Page 20 of The Quoram Effect

“I’m not here for tea, Pye.” Bashfully, I rubbed my lips together, glancing over my shoulder at the three shisha smokers by the door.

Pye leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Has Torz sent you about his shipment? It’s waiting in storage.”

Shaking my head, I swallowed back the bile rising in my gullet. I wasn’t sure if this bout of nausea was caused by the pain in my shoulder or the guilt clenching my gut. “This is a personal visit.”

Pye’s face dropped, his twinkling brown eyes losing the amiable joviality they always held. “No, Remi,” he whispered. “You cleaned up.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate.” I searched his pitted face, my eyes pleading with him to understand. “I just need a shot. I’ll pay extra.”

“Extra? What, to keep me quiet?” Straightening his broad shoulders, he sighed heavily. “You know very well Torz asked me to never serve you personally again.”

Had he?“Damn.” I rubbed my face, wiping away the sweat plaguing my temples. “Pye, please. I don’t want to find another dealer. I trust you.”

He blew out another scrutinising breath. “I’m not comfortable with this. Your boss is a decent guy.”

“Yes, he is, but…he doesn’t own me, and he doesn’t need to know. I…Gods, I’m in so much pain, Pye. I just need…I need something to take the edge off. The wretched nurse won’t give me anything stronger than a child’s paracetamol. Please?”

The man I hadn’t seen in years stared at me, his mind ticking frantically behind the pondering expression. I never dealt with the Q deals Torz arranged with Pye for the Puran supply runs. Thinking about it, perhaps that was Torz’s way of keeping me away from temptation.

That thought cut deep. Torz didn’t trust me. And rightly so.

Closing my eyes, I batted away the despair forming in tingles of tears. I’d been climbing the walls of pain and exhaustion for most part of twenty-four hours. What the hell would I do if Pye denied me?

Pye’s heavy sigh sliced through the thread of hope holding me together, but when he said, “How many doses do you need?” shock and relief cascaded through my chest, threatening to burst the dam keeping my tears at bay.

Upon opening my eyes, I found Pye frowning at me. I wasn’t sure if it was sympathy, reluctance, or disappointment residing there—perhaps it was all three.

“Two—no, make it three,” I choked out.

With a heaviness in his eyes, Pye disappeared behind the shelves of tea leaves and crockery, leaving me drowning in my own self-loathing.

Chapter Ten

The thud-thud of heavy music pounded through my head. Sitting in a toilet cubicle in one of the nightclubs at the edge of the Yeva Zone, I stared at one of the tiny bottles of glowing purple liquid clutched in my hand.

How had it come to this? I blamed Governor Zuli. If she hadn’t blackmailed Torz, I wouldn’t have needed to protect Marla Hyde. I wouldn’t have been attacked by Purans. I wouldn’t have a knife wound in my shoulder causing me excruciating pain. It was her fault. Her and her bigotry.

“Fuck her.”

Using the syringe Pye had provided along with the vials, I inserted the needle into the bottle and drew the full dose of Q into its holding tube. I raised my sleeve, not needing to tap for the vein; it was already protruding due to the heat and swelling resonating down my arm.

Pushing through a tiny moment of hesitation—one dose, one dose is all I need—I hissed as the needle pierced the skin, the liquid entering my vein like an aggressive acid. The flesh glowed violet for a few seconds before the drug washed into the bloodstream, burning its path, moulding and merging with my blood until it finally began to soothe my body.

I slumped back against the cistern, a relieved sigh escaping me. I’m not sure how long I remained in that position, but the pain dulled, then completely vanished, leaving me in a state of serenity. The numbness stilled my mind, eased my body, levelled my breathing. All the while tingles fluttered beneath my skin,heightening every sensation from the brush of my fingers over my starchy jeans, to the smell of the floral perfume floating in the air, to the hint of excitement stirring between my legs.

Oh hell, I’d forgotten how aroused Q made me.

Sitting up, I blinked the purple haze away. The deep breath entering my lungs was rejuvenating. Gods, I felt good. Confident. Pacific. And so damn thirsty.

Removing the needle from my arm, I embedded it back into the tiny Q bottle, then wrapped them in toilet paper before disposing the bundle down the trash chute.

After finger-combing my long hair, I left the ladies’ room and strolled through the dark nightclub.

The Q diluted the blaring lights and dulled the music, yet my vision homed in on all the faces crowding the room. Most of the partygoers were older teenagers or young adults garbed in ripped shirts or skimpy scraps of fabric they called dresses. It seemed to be the thing these days, along with the violet and pink dyed hair, which was a mockery to any Quoram-born resident.

The expellees from Quoram always seemed to bear the brunt of insults from the younger generation. When I’d been a teenager, some kids slashed their cheeks with purple pen, pretending they’d tried to claw their face off to expose the purple tissue underneath.

That was a myth, anyway. I’d interacted with enough Quoram-born to know their blood and fascia was the same colour as everyone else’s. But I could always tell who those evicted planet-dwellers were from a mile off. As well as the natural violet tinge to their hair, they were always the lonely misfits, trying to fit in, especially in places like this.