But it’s too late…
Warden and Arturo share a look; it’s deadly and full of mischief.
“Thank you for this information, Poppy,” Warden compliments, kissing my forehead. “I see something good coming to you very soon.” He whispers that last part so only I can hear him, shoving the vial into the pocket of my hoodie without anyone else seeing. “Enjoy!” He turns toward his office, his phone already out of his pocket.
“You’re just going to hurt him, right?” I question, unable to hide my panic. “You’re not going to kill him or anything, are you, Warden?”
He glances over his shoulder, that evil smile pulling even further. “Don’t worry, Princess, we only plan on using your knight as a pawn. Once Eddie breaks, so will his club, and we’ll run them all right out of Fernley.”
I don’t believe him; nothing about his words seems true.
He barely glances at Arturo before pressing his phone to his ear. “Call someone to clean this shit up,” he orders, motioning to the dead kid on the floor. “Then you and I need to talk.”
Arturo waits for him to leave before glancing my way. “Thanks, my pet,” he whispers, the pet name more of a dig than a form of endearment. It’s emphasizing the conversation we had earlier—his way of calling me a bitch without showing his true colors to everyone in the room. “Guess you’re more of a use to me than I could’ve guessed.”
He gives me a parting kiss before calling his cleanup crew. The rest of us are left lingering with the bloody kid on the floor.
At least he’s not twitching anymore.
“Damn, Poppy, I didn’t think you had it in you,” Gina exclaims, moving toward me. “Your drug addiction must be really bad if you’re going to throw out someone’s name like that.”
“What are you talking about?”
She laughs. “I know you’re new to this world, but you basically just signed your friend’s death certificate.”
“Who? Do you mean Wesley?”
She nods. “The one who went to jail for you.” We’ve had this conversation a million times before. Mostly when I was high or drunk, or a combination of the two. She knows our history… the ugliness of it all.
“He’s not my friend.”
Gina smirks. “I’ve known you long enough to know the truth, Poppy. You may play like he means nothing to you, but beneath all that hostility and rage is a mutual respect and attraction you can’t hide.”
“You’re wrong.”
Her shoulders slightly lift. “Maybe I am. But when he ends up dead in his prison cell, lying in a pool of his own blood like Maggot over there, you better not shed a tear. Own that shit, Poppy.” She points to the filled in tear drop tattoo just below herleft eye. “We all have our enemies; yours just happens to be a man who would burn down Hell just to get to you.”
My mouth opens, then snaps shut, words failing me.
“Face it, girl. You hate to love the guy, and once he’s gone, the only person that ever really gave a fuck about you will no longer be here to save you from yourself. I don’t know about you, but that’s not a guilt I could personally live with.” She pats my shoulder condescendingly before exiting the room, leaving me alone to shatter.
Fuck, what did I just do?
Not only did I just hand Wesley over to them on a silver platter, but I basically gave them Eddie and Rich too.
Maybe you’re the problem, Poppy. Everyone in your life either leaves or dies.
It’s the last thought that goes through my head before I disappear into the room I share with Arturo, pull back my sleeve, and feed my veins the only thing that can make the guilt go away.
Chapter Eighteen
Wesley
The pen feels too small in my hand.
That’s the first stupid thought that rattles through my head as I sit on the edge of my bunk, hunched over a wrinkled sheet of paper like a goddamn teenager instead of a man rotting in a concrete box. The overhead light buzzes faintly, flickering just enough to make the words blur if I stare at the page too long.
I haven’t written her in over a year. The last few just felt too raw, like I sliced open a vein and was writing to her in blood instead of ink. They never left my notebook, and yet they felt easier to write back then. Now, they feel forced, almost fake.
