chapter 45
“Was it your guy?” Chase turned, finding the girl in the TV’s light, her approach closer, his eyes watching the blow of her hair as she moved, individual strands fluttering through the air.
“No, but he’s coming.” She bent over the table, doing a line.
Chase felt sequins move against his hand and turned his head, laughing softly at the girl, kneeling by him, her hands on his belt.
He pushed at her gently, and she tumbled back, a string of curses shot out.
It didn’t matter; nothing mattered. Not for this tag-along.
Not for the other girl, both of them here for the drugs.
Drugs they weren’t providing, this tiny taste worthless.
He watched her finish the line and snapped his finger, gesturing for the mirror, her pass too slow, his eyes narrowing.
There was another knock, and he watched her stand, grabbing the cash, her move to the door unsteady on her heels. This visitor was right, a man’s voice heard, and he finished off his beer, sitting in the chair, anticipation pushing hard through his veins.
Soon, he’d forget. Soon, the anniversary of Emily’s death would be the furthest thing from his mind.