Page 57 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

Nothing makesa guy feel like a piece of shit like participating in a literal back-alley drug deal. It was dark and damp and undeniably seedy, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching from the shadows. Lurking.

To make matters worse, I was in my pajamas. A cropped tank top and pink fleece bottoms printed with jumping sheep made for a hell of a final fit if those imaginary boogeymen—or very real hellhounds—snapped me up. But I’d chosen not to get dressed. That was my safeguard to keep myself from venturing inside the club to drink and party instead of going straight home. Directly back home. Before Loren realized I was gone.

I stood beside a graffitied dumpster, clutching my cell phone while eyeing the puddle of trash ooze on the pavement. If even a drop of that got on my slippers, they were done for. I’d chuck them straight into said dumpster and walk to the car barefoot. Probably step on broken bottle glass or a rusty nail on the way. It would be my own damn fault.

Chaz said to text him when I got here, and he’d come out. I’d done that. Ten minutes ago, I’d done that, and I was still waiting,looking like a hooker having a dress-down day, or a bum, or a junkie.

I should have left. Whatever was about to happen, I would regret it. The high would be great until I had to lie about it, sneak around, and find a better place to stash my supply than the Airstream’s bathroom vent fan. I could put them in my glovebox. Loren had no need to snoop around in there. But what if he smelled them? Drug dogs were trained in that shit. If he sniffed them out, there was no way he would believe I was holding them for a friend because he was my only friend. Except for Sully, of course. Maybe Whitney?

I frowned.

Maybe not.

Regardless, Chaz was not my friend, despite the way he smiled when he finally burst through the employee entrance door and into the alley. He tromped toward me, a few drinks deep judging by his unsteady gait, and splashed gracelessly through the dumpster swamp, getting juice on his shoes and my slippers.

I grimaced.

“Hey, kiddo,” Chaz slurred.

His receding hairline had made an even further retreat since I’d seen him last, and about half of one of the drinks I assumed he’d had soaked the front of his shirt. The panel-striped button down was rendered nearly transparent and showcased the worst of a wet tee shirt contest.

He looked me over, then snorted a laugh. “What’re you supposed to be?”

I wasn’t here to shoot the shit or explain my choice of wardrobe on this or any other night. And I knew better than to think I was anything more to Chaz than the twenty dollar bills wadded in my palm. Fortunately, I knew a way to cut through the bull real quick.

“Can’t stay,” I said. “Loren’s in the car.”

Chaz’s thin lips curled. “Thought I told you to keep that motherfucker away from me.”

“That’s why he’s in thecar, Chaz.” I rolled my eyes.

The car I had to park three blocks away, I should have added. Then I had to take a post-fuck walk of shame in my now-soggy slippers.

Chaz took a step back and crossed his arms atop his potbelly. “He know what you’re up to?”

“Does it matter?”

Chaz snuffled through a chuckle. “If it bounces back on me, it matters. I’m still paying on the damn hospital bills?—”

“Well, here’s my contribution.” I thrust out the cash, then my other empty hand so I could curl my fingers in a beckoning motion.

Discreet this was not. I was a spectacle on a good day. Feminine boys in fishnets and heels tended to turn heads. Same for purple-haired weirdos in their PJs trying to hustle X out of their dealer.

Chaz cast a scrutinizing stare at my open palm. “You’re on one tonight,” he grunted.

“I’dliketo be.” I curved my fingers again.

“Zing!” Chaz threw back his head and cackled. His belly bounced with laughter as he reached for the inner pocket of his patched leather vest. “All right, all right.” After a few seconds of rummaging, he pulled out a clear baggie loaded with a trio of green pills.

My mouth fucking watered. Literal drool. Like I was a dog and X was a damn Beggin’ Strip.

I’d beg for it, all right. Wouldn’t be the first time.

No sooner had the bag touched my hand than did I snap my fingers shut around it. Chaz took the cash, I assumed. I didn’t care. I got what I came for. Now, I needed to get home.

With a cursory “Thanks,” I spun and started out of the alley. My slippers swished across the asphalt as I walked, the beginning of the journey back to where I’d parked the Firebird.

Before I joined foot traffic on the sidewalk, I slipped one of the pills from the bag and set it on my tongue. I should have grabbed some wine from Sully’s. That made twice I forgot it. I would have to get some water if I wanted my high to last, and I needed the three—now two—pills to stretch into the weekend. I didn’t get many chances to slip away from Loren unnoticed. Not that I wanted to. It was just… necessary.

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