Chapter 15
Ajori
My desk, which used to be nothing more than the end of the kitchen table, had finally been upgraded to a small white workspace I caught on sale for a little over a hundred dollars… nothing fancy. My laptop had been upgraded too. It didn’t overheat like the last one. It wasn’t one of those thousand-dollar, top-tier models people buy to flex, though. Every time I looked at that setup, it reminded me I was building my life piece by piece… responsibly, quietly, and without going broke trying to look rich.
Money wasn’t tight like it was before, but when you grow up broke, you don’t magically become a spender overnight; your spirit stays humble.
You still grab the off-brand everything because “it tastes the same.” You double-check your bank app before any purchase, even the tiny ones. You flip the package over to check the price, even when you already know it’s cheap. You’ll wait for a sale, even if it saves you nothing but five dollars. You buy the kids what they want while whispering “maybe next time” to yourself. You put things back at self-checkout because yousuddenly decided you “didn’t really need it.” You talk yourself out of things you can afford, then feel guilty the moment you actually treat yourself to something nice, even when you earned every bit of it.
It had been six whole weeks since Iaccidentallybecame a drug mule. In that time, I’d made a hundred and fifty-five thousand dollars, in clean, banded stacks.
Money so pretty it didn’t even look real at first.
By week three, I had the routes memorized better than my social. I knew which entrances squeaked, which alleys stayed too quiet, and which faces meant I should keep my hand near the glove compartment. Me and Drico were cool now, too. He wasn’t friendly, just respectful. He’d nod, I’d nod, we moved like clockwork.
No flirting… no weirdness… just business.
But when I went back to Dino the following week?
Lord…
Dino’s face looked like he lost a boxing match he didn’t train for, sign up for, or even know he was in. It was clear he got ambushed. His eye was a mottled shade of dark purple and swollen shut. His nose had taken a brutal hit. It was crooked and shaped like a question mark. And his lip? Yeah, that lipclocked outbefore the fight even started.
Dino barely glanced at me. Gone was the “new mule” flirtatious energy he had during our first encounter. He didn’t even so much as crack a smile. He just waved me off with a quick, “You’re good. You can go,” like he was scared his face might fall off if he said more than five words.
I wasn’t complaining about the lack of communication, but damn, something definitely went down. And whoever did it? Yeah, Dino clearly fucked with thewrongperson, because that damage looked personal.
I would’ve been reached the amount I needed for Kyrin’s surgery, but life loves to trip me right before the finish line. During week three, I got hit with the flu so hard I thought somebody put a root on me. I was out for a solid week. Then… two weeks after that,Kyringot sick. So I missed a couple more runs nursing him back to health.
Surprisingly, Marcos—and whoever his mysterious boss was, that he always needed approval from—were extremely understanding. Maybe because, for the first two weeks, I’d picked up extra runs with no issues. I was hungry for money. I was trying to do everything I could to hit that surgery goalandstack enough for us to breathe comfortably until I graduated. So no, doing the runs wasn’t solely about paying for Kyrin a new heart; it was also about giving us a cushion… a safety net, so to speak. But Kyrin stayed priority…always.
Kyrin shuffled into the kitchen, yawning, eyes barely open, hoodie half-on, curls smashed to one side like he’d been wrestling in his sleep.
Top of Form
Bottom of Form
“Good morning, sport,” I greeted him with a smile. “How are you feeling?”
He didn’t even bother answering with words; he just nodded, slowly, like his neck was still waking up.
I smirked. “So… tired?”
Another nod.
Kyrin wandered deeper into the kitchen, looked around, then turned back toward me with a concerned frown.
“Jo, I’m out of cereal,andwe need milk.”
Shit. I meant to get him some.
Kyrin wasn’t picky about much, but when it came to food, he had rituals. That boy ate Cinnamon Toast CruncheverySaturday morning, and did sofaithfully,for the last two years.
Why? I had no clue.
But if that box wasn’t on the shelf when he wanted it, one would think the world was ending.
“I forgot,” I said softly. “But as soon as I finish this assignment—I’m talkin’ ten minutes—we’ll run to the store and get some. Deal?”
