Hooked (3 page)

Pounding on the door echoes in my head and I push my forehead against my knees, curling tight into my body. "Hold on a fucking minute!" I hear Lex's voice, quick and panicked, and I'm panting in anxiety.

It's so fucking hot in here. I've been in here too long...

He shuffles with the syringes, finally shoving them into his pocket and he snatches his hoodie from the bathroom floor, pulling it over his head desperately, a low and hushed string of curses falling from his lips, "This is just fucking great..." And there's the pounding on the door again, like gun shots. It makes me tremble. "I SAID GIVE ME A FUCKING MINUTE!"

Everything is so loud.

I feel his arms around me as he lifts me off the counter. "We're going outside, ok? We're going outside and you're gonna be fine in just a minute." I'm squirming a bit in his arms but he holds me tight. "Just trust me, ok?"

I put my face in his shoulder, panting against the thick fabric there, fisting it in my hands at his chest, pushing against him in anxiety. He brushes past the guy in the hallway who was banging incessantly on the door.

"Bout fuckin' time," he mumbles and Lex turns abruptly to face him, knocking my back against the hallway wall and I grunt against his shoulder.

"Hey fuck you, you piece of shit. I'll beat your fucking ass...yeah that's right, run into the fucking bathroom. Motherfucker," he scolds the guy until he disappears into the bathroom before turning and hurrying faster down the hall when he hears me whine into his shoulder.

He carries me out the front door and out to the street where he parked his truck, shifting my weight in his arms to let the tailgate down, and then sitting me down slowly. I immediately pull my knees to my chest, but it's not as hot anymore, and my mind is clearing gradually.

He takes my face in his hands. "You alright? Stay with me, ok? Look at me..." And he slowly pushes my hair back off of my face, which is still a little sweaty from my episode in the bathroom. "That was a pretty fucked up trip, huh?"

I still can't speak and my eyes are only half open, but I drop my heels off the end of the tailgate and swing my legs a little, steadily coming down.

"You wanna go home?"

I finally find my voice. "But we just got here...right?" And he laughs at my slight lack of time orientation.

"I don't give a fuck. It's crowded in there, and I know you don't like being here. That's probably why you tripped in the bathroom like that, from anxiety and shit."

I just shrug. "I know you need to run deals tonight. That's why you come to this fucking shooting gallery in the first place."

He cocks his head sideways at me. "Now, what kinda fucked up guy would I be, making you stay here?"

And I just smile at him. This is the side of him that I love. This is the Lex who holds me in bed, and lets me wash his back in the shower, and sticks up for me when people fuck with me.

He wants to take care of me, and sometimes I let him. He's been taking care of me for years. He likes to feel like I need him in every way, not just because he supplies for my habit. It's hard to imagine what he would do if I got clean and didn't need him anymore.

But for some reason I think there's something about him that I'll always need, addict or not...

With Monday came the hustle. He usually took the weekends slow, making calls and letting some of his runners handle deals, only making a few hand-to-hand meets himself, but Monday was always hectic.

I'm sitting on the couch in the morning while he finishes up his cereal in the kitchen.

"Tonight is supposed to be a good night," he speaks between bites, looking into the living room at me.

"You getting a delivery?"

My eyes focus down at the task in front of me, breaking up a marijuana bud onto a paper plate. Lex always likes for me to roll his joints. He says I can roll tighter because I have smaller fingers, but sometimes I just feel like he's being lazy and doesn't wanna do it himself. Of course that's not too terribly shocking.

"Nope...turf war. Upped the price and squeezed the supply. Gotta go the other route," he sighs, taking another bite, chewing slowly.

"I thought you got the shit delivered now," I question him, eyes snapping up to meet his, narrowing a little.

"Depends on the connection, you know that." He waves off my words with his hand before tipping the bowl toward his face to swallow the dregs of milk in the bottom and then placing it in the sink. I continue rolling his joint.

He draws the back of his hand across his mouth, stepping around the kitchen bar and into the living room before continuing, "I've got two good ones running right now, playing the supply and demand game, you know...all that shit you learn in high school economics." He grins, taking a seat next to me. "But it's like I just told you, shit's bad with the one guy, so I gotta get it from the other. Business is business. That's why it's called the game."

He reaches for the joint, smelling it quickly and licking his lips before fishing into his pocket for his lighter. "Damn, that's good shit, baby." He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and I roll my eyes a bit, sinking back against the back of the couch.

I loll my head sideways at him, eyes focusing on him with intent. "You know I hate it when you go uptown to pick up your shit. Just to get two ounces from some hoochie bitch who works for the street boss. Out there with enough blow to get you locked up for at least five years...fuck," I sigh, shaking my head before looking away from him.

He groans, throwing an arm around me as he takes a long drag, turning his head away from me to exhale. He turns back to me, lowering his voice as he speaks right against my ear, "Chill out with that shit. I've been doing this long enough, I know what I'm doing. Besides, like I said, tonight is supposed to be a good night. Hey...look at me..."

