“I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
He produces a syringe. “This shit will knock you off your feet.”
My stomach instantly coils. “Is that he—heroin?”
He nods, his smile pulling evilly. “Hell’s dust, smack, call it what you want. If you need a release, this shit will get you high as fuck.”
“How much?”
“For you, baby, five hundred.”
Instantly, I feel sick. “All I have is a hundred.”
He puts the syringe back in his pocket. “A gram is five hundred.”
“Is there anything else you’ll take for payment?” I ask reluctantly.
His eyes light up, the brown hues looking almost as dirty as his face. He’d be attractive if he wasn’t dressed like a bum. But maybe that’s his cover? Pretending to look like just another vagrant on the street so it’s easier to blend in.
“What are we talking about here?” He licks his lips.
I tug at my shirt, instantly regretting the words before they escape my tongue. “I’ll give you my hundred, and you can do whatever you want with me.”
“Whatever I want?”
I nod. “I just need something to make me forget.”
He scrubs at his jaw. “I have been looking for a business partner. A pretty girl like you could fetch me quite some change on the streets.”
I gasp. “Are you asking me to become your hooker?”
He laughs. “Relax, baby. I’ll ease you into it.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
His smile fades. “Then don’t fucking waste my time. If you don’t got the money, get the fuck out of here.”
My brain screams for me to leave, but my body betrays me. I stay like an idiot.
“Okay, what exactly do you need me to do?”
He smirks. “Well, I got to test out the merchandise first, and see how worth it you are.” He motions to a doorway to his left. “Follow me.”
My body moves without any hesitation. He leads me through a door, then into a small room lit by one of those camp lanterns. There is a box spring covered with a thin, flimsy mattress set on the floor, that’s littered with needles and other nefarious things.
“You sure you want to do this, sweetheart?”
My head nods before I can stop it.
“Well, let’s get you high first. Don’t want you screaming rape on me or some bullshit. My name’s Jericho, by the way.”
“Poppy.”
He smirks. “I like the name.”
“I don’t,” I whisper, eyes widening when he pulls out the syringe again.
“Sit down and give me your arm.”
