“You must be Wrangler. I’m Ray Diaz.” Ray struts over to the metal garage door. “You understand I have to be careful.” He punches a code in on the keypad tacked to the frame of the door. Within a second, it opens.
I tuck my hands in my jean pockets. “I’m well aware of the industry.”
A deep chuckle erupts from Ray. “I heard. Donnie told me you were a cocky punk too.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “When I need to be.”
Ray flicks a switch on the wall just inside the garage. Fluorescent lights illuminate the space, and sitting like a precious jewel in a museum is an Aston Martin Valkyrie. I can’t help but lick my lips like I’m about to have sex with a hot babe.
This black as night car, glimmering before me, is worth at least two mil.
I wolf-whistle as I forget for the moment why I’m here. “The drug business must be booming in this area.”
Green flashes like a beacon on a foggy night.
Green as in cash.
Maybe my future isn’t the NFL.
Maybe my plans are all wrong. Maybe I should consider working full-time for Ray Diaz. I could pay Phoebe’s medical expenses for a lifetime. I could also buy Mom a big house on the ocean that she dreams about.
Ray’s thugs come in, and the one who frisked me hits a button. The garage door closes, the creaking sound snapping me out of my dream state.
“So, why should I hire you?” Ray asks, anchoring himself to an expensive chest of tools.
I circle the Aston Martin, my eyes big as basketballs. “Because I can make you money,” I say, not taking my gaze off the pristine black jewel.
“Tell me how.” Ray orders like he’s already my boss.
His crass tone makes me jerk, and I pin him with a glare. “It doesn’t matter how. All you need to know is I need the money.”
Moneyalwaysmotivates people.
“For what?”
His two goons stand guard at the door like they’re Secret Service.
“None of your business.” Fuck if he needs to know my personal shit.
“You working for the cops?” Ray’s tone is nonchalant like he’s asking what kind of beer I prefer.
I fold my arms over my chest and widen my stance. “Donnie vouched for me. So, what’s your problem?”
He pushes off the toolbox, pinching his thick dark eyebrows. “I like to know the person working for me. Tell me more.”
I’m sure Donnie told him my real name. I’m also sure Ray has the network to find out where I live and my entire background. But I decide to throw him a bone. I do need the gig. And time is of the essence if I want to get Phoebe’s vest fixed or acquire a new one. Plus, I know if I were in his shoes, I’d want to know the same thing.
I lift my chin defiantly. “I attend Cypress University. And before you even think to say anything about me selling on campus, that’s not going to happen. I can’t be your dealer there. If that’s a deal breaker, I’ll walk.”
He scratches his unshaven jaw as he crosses the clean cement floor to a fridge behind the Aston Martin. He returns with two beers and hands me one. He twists his cap off the bottle, and I do the same. I could use something cold to coat the sandpaper feeling in the back of my throat.
He studies me. “Why don’t you find a job on campus then? Or in town. The city is a tourist trap, I’m sure someone would hire you.”
I grit my teeth. “What’s your problem?” He’s right that I could probably find a job, but at minimum wage and the limited time to work with school and football, Phoebe wouldn’t get her vest or Mom wouldn’t be able to pay the bills. I thought long and hard about my options, and drugs equals fast cash.
He takes a long pull of his beer. “My problem is I’m looking for someone with longevity, and you don’t strike me as that type, college boy. I want someone my clients can depend on. You feel me?”
I don’t know how long it will be before Mom finds a job. And if I’m being honest, I’m afraid to even go down this path. But desperation bleeds motivation, and I’m fucking motivated after seeing Phoebe in the hospital. I also don’t want to see Mom working three jobs again like she had when we lived in New Jersey.