He slips his arm from around my shoulders to turn my face to his, holding my chin in his fingers. He takes a slow pull, but doesn't inhale, just holds the smoke in his mouth and it rolls out in small wisps from between his full lips as he pulls my mouth to his. I inhale, taking the hit from his mouth and holding it, releasing my head back to exhale toward the ceiling as he smirks at me.

Shotgunning, it's called, and I fucking love when he does it to me. I grin at him, grabbing his face and pushing my mouth to his, sliding my tongue deep past his lips.

He moans softly and licks his lips as he pulls away. "I got some of the purest shit you can get off the street coming in. Almost twenty-five."

My eyes go wide at his words. "Shut the fuck up." I'm almost giddy, sitting up at attention on the couch. This could be so good for business.

Pure cocaine is impossible to get on the street. Most of it comes in at about 80 or 90 percent pure on the kilo, but it's cut at least twice by the time it gets into the hands of street dealers like Lex, turning out four kilos at around 20 percent purity.

Sometimes it gets cut three times and you're selling around 11 percent, but you can't get rid of that shit unless you sell in a "dumb market"-college kids or users who are so desperate they just don't care-and Lex doesn't fuck with that stuff because he wants to uphold his reputation for having the good shit. That's how you keep business rolling smoothly.

Really, there's no sense in selling pure cocaine, a human body can't handle it, most users are so used to diluted product that pure coke would be too potent to even enjoy. You're not gaining any profit, and you're just killing your customers.

But 25 percent...that's good shit. That's right on the money.

He smirks. "I know...I've been running about twenty, twenty-two in a good batch. That's about the best you can get around here. But this shit is supposed to be legit. Got the call last night."

He takes one more drag before passing me the joint. He doesn't smoke too much before he goes out for the day, just enough to calm his nerves. He knows he still has to be straight enough to handle his business.

"Twenty-five..." I trail off, still not believing my ears. "So are you gonna stock up?" I ask before taking a hit.

That's the way you have to play situations like this. If a bad batch of coke comes out to one of your connections, they're usually up front about it, and if it's running around 20 or a little under, Lex just buys a little to stay in the good graces of his supplier, and bides his time until better shit comes in. Then he goes for a big purchase.

"Yeah...I might get ten ounces."

Ten ounces may not be much in the grand scheme, but it is for Lex. He usually only runs two ounces at a time, maybe a little more, dealing in smaller amounts just to keep his own ass out of the hot seat. He's dealt with guys who run kilos at a time, and they just end up fucked-getting their house broken into, or getting so caught up in their high-roller lifestyle that they crash and burn right from the start.

My jaw drops to my chest. "That's eight thousand fucking dollars out of pocket! Probably more than that if it's as good as you say! Can you afford that?"

He scoffs at me, furrowing his brow, raising his voice. "Of course I can! And you know I turn that shit over for more than triple profit! Besides, this guy is cool, he lets me go in half up front and pay out later."

I sigh, leaning forward to snub the end of the joint before sitting back and folding my arms across my chest. "Sounds like a bunch of unnecessary bullshit if you get busted. Twice as much shit in your pockets when they take you in, and you still owe the guy half. Do you know how much time you get for ten ounces, Lex?!"

He groans, pushing on his knees to peel himself off of the couch with a huffed sigh. "God, would you stop being a whiney bitch! I can't deal with this shit right now. I've gotta run something on the streets today, I fucked around all weekend." And he disappears into the backroom to get his shit ready for the day.

His phone vibrates on the table. Not his business phone, that motherfucker is always in his pocket. His other phone.

I glance over my shoulder and then lean over the coffee table to peek at the phone when I see that the door is shut behind him down the hall.

Damon.

I sigh loud. It fucking kills me every time he calls. I can't imagine how it makes Lex feel.

I look over my shoulder down the hall again.

Fuck it. I pick up the phone.

"H-hello?" My voice is quiet, almost a whisper. Why the fuck did I answer the phone? I don't even know what to say to this kid.

"Um...is Alex there?" His voice is deep, but cracks in mid-sentence. I know he has to be fucking terrified, poor thing.

"He's...he's busy right now. This is Damon, right?" My voice is still low and hushed. Lex is gonna fucking kill me.

"Yeah...who is this?" He's talking quietly too now. I feel like such a sneak, my chest starts to get tight. I need to make this quick. Whatever we are going to say, it needs to be said now.

"This is Leala...I don't know if you remember me. I think the last time I saw you-"

"Yeah, I remember you. You're like Alex's girlfriend, right?" I'm glad he cut me off. The urgency in his voice makes me know that he needs this conversation to be just as quick as I do.

"Yeah...listen, I know you call Lex a lot, and he doesn't answer, it's just that-"

"How is he? I mean, he's ok right?"

And my heart breaks. It absolutely breaks for this kid. He's not angry, he doesn't want to know why Lex doesn't answer the phone, he just wants to know if he's ok.

