The world narrows to a pinpoint. Kade’s voice slices into my ear. “Rhett.” I don’t answer, jaw locked so tight it aches. “Breathe.”
I force air into my lungs and count it. In. Out. Again. Over and over until the rage clawing at my veins settles into something more manageable.
Paulie bends over the table and takes another hit. This one’s sloppier. Less care. When he straightens, hiswords drag just a fraction. His rough laugh is followed by a slur of words. “You think… she’s gonna tell anyone?”
“You feel that?” Marcus frowns.
Shifting on the couch, Paulie rolls his shoulders like he’s trying to work something loose. “What?”
“Something’s… off.” His buddy rubs his temple, blinking hard.
“Fuck, my mouth’s dry.” Paulie’s eyes go unfocused, like the room has slipped a few inches to the left. He lifts the whiskey to his lips and tosses the remainder back.That’s it, keep drinking, boys.
Palms braced on his knees, Marcus leans forward. His eyes squint, trying to bring the room back into line. “You think…?” He doesn’t finish the thought, movements slow as he sets his glass down a little too hard, his hand missing the edge of the table. Their heads dip again, like gravity’s gotten heavier all at once.
“Time to meet your maker, boys.” I exit the bathroom without finesse, not giving two fucking shits if they can see me approach. Marcus doesn’t notice at first. He’s slumped forward, breathing like his lungs are working through syrup. Paulie does, though. His head jerks up, eyes struggling to focus, pupils blown wide like he’s already halfway gone.
I don’t speak right away. I let them look at me. Let the fear finish assembling itself piece by piece. Confusionfirst, then the instinctive sense that this isn’t a hallucination. This is real. This is the end.
Marcus swallows hard. “Who the fuck—” His voice gives out on the last word.
“Evening, gentlemen.”
Paulie’s eyes find me. His mouth opens, then closes. His chest stutters as he fights to form words.
“I think it’s time for a little chat.” Unbuttoning my jacket with deliberate care, I take a seat on the couch across from them, “Rough night?”
Marcus makes a sound—somewhere between a grunt and a question. His tongue is too thick in his mouth now.Good.Let it swell.
“How does it feel to lose your faculties?” I question with a raised brow, propping one ankle over my knee. “Do you know you’re about thirty seconds from losing motor control? After that, the real fun starts.”
Paulie lurches forward, but it’s pathetic—like a puppet with tangled strings.
“Careful.” I smirk, allowing my menacing tone to dance through the air. “That coffee table’s real glass. Hate for you to split your head open before we’ve had our little chat.”
Marcus’s breathing hitches, and Paulie tries again. “Who the fuck are you?”
I chuckle. “Your worst fucking nightmare.” Leaning forward, my eyes darken as the thrill of watching themsuffer rushes through my veins. “Here’s a question for you, Paulie. When you stuck your dick into a drugged-up girl on her wedding night, who the fuck did you thinkyouwere?”
He goes pale. “Fucccck you.”
“No thanks. Unlike you, I prefer my sexual partners to be coherent.” I pause, running my tongue across my lower lip, thoroughly enjoying watching them struggle to stay upright. “You’re dying.” My voice drops to a casual tone, like I’m commenting on the weather. “Figured I’d clear that up, since your brain’s already lagging.” I watch their faces as panic lands, trying—and failing—to organize itself.
“Xylazine,” I continue. “Ring a bell? Probably not. It’s not for people.” A corner of my mouth lifts. “It’s for animals. Big ones. Horses. Cattle. The kind that don’t go down easy.” I gesture lazily at the tray. “Shows up in coke all the time now. Looks the same. Smells the same. Dealers cut it in because it’s cheap and it stretches the product.” I lean forward, voice dropping. “And because idiots like you don’t notice until your body starts forgetting how to function.”
Paulie swallows hard. Marcus blinks too slowly. “See, the coke keeps your heart racing just long enough to mask the sedative,” I explain. “Makes you feel alert and confident, like nothing’s wrong. That’s the trap, though.” I tap my temple. “Xylazine works the oppositeway. It slows your nervous system, drops your heart rate, and pulls the brakes on your muscle function.” My gaze tracks the twitch in Marcus’s hand. “That’s why your fingers feel like they don’t belong to you anymore.”
I sit back, relaxed and comfortable. “Now add Rohypnol,” I go on. “That’s what I put in your drink, by the way. It knocks out coordination, wipes your short-term memory, and makes it hard to yell or move or do anything useful.” A quiet laugh slips out of me. “Stack all that together? You get a real interesting concoction.” Their breathing is already getting shallower. “Your body can’t decide which signal to listen to. One drug’s telling it to go, while the other’s telling it to stop.” I shrug. “And eventually… all things must come to an end.”
Paulie’s chest stutters, fear brimming in his gaze.Good.
“That thick-tongue feeling? That’s your brain losing control.” I tilt my head and lean in just enough for them to see my eyes. “The cocaine keeps you awake for the scary part.” A dark chuckle forms on my lips. “The Rohypnol keeps you calm enough not to fight it.” Panic widens Marcus’s eyes. “And the best fuckin’ part?” I grin, savoring the fear terrorizing their eyes. “You won’t black out right away,” my smile widens to a calculated smirk. “You’ll have just enough awareness to know you’re suffocating to death while I watch.”
A whimper groans past Paulie’s discolored lips. It’s pathetic, and fuck me for saying this, I love it. “You’re probably wondering why you can still feel your tongue, huh? That’s the Rohypnol. Counteracts the panic. Makes it all floaty. Dreamlike.” I glance at the decanter. “Maybe now you’ll understand even a sliver of how she felt that night.”
Barely able to hold his head up, Marcus slumps. I turn to him. “You thought this was a gift.” I motion to the coke, the whiskey, the whole obscene display. “From your buddy. Another fun night to ensure your silence.” I lean in closer. “But it wasn’t a gift. It was a grave. Dug by me for touching something that didn’t belong to you.”
Paulie wheezes, panic fluttering in his chest. He’s trying to form words, but his mouth isn’t keeping up. I watch his lips move, slack and useless. “You wanna beg me to make it stop?” I offer, mock-sincerity lacing my words. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”
