Chapter 10 Miles #2
Victor finally lets go. He shoves me upright, and I stagger back, catching myself on the edge of the table before I collapse.
My legs wobble. Blood trickles hot down my temple, dripping onto the floorboards.
My vision swims in and out, the warehouse tilting on its axis, every sound muffled like my head’s underwater.
Victor doesn’t look at me again. His voice is flat now, businesslike, as if he didn’t just try to crack my skull open. The rage’s already burned out of him.“Get cleaned up. Then get the product from Rico. You’re running drops tonight.”
“Yes, boss.” My voice cracks, thin, but I force it steady.
I straighten, though the effort sends black spots racing across my vision. My head throbs with every heartbeat, blood hot against my skin, tequila still burning where the shards cut deepest. My stomach heaves, but I swallow it down. No weakness. Not here. Not in front of him.
I glance toward the shadows where Rico vanished, wondering what the hell I missed while I was out drowning in Chloe, jerking off in my car like a goddamn idiot.
The meeting was supposed to be about something, but I’ll have to ask him later.
Right now all I can do is wipe the blood from my eyes, keep my feet under me, and pretend like I haven’t already fucked this entire day six ways from Sunday.
Victor turns away, already lighting another cigarette, already talking to one of the other men who slinks back into the circle. Like I’m dismissed. Like I’m nothing.
I press a hand to my head, the warmth sticky, my fingers slick with blood and liquor. My stomach lurches again, dizzy. I don’t know if it’s the hit or the exhaustion or the adrenaline still crashing through me.
I stumble toward the exit, toward Rico. My uncle’s words echo in my head, sharp and brutal. I’m late. I’m careless. I’m weak.
But over all of it, stronger than the pain, stronger than the shame, is the ghost of her mouth on mine. Chloe.
Her taste is still there, stubborn, clinging.
And it terrifies me more than Victor ever could.
Rico claps me on the shoulder, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face like he didn’t just watch Victor turn my skull into a broken bottle.
“You look like you had fun,” he says. His laugh is sharp, cruel, the kind that ricochets against the corrugated metal walls.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. My fingers come away sticky, dark red smeared across my skin.
Rico nods toward the back, where crates are stacked like crooked teeth against the wall. “We gotta move quick. Boss wants the runs done tonight. That dumb fuck accountant? He didn’t just lose a little. He burned through enough that Victor’s short, and now we’re the ones paying for it.”
I glance at the crates, the product. Each one packed with powder that could buy a small country if sold clean. My stomach knots. “How much?”
Rico shrugs, but his grin falters. “Enough that we’re covering for weeks. We’ll be lucky if we’re standing by the end of this shit.”
The accountant’s face flashes in my mind, pale and sweating, screaming as his kneecaps shattered under my hammer. The way his voice cracked when he begged for time, swore he’d get it back. Victor doesn’t give second chances. Now we’re paying the price.
I get myself cleaned up as best as I can, and then we get to work.
By midnight, the van reeks of smoke, sweat, and chemical tang from the bricks we’re hauling.
Rico drives, one hand draped lazy over the wheel, the other flicking through the radio like we’re on some fucking road trip instead of pushing enough product to buy ten lifetimes.
My body hums with exhaustion, every nerve fried, but my head won’t stop replaying the night—Victor’s bottle exploding across my skull, Chloe’s lips, the way she bit me like she wanted to brand me too.
We hit drop after drop. Shady bars. Motel lots.
The back alley of a strip club where the neon flickers like a dying heart.
Money changes hands fast, no one lingering long enough to risk cops or rival eyes.
Rico cracks jokes between stops, his voice grating, but it keeps me awake.
The van rattles over potholes, the city swallowing us in its black lungs.
By two a.m., I’m numb. By three, my hands are shaking from more than just fatigue. By the time the last crate’s gone, it’s almost four. The streets are slick, deserted, the rain reduced to a mist that turns the asphalt into mirrors. Rico drops me at the lot where I left my car.
“You look like death, hermano,” he says, smirking.
I don’t answer. My body is hollow, my skull still split from Victor’s bottle, blood dried stiff in my hair. I should drive home, collapse into bed, let the blackout swallow me whole.
But I don’t.
Instead, I sit in the driver’s seat with the engine idling, phone heavy in my hand. My thumb hovers over a number I shouldn’t call, a line I shouldn’t cross. But I do it anyway. Jamie’s name lights the screen, and before I can think, I hit dial.
It rings once. Twice. Three times. My chest tightens. He answers, groggy, his voice rough from sleep. “Miles? The fuck—are you in trouble? Where are you?
“I’m fine.”
“Fucking hell, man. You scared me. Do you know what time it is?”
I close my eyes, lean my head back against the seat, and exhale like I’ve been holding my breath all night. “Yeah. I know. I just… I needed to talk.”
“Talk?” There’s a pause, the sound of sheets rustling. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” My laugh is bitter, hollow. “Worse.”
Silence stretches. Then softer, cautious: “What happened?”
I grip the wheel with my free hand, knuckles white.
The words are heavy, stuck in my throat.
I want to tell him everything. About the accountant.
About Victor’s rage. About the bottle and the blood and the drops that kept me moving long after my body should’ve quit.
About Chloe, most of all. Her smile, her perfume filling my car, the way I kissed her even though I knew I shouldn’t.
Even though I warned my best friend not to do the same thing I just did.
I swallow hard. “I fucked up, Jamie.”
He sighs, tired, but I hear the concern under it. “What else is new?”
“No.” My voice cracks, raw. “I mean it this time. I really fucked up. And it’s not just me anymore.”
I don’t say her name. I can’t. If I do, it’ll make it too real. But her ghost is here anyway, sitting in the passenger seat, humming to the radio, looking at me like I’m something I’m not.
Jamie doesn’t push. He just waits.
The dawn creeps at the edges of the sky, gray light bleeding into the horizon. My pulse hammers, my head throbs, my whole body screams for rest. But I grip the phone tighter and force the words out, because if I don’t say them now, I never will.
“I kissed her,” I whisper, the confession tearing out of me.