Page 71 of King

“They’re called our rival school for a reason,” Isaac says, a mini vodka bottle now in his hand. “They see any one of us coming up to that front door, or their school, and we’ll get kicked out in a heartbeat. But you? You’re a pretty young thing, baby. Ancaster Academy won’t think twice about letting you in.”

“Can’t these guys get their own supply? You guys all have money out here.” I try to piece this puzzle together. “Can’t be that hard for the guys at Ancaster to find someone. I’m sure all their parents are using something.”

“Pft, you think any of those guys want to get into this sticky business?” Isaac asks. “Too many legacies to protect. But me?” He smiles. “My dad makes it all this easier.”

Christian looks me in the eye for the first time in almost a week and I’m stricken by his gaze. “I can come with you,” he offers.

“No,” Damien hardly moves his mouth when he denies Christian’s offer. He brings his finger to my chin, pulling my attention to his face. “Go to the door. The first person you see, ask for Craig. Once that’s done, you’re good to go. I’ll be watching.”

He leans over and opens the door as if I’ve already agreed to the plan. Isaac hands him a large manila envelope that he puts the pills in.

“How much is this worth?” I ask. If I’m stepping out this truck into another den of rich high-society snobs, I want to know what it’s worth.”

“Seven-hundred dollars." Damien gives me that same look he gave me that night at MOCHA. His tongue lands between his teeth, eyes sparkling. “It’s all yours once you make the drop.”

Seven-hundred dollars? If you even mutter that in The Grove you’ll get jumped.

That’s much more money than I was making with Zane for the same type of work, with much sketchier people. That’s a month’s rent. This would’ve taken weeks of working at MOCHA to make and I can walk away with this in one night.

“Seven-hundred dollars,” I repeat, reality sinking in.

“If you don’t want to, you can say,” Christian says.

I look at Damien and shake my head. “I’m trusting you.”

I'm quick to get out of the car, solidifying my decision. If I ponder on this any longer I’ll back out. Seven-hundred dollars is an offer I can't refuse.

As I walk up the long driveway, a few boys in beige slacks smoke a joint by their car. They give me a whistle, smiling as I wave back. I'm trying to keep it casual as I walk towards the entrance on these way too skinny heels. The calmer I look, the easier this will be.

The minute I get to the top of the white steps, I approach the group on the porch, "Craig Carson?"

"At your service." A curly blonde-haired boy looks up from the glass patio table, a skinny straw in his hand. He wipes at his nose and that's when I realize I've seen him before. At the homecoming game. No wonder the guys couldn’t handle this on their own. Damien almost beat this guy’s friend to a pulp. “What can I do for you?”

Craig gives me the same look he gave me that night when I was in Nancy's strappy lingerie. He's cute, but again, this sweater over collared shirt combo has to go. I smile. "I’m with Isaac Johnson.”

Craig's friends look like cheap knockoffs of him. All with collared shirts and sweaters, except for the one in a bowtie. When I thought the other side of the tracks couldn't get any stuffier than Eden, I meet these guys.

He looks at the envelope in my hand, taking another sip of his drink. “I remember you. You're that sexy showstopper from the Eagles game."

“Jo.” Fuck. I'm already regretting giving him my real name while I have a shitload of drugs in my hand.

“Jo,” he repeats, his voice hanging before gesturing to the big red door with his glass. "Let's head inside."

“Inside?”

“You don’t expect me to open this up right out here do you?” Looking back at his friends he nods. “I’ll see you guys in a minute.”

Bowtie smirks at us before I follow Craig inside the mansion.

We don’t go far. There’s an office to the side of the sparkling front foyer and he leads me in, closing the door behind him. The bass from a hip-hop song vibrates the wood below me but the door muffles the sound. The smell of cigarettes and leather envelop me, wooden beams shining a light on us. On a leather loveseat sit blue signs that read “Carson 2020." I'm starting to piece together that this is Edwin’s competition.

To ensure we don’t stay long, I hold out the envelope the minute Craig turns around.

He seems taken aback but he smiles with straight, white teeth. “Right to business,” he says. “I like that.”

I smile as he takes the envelope. He eyes me again, heading to the desk behind me before letting the contents out on the glass top. Pills clatter onto the surface. “Nice,” he says, bent over the table, looking at a pill like a lab result. “All M?”

“Yep.” My eyes wander around the white and brown room, a deer head behind the desk.

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