Ant stirs and I rush to his side, pressing my wrist to his forehead, relieved to find it’s clammy, but he’s not running a temperature. I push the bundle into his hands, then shake my head. He’s trembling so badly I’ll need to fix a shot for him, and I can’t do that with someone watching.
“Who’s this?” My brother struggles to sit upright, his jaw clenching with the strain. “Didn’t realise we were having guests.”
“He’s—”
“I’m Maddox.” He walks over, arm extended, startling my brother into shaking his hand. “A friend of Evie’s.”
I bite my lips, frowning at the floor. We don’t have friends. It’s easier that way and we don’t need them. Not when we have each other.
“Sorry, I’m…” Ant trails off, rubbing an arm across his forehead. His eyes are beady, shakes growing worse by the second.
“You need to go,” I tell Maddox, trying to steer him back towards the door. I might as well be pushing against an elephant.
His eyes scan my brother, seeing the pockmarks and scarring along his inner elbow. “You’re injecting? Where’s your gear?”
“Look, man. Not meaning to be rude, but my sister obviously doesn’t want you here, and neither do I.”
Maddox steps back, turning on his heel a little. “I need to talk to you but it’s private.” When neither of us move, he adds, “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Help me to the bathroom,” Ant says, struggling to his feet.
I lend him my shoulder as a crutch for the brief journey. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks in a whisper. “I can callKayce from downstairs if you need someone to encourage him to leave.”
The polite framing makes me laugh. “Don’t worry.” Though that’s exactly what I’m doing as I close the door on Ant, turning back to Maddox. “Okay, talk.”
He’s in the kitchen, opening drawers, laying out Ant’s gear on the bench. I stiffen, but after a second, it’s clear it’s not the first time he’s prepped a shot. There’s an ease in his movements as he taps powder into the bent spoon, adding water then heating it, tearing a piece of cotton wool as a filter, drawing the final product into a new needle, setting it on the bench, ready.
“You’ve got Narcan? This stuff looks dodgy as fuck.”
I pull the ampoules from another drawer, setting one on the bench beside it, trying to work out where he learned this stuff. “Your girlfriend?”
“My sister.” His eyes meet mine for a fleeting second, blue pools of despair that make me want to hold Ant close while I still can, inject some sense into him instead of another hit of poison. “I want you, that’s what I was going to say. Not like today… but—”
“But not dissimilar.”
There’s a pinch behind my sternum and I press my palm against it. It’s what I expected. There’s no need for my bones to ache like they’ve been hollowed out, my cheeks to be hot.
“I’m a stripper, not a sex worker.” The lie comes so naturally, I don’t even blush.
“Not sex. Maybe touching you but not like that. I want…” he trails off into a laugh, shaking his head, embarrassment darkening his face. “This will sound mental, but I want you to be asleep and then it’s… like role play?”
“Role play.”
He rubs the back of his neck, then leans his head back, the sharp outline of his long throat making mine clutch so tightly I can barely breathe.
And another part of his statement floats to the top. “You want me asleep?”
“For a few hours. I’ll get some pills for you to take—”
“Oh, fuck no!”
He touches me, a hand on my shoulder, and it’s stupid considering what he just proposed, but it feels nice. Friendly. Absent of the usual static of sexual pressure. A knot forms in the hollow of my throat and I tug at the skin there, trying to make the sensation go away.
“You could name your price. I’ll get you anything you need.” He shuffles his feet, briefly losing eye contact. “There’s a treatment program down south. Sedated detox. Your brother’s young enough to be a strong candidate. Three days and he’ll be clean.”
“And how much does that cost?”
“With the month-long residential treatment that follows, it’ll run to about thirty grand.”
