Junkie: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  “Hello there. I’m Jackson. I help run the place.”

  I stick my hand out to shake his. Before our hands connect, stars dance behind my eyes, and I pass out.

  The door opens, and I stop my pacing to see Henry finally coming home. “Hey there, kiddo. Sorry I’m late. Bad traffic. Did the race start?”

  I bounce toward him and jump into his arms. “It has. Hurry!” His smile warms my heart as he wraps his fatherly arms around me and carries me over to the couch where I set up a bunch of snacks and drinks.

  Henry’s laughter vibrates against me as he throws us both onto the sofa. “Wow, you prepared a feast.”

  “So we don’t have to miss any of the races. Look! They’re starting!”

  I jolt awake and snap my head up to find a little girl so close, our noses practically touch. “You sleep a lot,” she says, sticking her finger in her nostril.

  I take in the room, unsure where I am. Nothing looks familiar. “Where…am I?” I ask the little girl as she puts her finger in her mouth. Gross.

  “You’re in the girls’ wing of The House. I’ve been assigned to watch over you in case you wake up. Mr. Jackson said not to wake you, though.”

  Mr. Jackson? Where the hell—?

  “Ahhh…she’s awake.” My eyes shoot toward the door. A man. I blink as recognition starts to set in. The past forty-eight hours rush through my head like a tornado, wrecking any hope that this was all a bad dream. “Hi. How ya feeling?”

  Confused. Scared. Alone.

  “Fine. What happened?” I sit up, realizing I’m no longer in my clothes, but a set of pajamas.

  “Well, you passed out on me before I got your name. You were in bad shape, so I carried you inside and—”

  “You didn’t call the cops, did you?”

  “No, of course not. That’s not what we’re about here. I brought you inside. You were bleeding, so my partner, Rylee, took over and got you changed and re-bandaged. The one on your head seems more superficial, but you have a pretty nice cut on your leg.”

  “Are you going to call the cops on me?”

  “Like I said, that’s not what we stand for. You have your reasons for showing up on our doorstep. We want to provide a safe place for you.” I stare at him, waiting for the questions to start pouring in, but they don’t. “You’ve been out for a while. If you’re able to get up, I suggest we feed ya. Jenny, why don’t we give her some space, huh?” Jackson chuckles while the kid looks about ready to crawl on top of me.

  “Okay. You’re pretty. Jackson makes yummy sandwiches. Want me to brush your hair? Do you like four square—”

  “All right, Jenny. Space. Let’s give her some space. The cafeteria is around the corner. There’s a bathroom and shower to the left. You’re in the girls’ wing, so don’t worry about running into the boys. Feel free to clean up if you feel comfortable. We’ll just be in the co-ed media room if you need us.” And with that, they’re both gone.

  I lay down, then shoot back up. My backpack. Leaning over the bed, I find it next to the nightstand, still closed. I dig in the side pocket until my hand connects with my phone. I boot it up and search for any information about the race. It’s all over the local Ohio news. One body found, shot, and left in an industrial park. But no mention of racing. That part doesn’t shock me. It’s an unspoken rule. Kind of like Fight Club—you don’t talk about it. If you’re given any information on these underground races, it’s because you’ve earned the right. If the handler putting together these events doesn’t trust you, you aren’t invited. And when you aren’t invited, you might as well be blacklisted. Therefore, you get in, you keep your mouth shut.

  The news website paints Jerad’s murder as gang related. Not all the drugs went up in flames because it reports copious amounts of heroin at the scene. What doesn’t add up is why they reported a truck driver found his body? I heard the sirens myself. There was mention of a car fire, but nothing about two other burned bodies. How do you shove such crucial details like that under the rug? None of this adds up. Who were those people?

  A million times, my thumb hovers over the numbers to dial Jade, but I don’t. I can’t call him. It’s too risky. What if they know who he is? What if they’re tracking his phone? Whatever happened, it’s done. That life is done for me. I can’t ever go back there. I need to find a new race—steal a car, one without drugs stashed in it, and earn some fast cash. The three hundred bucks I have won’t last long, and I can’t stay here. Staying somewhere too long leaves evidence. I need to be on the move.

  Cash

  “Yee-haw!” I slam the empty shot glass down on the bar, taking my open palm to the blonde’s perky ass next to me. “Now, that’s a reason to celebrate.” I twist her in my arms and crush my lips to hers, tasting the aftermath of her own shot. I release her just as quickly and throw my hand up, signaling for the bartender to lay out another round. “Keep ’em comin’, Frank!” I twirl my finger and step away from the bar. Gonna cost me a small fortune since I only get the most expensive tequila, but money isn’t a problem. I just won the biggest fucking race of my career. “Don’t go anywhere, beautiful. Gotta take a quick piss.”

  I break away from whatever-her-name-is and strut down the hallway to the bathroom, tempted to skip through the damn bar. As I walk, praises from patrons fills my ego.

  “Great race, Cash.”

  “Amazing day on the track, Huntington.”

  “I want your babies, Cash!” With the last one, I smile, but hard pass. I shake some hands, wave off others, and disappear into the john.

  Whipping my cock out, I groan at how bad I need to piss and press my hand against the wall to keep myself upright. Shit, maybe I don’t need another shot. I laugh at myself. Fuck, what a day. What a race.

  Everything I’ve trained for, worked hard for, pushed until I thought I would drop dead of exhaustion, paid off—it fucking paid off! I finish up, shove my dick back in my pants, and wash my hands. I take a good look in the mirror and see nothing but triumph smothered across my smug face. “You, my friend, are unstoppable.” And damn, do I feel it.