"Y-yeah...he's...he's fine. Look, I don't know-"

"Cause I worry about him, you know. My parents don't talk about him, ever, and I always ask. It's just like...he died. That's what it's like at our house, and I just need to know that he's okay. Cause...he's still my brother, you know, even if my parents try to pretend like he doesn't exist..."

I sigh, running a hand over my face. "I know. I know, ok? And he knows, it's just...it's been a long time. He doesn't want to get you into trouble, and I think he just feels bad. But listen, I can't stay on here for long, ok?"

"Well, just...tell him I called." I hear the door open down the hall and my heart jumps into my throat.

"Ok...ok." I close the phone when I see his form standing over me.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

I freeze, phone in my hand. I don't even look up into his eyes. I can tell what look is there just by the tone in his voice. I swallow hard.

"Who the fuck was that?!" He snatches the phone from my hands and I slowly bring my gaze up to his as he scrolls through his phone menu to see the last received call. I'm trembling inside. I know I made a huge, huge mistake.

I bolt up from the couch as his eyes go wide and he lunges for me, throwing the phone to the ground, but I'm not quick enough. He falls onto the couch and I scramble down out of his grasp but he grabs me at my ankles and hauls me back underneath him, flipping me over by the shoulders and pinning me down hard.

"You fucking bitch!" he spits the words in my face, and I struggle against him, pushing on his shoulders. But he's too damn strong.

He quickly maneuvers all of his weight on top of me, his knees sunken into the couch on either side of my hips, ankles hooked over my thighs, holding my legs still. I feel his fingers digging into my upper arms as he pushes all of his weight down into me. I know he's bruising my flesh to the bone.

I yelp when he shakes me, fingers digging harder into my arms. "I can't fucking believe you would do some shit like that! What the fuck were you thinking? You think it's ok to just do whatever the fuck you want? Huh!? Fucking answer me!!"

His icy blue eyes are wild and maniacal, brow furrowed and teeth clenched. His face is red with anger and exertion from holding me down, but I finally give in, laying limp under him. I want to cry, just to make him feel like a real asshole, but I can't even muster up any tears because I know what I did was beyond fucked up. I crossed the line.

"Holy fucking God I can't believe you!" He tears up off of the couch, pulling me up just a little by my arms and slamming me back down into the cushions just for good measure. He hovers back over my body, raises a hand overhead and I wince and turn my head, waiting for the blow. This time I think he's actually going to hit me and I almost think I deserve it. But I just wait, and nothing.

He growls and turns abruptly to the wall, punching straight through it with his fist, making a clean deep hole and I jump at the thudding sound of the strike.

Silence.

He's frozen, one hand stuck inside beneath the thick drywall, chest heaving in frustration and rage. I'm scared to move. He slides his other hand up the wall, palm flat and fingers spread wide, and I jump again when he slaps against it, grunting low in his chest.

His shoulders finally relax and his head falls forward, his forehead resting gently against the wall, his back still expanding and falling with his heavy breaths.

I slowly pull myself from the couch and approach him silently from behind, reaching out a hand cautiously and running it across his lower back and around to hold him at his waist. My other hand creeps slowly up his side and over his shoulder, down his tattooed arm to gently help ease his hand out of the wall, his fist still clenched, blood on his swollen knuckles.

I press a kiss to the nape of his neck and rest my cheek there, his skin still warm and flushed with rage. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry," I whisper the words and I feel him nod under my cheek, but in an instant he whirls around, grabbing my face and pushing my back hard against the wall where he had just been standing.

I wince as he grips my cheeks, shooting pain up into my skull as his fingertips align with the bruises Tony had given me from squeezing my face in the same fashion just last night, the pressure of his hand deepening and darkening the purple that I know will eventually surface.

His jaw is tight and his nostrils flare slightly with his breaths as the heel of his hand rests against my throat applying the slightest pressure. My breath hitches in my throat, but his eyes are soft now. I know he's no longer raging.

"If you ever...fucking ever...pull some shit like that again...I'll fucking kill you. Don't fuck around with me, not when it comes to my family. You're my girl, and I would never hurt you, but I swear to fucking God above I'll kill your ass," he whispers tight in his throat, and I nod the best I can under his grip.

With a sigh he releases my face and his head falls into my neck as I reach down to take his injured hand in mine, holding it gently against my stomach as I clutch the back of his head and press a kiss beneath his ear. "I'm sorry."

He pulls away from me and looks into my face and then down at his hand as I hold it gently, his fingers in my palm. He makes a loose fist, closing and opening his fingers slowly and he winces, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut as he turns his head to the side at the painful sensation.

"Does it hurt?" I push up the fabric of his long-sleeved t-shirt and rub his forearm slowly as he continues to make fists with his hand, trying to return it to functionality.

"Yeah it fucking hurts," he scoffs, finally pulling it away from my grasp and shaking it loosely in the air, "It'll be fine. I gotta go."

And I know I should leave. Probably for a while after what took place just moments ago.