Page 99 of Please Open Me
I slammed the drawer shut. The crack of it made her flinch. “You’d be fired. And you’dneverfind another mentor again. I’d make sure of it.”
Her face twisted, shock mixed with disappointment. Like she’d expected her little attempt at blackmail to turn me on instead of piss me off.
“Then I’d cut off your supply,” she snapped. “You don’t have your own dealer and—”
“I’m not an addict. I can quit whenever I want.”
Her laugh was sharp, ugly. Especially from someone who’d wanted to fuck me ten minutes ago.
“Isn’t that what every addict says right before they vomit and pass out?”
I stared her down, jaw tight.
“I don’t give a shit what some dumbass twenty-year-old says because her boss won’t fuck her.” My words came out through my teeth. “And I don’t give in to brats. Plus, you’re not my type.”
Not entirely true. I wasn’t sure I had a type. Sure, I was shallow enough for looks to matter, but personality outweighed everything. Which is why my three partners, whileveryattractive, had little else in common.
Her smug expression faltered, but she didn’t back off.
“Oh, because you’re such a catch,” she sneered. “A drug addict who acts like hot shit, too scared to lose one woman so he pokes holes in her condoms and hides her birth control. You don’t even take care ofyourkids, why make more?”
My teeth scraped together as I weighed the pros and cons of hitting her, before remembering I didn’t hit women. Even when they deserved it.
“Out.” I snapped my fingers and pointed at the door.
Sera pulled back, maybe stupid enough to expect something else. Instead, she grabbed her torn book bag, tossed me a lazy salute, and stomped out like she’d won. She hadn’t. Tomorrow, she’d be scrubbing toilets again. Apprentice meant grunt work. Pay was a courtesy, one I’d revoke if she kept this up.
Until she got the idea of me dicking her down out of her skull, she’d live through hellish shifts.
Normally, I tried to sober up before driving. Mason was strict about alcohol and cars since her dad’s fatal wreck, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t be thrilled about me driving high either. But desperate times.
My fingers brushed the zip-lock bag. I pulled it open, shook three pills into my palm, cracked the coating with my teeth, and swallowed dry. Chalk scraped its way down my throat, burning my esophagus along the way.
I leaned on the freshly cleaned glass, closed my eyes, and counted to a hundred. By the end, warmth spread through my chest, heavy in my arms.
Smiling, I slid down against the brick wall, the rough surface snagging my shirt. The second my ass hit the laminate floor, the world righted itself.
The shop was dark, lit only by passing headlights and streetlamps. Cicadas sang outside. I hummed along, weightless, calm.
Until my phone rang.
My first instinct was to ignore it. No one needed me right now. But then I realized the ringtone was one I had set specifically for Mason.
A stupid love song in Spanish that I swore no one understood, except for Sebastian, apparently, the smug bastard. He knew I was embarrassingly in love, but I let him live. He was the same way with Cameron.
I cleared my throat, practiced my sober voice, and answered.“Buenas noches, mi corazón,” I cooed, grinning despite myself. “I’ll be home soon, I—”
“Lucian.”
Not Mason’s voice. Not even close.
My stomach dropped. I pulled the phone back—Mason’s name was still on the screen. Which meant she’d given Leona her phone. Which meant—fuck.
“The last time you had Mason’s phone, she was almost dead and—”
“She’s alive,” Leona said flatly. “So are your kids. And the baby. They’re all at my house.”
My chest tightened. Sophia. Cameron. Where the hell were they? Why was Mason alone?
