Page 19 of End It All

Benito groaned. "I don't know anything about him, which is why we asked you to watch him."

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you. I'll find him. You need something else?"

"Cesare is coming back early. His flight gets in tonight, and I need Blake here to meet him."

"Tonight, got it. While I'm at it, want me to pick up your dry cleaning too?"

"Harlow said you could handle this."

"And I will."

I patted my pockets down for a joint only to freeze. Benito's words were nothing more than muffled noise as I searched every single pocket.

"Yeah, I hear you. See you and Harlow tonight." I hung up, searching again, but I knew for certain my wallet was gone.

"Motherfucker. ???????????????"I'm going to kill him when I catch his ass.

I ranlike my heels were on fire. The more I moved, the more the air constricted my lungs until I felt like I couldn't breathe anymore. Soon, I slammed my back against a brick wall and shut my eyes, trying to stabilize my breathing. Shit, I was so screwed. I had no phone, nowhere to go, nothing. The only thing I did have was a green leather wallet covered in stickers of all things with the word Quincy written on the back in sharpie.

"How fucking old is he?"

Meeting him it felt like he was a mix of both a teenager and a dangerous as hell man. I still remembered the way he twirled that knife as if it was nothing and threatened to cut off my dick. Yeah, no, thanks. That man wasn't the least bit stable.

I kept glancing over my shoulder as I started to wander around the city with my duffel. He'd been through my stuff, Icould tell because he'd broken the hair that I'd wound around the zipper. Living with Quincy wasn't an option. I needed a way out.

My stomach growled as I stood outside of a diner, the smell of eggs and bacon making my mouth water. Shit. I hadn't eaten since the morning before the bank robbery. I had been too nervous to keep anything down. Now, my stomach was threatening to eat itself. I wrapped an arm around my midsection and stared into the restaurant before I looked into Quincy's wallet. He had a few credit cards, a couple of debit cards, and two hundred dollars in cash. There wasn't nearly enough to even get a dirty motel room for more than a night. On the inside, though, was a present, and my eyes lit up.

I rounded the back of the building, tossed my duffel on the ground, and sat on top of it. Reaching into my pocket, I snagged the lighter. My father's lighter. I stared at it for a long time, turning it this way and that. I still couldn't believe it belonged to the man that had abandoned us. Had abandoned me. And now I was supposed to just go and ask him for help? The thought of it made me sick to my stomach.

Knock it off. I can't sit here and sulk.

I stuck the joint in my mouth and lit it up. As the sweetness of the weed rested on my tongue, I leaned back against the dirty bricks and held my breath. Seconds ticked by until the smoke billowed out, and I coughed so hard, my lungs and chest burned. It was worth it. Just taking the edge off was enough to make me feel a hell of a lot better about my situation. Instead of worrying about what was going on, I just melted. For a moment, the world was quiet and calm.

"Hey! You can't smoke that shit back here."

I snapped my eyes open and stared up at the greasy man in a dirty apron carrying two bags of trash. He scowled at me, acigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. The fact he didn't see the irony in smoking too made me laugh.

"You think I'm joking? Get your ass out of here, you goddamn drug addict!"

I scoffed. "It's just a little weed. And isn’t it legal here now?”

"Do I look like I give a damn? This is private property. Fuck off!”

I held up my hands. "Fine, fine. Calm down." I stared him in the eyes as I took one long, slow drag and held it in. I put out the joint, stored it, and flipped the man off as I grabbed my stuff and started to walk off. Finally, I released it and groaned. "Goddamn, that's good shit. At least he has great taste in weed."

"Idiot," the man grumbled.

I ignored him. Whatever he thought about me wasn't my problem. Faking who I was didn’t exist in my world, unless I needed something or it could get me out of trouble. Otherwise, it was too fucking exhausting.

The more I walked, the more my stomach started to turn. I needed something to eat or I was going to end up on my ass. A thought stopped me in my tracks.

"Excuse me," I asked a man standing nearby, his phone pressed against his ear. "Do you know where Silver Dreams is?"

He wrinkled his nose. "No."

"Looks like you do," I challenged. "Is it really that bad to go to therapy these days?"

The man's expression went from angry to bewildered in seconds. Finally, he leaned forward, his eyes darting around. "Is that what you think it is?"

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