Dark red splatters of blood created a disturbing tapestry of shapes and stains against the filthy porcelain. The stench of my own piss, along with the piss of the fucks who’d strung me up, saturated the air. Sweat dripped from my brow, stinging my eyes. Zip ties anchored my wrists to the shower nozzle above my head. My arms had gone numb hours ago.
I shifted my weight from my right leg to my left. Sharp shards of pain seared through the muscles. I inhaled. Agony laced every breath. My ribs had to be busted.
In the delirium, my mind drifted to McKelle. She was both soft and fierce. Vulnerable and fucking fearless. I loved the way she laughed, and it broke me to see her tears. I hated how she needed Cruz because I wanted her to need me the same way. Would she cry over me the way she’d cried over Cruz?
I wasn’t stupid. I hadn’t asked McKelle to choose between us because I wanted more time with her. An ultimatum would only have had her back with Cruz sooner. Contemplating my own expiration date had me rethinking my priorities. I’d rather have some part of her than nothing.
But Cruz was an asshole, an asshole who really wasn’t because an asshole would’ve forced McKelle to choose. He didn’t. An asshole who was already a Heller would keep me out of the MC, but instead he was the asshole who wanted to sponsor me. The asshole wasn’t trying to push me out, even after knowing I’d slept with McKelle, but seemed to want a truce. A truce that involved us both being with her.
I’d almost had something good. As usual, I was fucked in the end. I’d played by the rules. Did treatment for an addiction I didn’t have. Did probation for charges I wasn’t guilty of—a nervous chuckle bubbled out of me—and I was going to die in a bathtub, in a trap house, for being a narc when I never said anything to the cops.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, nausea surged up my throat and my body convulsed. Dropping my head forward sent fire through my shoulders. I heaved, purging what little I had left in my stomach. Frothy spit and yellow bile contributed to the macabre colors trickling into the tub’s drain.
Drool dribbled over my lips. I breathed through my mouth, but I could taste the vile odors in the small room. I’d been here for hours. I’d taken a beating because I couldn’t convince Drew and Vic and their gangbanger brothers that I hadn’t narced.
I’d known I was fucked the moment I stepped a foot into the halfway house. I couldn’t blame Treena. Kings held a gun to her head. Self-preservation had her giving me up. This was my fault. I should’ve known they’d eventually find me. Maybe prison would’ve been the better deal. Although Kings in prison had nothing left to lose. I was fucked the day I was born. Nothing had changed.
A guy stumbled into the bathroom, pulled out his dick, and took a leak. The toilet wasn’t any cleaner than the shower. Tattoos covered his face, and a large W with three dots above the points marked him as a King. He swayed on his feet. Judging by the bruises and scabs of track marks on his arms, he was high on heroin.
That dealer died in a bathtub, and I was going out the same way.
“You doing okay?” the guy asked.
My vision blurred, my tongue was swollen, and my throat was too dry to speak. And I was naked and covered in blood, vomit, and piss. So no, I wasn’t okay. But that was his point. They weren’t done making me suffer, and no one in this house was going to call for help.
I was fucked.
The guy pulled a baggie from his pocket, twisted around, and sat on the toilet. He focused as he pinched off a piece of heroin and set it on a crinkled piece of foil.
A crash sounding from the living room was followed by raised voices.
“Someone’s pissed. The guys must be back with food.” He smirked. “We need to keep up our strength. And those fucks have the munchies.” He stood and twisted the lock on the bathroom door. “Breathe deep, asshole. You’re going to want to be high.”
He put a straw between his lips, flicked the lighter and chased the bead of heroin across the foil, inhaling the fumes.
I closed my eyes and wondered if maybe I should ask for a hit.
“Drew thinks you should have the same experiences as the Kings you fucked over. You got jumped, but you’re not done hurting. Danny’s wife says he’s got hismouth wired shut from the beatdown he got the first week he was locked up. I’m thinking we’re not done fucking you up.”
Bang!A gun fired.Bang!Another explosion of gunfire blasted through the house.
“Oh, fuck.” The guy sucked harder, trying to finish off his bead.
I shifted my weight again. Every muscle cramped. I couldn’t stop the low groan climbing out of my chest. Maybe I’d get lucky and catch a stray bullet in the head and end this fucking misery.
More thuds and bangs and then an eerie silence emanated from behind the closed door. The guy strained to listen, leaning toward the door, tilting his head, and still smoking his heroin.
The bathroom doorknob jiggled. “Open the fucking door.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” He crumpled the foil.
Crack!The wood splintered, and the door swung open. The guy stood, and tossed his foil, lighter, and straw into the tub.
I couldn’t breathe, afraid I was hallucinating. A cocktail of emotions surged through me. Fear, confusion, shame, anger. But I couldn’t name the one I felt at seeing the Heller I was supposed to hate. Same messy hair. Same intense eyes. But the devilish smile was a hard line. A muscle ticked in Cruz’s angular jaw.
I coughed out spit and blood.
“Romeo, he’s in here.”
