No turning back now.
We reach the edge of the building, press ourselves against the brick wall. Thea’s breathing is quick and shallow beside me.
“You sure about this?” she whispers.
“No.”
“Great.”
I take a breath. Step around the corner.
And walk straight into the dark.
7
Koa
The druggie is twitching on the corner like a broken marionette.
I spot him from half a block away—Brad, some washed-up townie who’s been scoring from someone else’s supply. His hands shake as he checks his phone, checks the street, checks his phone again. The rhythm of desperation.
I just got out of my morning class—some bullshit economics lecture I barely paid attention to—and I’m supposed to be heading to practice. But this catches my eye. Brad’s on my block. My territory.
That’s a problem.
Oxy’s beside me, following my gaze. “That the tweaker from Fourth Street?”
“Yeah.”
“Want me to handle it?”
“No.” I’m already walking toward him. “I got it.”
Brad sees me coming. His eyes go wide, and he takes a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m faster.
I grab him by the front of his stained jacket, slam him against the brick wall hard enough that his head bounces. A woman passing by gasps and hurries away. Smart.
“Please, man, I didn’t—”
“Shut up.” I pin him with one hand, use the other to check his pockets. Empty. Just a wallet with three dollars and a maxed-out credit card. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
I slam him again. Harder. “Don’t play stupid with me, Brad. Where’s your stash?”
“I don’t have—”
I pull out a bag from my own pocket. Hold it up so he can see it. White powder in a clear ziplock. His pupils dilate instantly.
“This what you want?”
He nods so fast it’s fucking ridiculous.
Oxy steps closer, snarls in his face. “Stupid bastard.”
“Tell me who your dealer is,” I say, my voice flat and cold, “and I’ll make it worth your time.”
Brad shakes his head frantically. “I don’t know who. I told you before, man. It’s just a guy. I meet him at different spots—”
