while before you’re totally back on your feet, though.”
“You ran those tests?” I reply, surprised. I knew she was a scientist, but I didn’t know it stretched to this degree.
“I had to,” she tells me. “Nobody else here knows my father’s work like I do.”
My heart slows for a moment, stuttering in my chest. Her father? If it’s her father’s work, then that must mean…
“Is it his?” I ask her, voice tightening as I manage to get the words out.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure,” she replies. “It echoes some of the work he’s been doing into synthetic pain relief meds recently… it’s written all over this compound. It might as well have his name stamped into it.”
I swallow hard.
“But he’s working for Las Rosas Negras,” I remind her.
“I know,” she replies, voice cool.
“Which means…”
“Which means that whoever you got that shit from has to be working with them too,” she replies bluntly. She’s had a lot longer to think about this than I have, and I can tell she’s impatient to get to the point, cut to the chase and discuss this properly.
“I had no idea,” I tell her quickly, lifting my gaze to meet hers. “I had no idea, Maria, you have to believe me.”
She eyes me for a moment, then sighs and nods.
“I know,” she replies. “I know you hate them more than anyone. You would never have bought from them if you had the chance.”
I squeeze her hand as tight as I can, needing her to believe me, needing her to understand that I never would have done this if I thought this was going to be the outcome.
She manages a small smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, Malo,” she tells me. “Well, as okay as you can be, given the shit that you just took.”
“Do you know what it was?” I ask her. “It’s nothing like anything I’ve had before. I don’t even remember what happened after I took the hit.”
“Synthetic coke cut with something else I’m trying to determine,” she explains, gesturing to a work table behind her covered with notebooks and the remains of the small clear bag I’d kept in my pocket on the trip back from Mexico.
“But I need to know, where did you get it from?” she asks. “That’s what we need to find out. Who supplied it to you?”
I pause. Now that she is asking me outright, it’s like my memories have been scrambled, making it difficult for me to sort through everything that lead me here in my head. I part my lips, trying to come up with an answer, but nothing springs to mind. I shake my head.
“I… I don’t remember,” I admit. Her lips tighten. I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
“Malo, I don’t know what you’re trying to keep from us,” she begins, and I shake my head again.
“I promise you, I’m not trying to keep anything from you,” I tell her fervently. “My head’s a mess. I don’t, no se…”
I furrow my brow, trying to put myself back in that place where I accepted those drugs. I just… I could remember being in a car, remember talking to someone, but where? When?
“It’s no wonder your memory’s taken a hit,” she murmurs to me, as kindly as she can. “It’s a miracle you woke up at all.”
I shiver at the thought. Fuck. It’s hard to wrap my head around just how bad this could have been. When all you’re thinking about is your next hit you forget how quickly shit can go wrong, just how fast all of it can go south when you’re not paying attention. I’ve known far too many people in my position who have gone back to using after being clean for awhile, and they’ve ended up dead—or worse, brain dead, hooked up to some machine while their family and friends try to figure out what the hell to do with them.
I have always promised myself that wasn’t going to be me, but I came so close, so fucking close, it’s hard to wrap my head around it. If she hadn’t been here, I don’t know what I would have done, what chance I would have stood. It scares the shit out of me. Now, of all times, when I knew the Kings needed me more than ever.
“It’s okay,” she soothes me, reaching over to brush some hair back from my face. My thoughts feel thick, and heavy, but I need to sort through them if I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I close my eyes, trying to remember the moment someone handed me what could have been my doom.
“It was in Mexico,” I mumble finally, my lips chapped and aching as they scrape against each other. “I… that’s where I got it.”
“From who?” she prompts me. “Some street dealer? If this is on the streets already, we need to know about it.”
I shake my head quickly. “No, no,” I reply, remembering the car ride, and the person sitting next to me and then… “I got it from Antonio.”
I open my eyes again. She’s staring at me as though she can hardly believe what she’s hearing.
“From Antonio?” she repeats, making sure she’s heard me right. “As in, Los Desperados, Antonio?”
“He offered it to me just before I left,” I admit. “When we were at the airport. He didn’t tell me what it was, just said that it would help take the edge off all the shit I’ve been going through.”
Her eyes darken.
“They’re supposed to be on our side,” she mutters. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it, Maria. I promise.”
She rises to her feet.
“I need to talk to Beast,” she shoots back.
I raise my eyebrows. Even in my current addled state, I can tell that’s a bad idea.
“It’s not a good time to bother him?—”
“I’m not bothering him,” she replies, through gritted teeth. “He needs to know that Los Desperados are working with Las Rosas Negras. And God only knows who else.”
She heads for the door. I try to straighten up and stop her, but my body is too weak for that, and all I can do is lie there in bed, helpless, as she storms off to confront Beast.
As though she has any idea what she’s getting herself into.
If I had just thrown away that shit instead of being stupid enough to take something that I’ve never so much as laid eyes on before, none of this would have happened. But no, my weakness has landed me, and the people around me, in another heap of shit.
As though we haven’t got enough to worry about right now.