Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
“I told her the people I fucked with were dangerous, told her not to get caught up with them, that as long as she stayed near me and never interacted with them, then she would be fine, but she bought coke from him, then meth, then heroin.”
He blew out a harsh breath and turned to face me, a troubled look settling over his features. “I was trying my damnest to get her to stop, even told her she needed to come back to you—that you could help her.” I swallowed hard, beginning to realize that Drake wasn’t the bad guy in this situation. “She took off one night while I was dealing with some shit. I came back, and she was gone—all of her shit packed up. I’ve been trying to find her since, hoping I could get to her before they did for all the money that she owed them.”
I felt a tear run down my cheek, and my bottom lip trembled as I desperately tried to hold in the flood gate of tears I had managed to hold in all day. “Drake, you were too late,” I whispered. He shook his head, not wanting to believe me, but a sob ripped out of my throat. “I buried her three days ago,” I sobbed.
He rushed over to me, gripping my shoulders, kneeling so he was eye level with me as I fell apart. “No. No; you’re pulling my fucking leg right now,” he whispered brokenly.
I shook my head at him. “Drake, they shot her. She died at the hospital. They couldn’t save her.”
He drew me into his arms, holding me for his comfort as much as for my own, I imagined. “How did you know?” he asked me. “She disappeared from the Earth, it seemed like.”
“She came to me, Drake,” I told him. “She showed up at my front door a few months ago. She was begging me for help, and she was black and blue, strung out on drugs.” I stepped back from him, swiping at my cheeks, laughing at myself a little for my stupidity. “She never talked about her condition to me, so I assumed you had hurt her.” Drake shot me a dark look that had me swallowing nervously. “I never imagined someone else could have hurt her.”
Drake glared at me. “For you to assume that I would have ever hurt her is fucking stupid, Hayles, and you know it.” I didn’t miss that he called me Hayles again—his old nickname for me back when me, Lacie, and he all used to hang out together. “I was in love with Lacie, and I would have protected her if I had known what the fuck she was doing to herself,” he told me.
I sighed and sat on my couch, dropping my face into my hands. “I know that now,” I admitted in a whisper.
Drake sat next to me and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers linked together in front of him. “I will get revenge for her, Hayles. Every mother fucker that put a finger on her or sold her drugs will fucking die,” he swore.
I jerked my head over to him, my eyes wide. He met my gaze evenly, complete seriousness reflected in his own dark, glittering gaze. “D-dead?” I stuttered. All I could picture was all the blood all over Damien.
He nodded. “Lacie never knew, Hayles, but I have connections of my own, and no one fucks with what’s mine and lives to tell the story.”
He stood up and walked over to my fridge where I had a notepad stuck up with a magnetic pen attached. He uncapped the pen and wrote a phone number on the pad. “If you need anything,” he said, turning to face me after placing the pen back on the fridge, “call me.”
He walked out of my apartment without another word. I looked up at the picture of Lacie and me on my television stand, tears springing in my eyes again.
“Lacie, what did you do to yourself?” I whispered.
3
I slid my key into the lock on my apartment door, only to find it already unlocked. In fact, my door swung open easily since it hadn’t been closed all the way. Panic swirled in my gut, tightening my airways. I quickly rushed back down the corridor and down to the street outside of my apartment building.
Someone had broken into my apartment.
And I had a feeling that it had to do with Lacie.
I fumbled with my phone, having to enter the passcode three times to unlock it before I finally got it right. With shaking hands, I scrolled through my contacts and pulled up Drake’s phone number, pressing call without hesitation.
I mean, he had told me to call him if I ever needed anything, right?
And something told me I wanted Drake for this—not the police.