Too Cursed To Kiss (Nightshade Hearts #1)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
After parking my beater Dodge in the only spot left, I hauled my aching butt across the lot to the stairwell.
I’d skipped both my breaks to help out a coworker with a sick kid, and now I was paying for it with a hunger eating me from the inside.
I took the stairs two at a time, dreaming of a steaming bowl of ramen.
Halfway down the open balcony hall, I spotted the acid-green paper taped to my apartment door.
You have two days, Harlan , it yelled in Sharpie.
After I got paid, I’d still be short on rent, but I wasn’t giving up eating so my dick-faced landlord could drink champagne.
I crumpled it into a ball and whipped it over the railing. There was no way he’d know I even got it. It should buy me at least a week.
Nine hells.
Jamming my key in the cheap deadbolt, I entered the closest thing I had to a sanctuary. The faint scent of my favorite vanilla-clove candle was tainted by the reek of yesterday’s Chinese takeout. Goddamn it, garbage had been the thing I’d forgotten this morning.
Groaning, I slammed the door behind me. My asshole junkie neighbor pounded on the wall, “Keep it down, you fucking fucker!”
I shot her a middle finger she couldn’t see on the way to my bedroom. Fresh clothes and a shower beat garbage, marginally. My ancient cell phone chimed an incoming from my ex- something , Gentry. Apparently, he was still alive.
It took me three tries to unlock the cracked screen. “What the hell do you want?” I barked, kicking off a boot.
“Hey, I’m calling in that favor. I need a package delivered. No questions asked. Come pick it up,” Gentry slurred. It didn’t even sound like him. He was probably drunk. Part of me wished I could afford to get drunk. The other part had joyously left his brand of dead-end life behind.
“I just got home. Find someone else.” I sat on the edge of the bed to pull off the other boot.
“Look, there’s an extra four hundred on top of what I owe ya.”
My growling stomach clenched. “What is it, gold bullion? Is it legal? Who’s the delivery to, and why aren’t you doing it?”
“Really. I need this done, like I said, no questions. I’m desperate. The delivery’s gotta be tonight. It’ll take you ten minutes, Har. It’s all good, only a drop off. ”
I cringed. Every time he shortened Harlan to Har it turned into laughing cartoon pirates in my head.
“What the fuck is the rush? Someone dying?” I scratched under the collar of the red Save-Mor shirt. “Look, I’m not doing a frickin’ drug drop. Tell me what it is, and then I’ll decide if it’s worth it.”
There was a rustle in the background. “I have to go, Har. I left you instructions.”
Three beeps and the call ended. My ex was a prick, but when it came to business, he kept his promises. If he said he’d pay me, he’d come through. Once I found out what he wanted delivered, I’d have options, but I’d do a lot of things for four bills.
I chucked the other boot across the room, and it hit the wall.
My neighbor banged on the other side, “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
“Get in line,” I shouted back.
The black skirt and leggings I’d worn to work would do, but I was burning the hideous logo shirt. Not daring to check the mirror, I threw on a clean black tee, my leather jacket, then put the boots back on. A shower was going to have to wait.
I stumbled out into the breezeway, juggling the garbage, a box of cheddar fish, and water. When I shouldered my purse, the front door slammed behind me.
My neighbor’s screech oiled my way to the stairs, but her yowled threats ramped into a battle cry as I made it to the parking lot. I hurled the garbage to the curb and leaped into the car like demons were after me.
By the time the mechanical nightmare sputtered into life, the junkie was already halfway to the car with her bat raised and spewing a litany of fucks. My pulse beat in my ears as I slammed into gear and tore out of the lot, leaving her huffing and shrieking.
I leaned back, enjoying the chugging of the car for once. Pissing my neighbor off was mild payback for last week’s gift of puke and empty beer cans in front of my door. Probably worth it even if I had to sneak in when I came back. It was the first true smile I’d had in hours.
T he car made it across town to Gentry’s apartment with only two stalls, but the asshole didn’t answer the buzz. His neighborhood was sketchier than mine, and I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. Lucky for me, I still had a set of keys.
Six months hadn’t changed much. His apartment stank of cheap perfume, man sweat, and my broken dreams. I’ve always had a keen nose for picking out scents, and this was the perfect moment to regret my genetics.
Gentry was probably leaving me to do his little errand while he was on a hot date in some alley.
Breathing through my mouth, I tore off the pink note taped on the wall by the door: Take my gold pen to Tyre. I’ll pay you later .
“That wasn’t the deal, Gentry,” I said to the empty room. Goddamn him.
Delivering the pen made no sense. The ugly hunk of gold was Gentry’s maternal grandfather’s, and it might be the only thing he cared about. So why the hell did he want it dropped off to Tyre? My mind raced like I was listening to my favorite true crime podcast. What was Gentry up to?
Tyre, one of Portland’s leading meth dealers, ran a nightclub called The Signet as a front. I had no interest in ever seeing him again, and Gentry knew that. If I hadn’t been one hundred percent sure Gentry would make good, I would have trashed his place and left.
Gentry and I had been really great together, for about two days.
I never should have moved in with him. I learned fast how lust had nothing to do with common sense or love.
It had taken the cheating bastard all of a week before he brought home a rotating selection of pretty junkies to play with.
Nothing like being humiliated to smarten you up.
Gentry was hot, in that old-guy silver fox sort of way, but he wasn’t worthy of me.
It wasn’t all bad. In my slide to Portland’s crime underworld as a drug dealer’s arm candy, I’d learned to pay attention, show up, and stay alive.
All great traits for the PI that someday I hoped to be.
I walked deeper into hell, otherwise known as Gentry’s living room. Apparently, he still had a lifetime membership to Slobs-R-Us. His desk overflowed with unopened mail, crumpled paper, and something crusty I wasn’t touching, but the antique pen was in the drawer where he always kept it.
How a pen oozing ink out of its cap was worth four bills to deliver was beyond me.
I wrapped it in the pink note and stuffed it into my purse.
Still hungry, I made my way to the kitchen, wiping my ink-covered hand across the back of Gentry’s leather couch.
He’d probably never notice, but it was satisfying.
The kitchen light crackled, then died when I turned it on.
I tugged my shirt up over my nose to block the stench from the dishes piled on the counter, marginally pleased they were shrouded by shadows.
The pizza in the fridge wasn’t worth the risk, but I hit pay dirt in the freezer.
The Belly-V vodka cried out for me to pour it over Gentry’s bed and set it on fire.
There were lots of words to describe me, but idiot wasn’t usually in the lineup.
I controlled myself, took the bottle, and hightailed it out of there.