Page 3 of Stay Toxic

After lunch was over, and Viveka and I were walking toward the senior hallway, I said, “I’d run, Viveka. I wouldn’t give it a second thought. I’d find the scariest man that I knew, and I’d beg him for help.”

Her eyes met mine, and I wondered if this was a book scenario at all.

She smiled, patted my hand, and said, “Thanks for everything, Brecken.”

I watched her go and had a sinking feeling in my gut.

The next morning, when the news of Viveka’s resignation spread like wildfire among students and staff, I knew.

She was scared and running, taking my advice.

Which broke my heart.

Some people won’t admit their faults. I would if I had any.

—Shasha to Maven

SHASHA

“Listen,” Cayden McCloud, head of the Irish Mafia in Houston, said. “I don’t give a fuck. Get your men off of my turf.”

I rolled my eyes. “Cayden, we’ve played this game before. It’s getting old.”

“I don’t really give a flying feck,” his Irish brogue deepened.

That brogue that only came out when he got lazy, and forgot to contain his accent.

“Cayden,” I sighed. “Listen. I know you don’t want me there. Hell, I don’t want to be there. But we’re looking for a couple of men that have disappeared. Lev led me to a set of warehouses that are in the district that you literally don’t control. Foreskin controls it.”

Lev was my expert with computers. He’d learned from the fuckin’ best and had a vendetta against all things straight and narrow.

He’d spent the last eight years locked up for a crime he didn’t commit, and the moment he got out, he’d come to find me, letting me know that if the offer was still there, he’d take me up on it.

That offer had been extended years ago when I’d lived on the East Coast, not Dallas, but I’d still taken him on.

I liked a good second chance. I liked it more when they wanted nothing to do with the law because it served my purpose better.

“The Forsaken,” he corrected me.

“Whatever,” I grumbled, feeling the beginnings of a headache between my eyes. “I literally don’t care. I’m not anywhere near your turf. If I was, I’d have called to let you know that I was near it.”

“You know that my turf now extends to The Highlands,” he complained.

“I know, but I’m not anywhere near The Highlands. I’m almost to fuckin’ Galveston, for Christ’s sake,” I said. “I’m just following up with my contacts that show that their last known location was there. I’ll be out of Houston as soon as I check out this lead.”

“No you won’t,” he grumbled. “Hey, you want to go to a golf tournament next week? I was invited to one at the Cowboy Golf Course next weekend, and you’re the only one I know that can play golf.”

I had barely enough time as it was to sleep at night. Plus, I hated fucking golf.

But you didn’t say no to the head of the Irish Mafia and not piss him off.

And since I had a feeling he was very much aware that I had some men missing, and who had been involved with it, I chose not to get on his bad side.

Cayden McCloud was ultimately a decent guy, if a bit off his rocker.

It wouldn’t kill me to play an afternoon of golf with him.

“Sure,” I said. “Shoot me a text on when and where.”

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