  I push off the counter and stumble into someone walking in. “Hey. Congrats, man. Amazing race out there.”

  “Thanks.” I slap the guy on the back and stagger out of the bathroom. Two small hands grab at me the instant the door shuts, pressing me up against the wall.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” a sexy little redhead purrs, her hands making their way down my chest.

  “Oh yeah? And why’s that?” I’m no stranger to the hungry expression blazing in her smokey eyes. Her fingers go straight to my jeans and unlatch my top button.

  “Because I’ve been dying to show you how appreciative I am. That race today…it really got me hot.” Down goes my zipper. “And now I want to show you just how hot it made me.” Well, hello there, cock of mine. The redhead slides down to her knees, with no fucking care we’re out in the open, and wraps her lips around my dick. I relax against the wall, my hands going up behind my head. I close my eyes, wearing a trophy smile. Winning is great, I think to myself as she begins to take me deeper into her mouth. “Fuck,” I groan, dropping my hands and digging my fingers into her hair. Shit, her greedy mouth feels like heaven. She needs no guidance, but I can’t help but assist, pulling her head deeper over my cock.

  “You fucking kidding me, Huntington?” One eye pops open at Beckett’s voice.

  “She’s thanking me for a great race,” I laugh, then groan when she slurps and grabs my sac from inside my boxer briefs.

  “Tell her to hurry up. You have a bar full of fans who may not find this version of appreciation too keen,” he says, then disappears into the bathroom.

  Fuck, he’s right. Not everyone is in line to suck me off as a way of congratulating me. Sorry, big guy. “Fuck,” I groan, attempting to pull the girl off me, but she latches on harder, ready to suck up my balls next. “I know, he’s a beauty. But gotta cut this short, doll.” I pull at her shoulders, but she’s like a vacuum. Her bl
owjob skills are quite impressive. I take a five-second timeout to appreciate them when Becks’ words filter back in my mind. Fuck me. “For real. Time’s up.” I know. I want to cry too. I’ve never denied a beautiful woman the opportunity to blow me in a bar hallway, but I gotta think about my reputation. Also, the blonde waiting for me. Or the brunette who slipped her number in my back pocket on my way to the bathroom—“Oh god.” That was the waaay back of her throat. Okay, maybe I should just let her finish up. I’m close, so—

  A familiar alarm blares from the back exit of the bar. I freeze, my ears perking. Is that? “Shit.” I use force this time, shoving this chick off me, and step away to tuck my dick back in my jeans, which is not easy since he’s still hard and now very angry.

  “Where are you going? I wasn’t done!” she cries from the bar floor, but I’ve already dismissed her. Reaching the back door, I fling it open, my eyes working to adjust to the night. I jog across the parking lot until I find my car, the lights flashing.

  “What the fuck?” My shoes hit the gravel as I strut forward, scanning the lot for pedestrians. Grabbing my keys from my pocket, I press the unlock button and shut off the alarm. I search around, but no one’s in sight. Then I do a quick inspection of my car. My souped-up, chrome-everything Dodge Charger. My baby. Nothing seems out of place. Probably some drunk asshole bumping into her on his way out.

  As I pivot back toward the bar, an object in my side mirror catches my attention. I pause, taking in the silhouette crouched down at the back of my car. You kidding me? A fan trying to sneak into my car? She’s not dressed like someone who’s on a mission to throw themselves at me. I step away from the car like I’m heading to the bar, then twist around, grabbing at the girl’s shoulder. She squeals and—“Shit!”—catches me off guard when she takes a swing at me, successfully nailing me in the nose. My hold on her falters, and she takes off running.

  “Hey!” I yell, sprinting after her. She weaves in and out of cars, and I lunge at her, taking us both to the ground.

  “Get the fuck off me!” she screams, her hands flailing, but I’m a whole lot fucking stronger. Grabbing her wrists, I pin them above her head.

  “Not a fucking chance.” She squirms beneath me, and I rake in a shallow breath as the beast below starts to reawaken, becoming fond of the plush body beneath me. I grit my teeth, trying to will my cock back to formation. “What the fuck were you doing by my car?” I ask, pressing down on her hands so she stops fucking wiggling.

  “Fuck you.” Wrong thing to say right now. I may just take her up on her offer if she doesn’t stop fucking moving. I’m about to tell her I accept when my eyes fall to her pale pink lips. Her bottom lip is plump and soft. I bet they’d feel like silk against mine. I travel up her nose, to her bright hazel eyes, her honey-kissed brown hair fanning around her face. Fuck. Big guy down south twitches, and her eyes widen. Oops. This is getting awkward. “Get the fuck off me, you creep.”

  Creep? I’m far from a creep. I’m Cash motherfucking Huntington. The talented, attractive, Fontana Grand Prix champion. I’m the competition no one can beat. The best of the best, born to win. I take chances where others are too afraid to. I’m the one who rises to the top, because I, Cash Huntington, am the best. “Sweetheart, do you know who I am?” No way would someone call me a—

  “Besides a creep? No. Now, get off me before I scream assault.”

  “I’ve never assaulted a girl in my life! Women fall at my feet. I have no need to assault you.”

  “Wow, you’re creepy and cocky. Gonna show me arrogant next?” Fuck, maybe! “Get off me.”

  “No.” Now, I’m just making a point. No one talks to—

  “HELP!”

  Shit! I slam my hand over her mouth, but quickly realize how bad that looks and remove it just as fast. What the hell am I doing? I’m drunk. Too drunk. Maybe if I offer her an autograph, she won’t mention this to anyone. I stare down at her, assessing how many autographs I may need to write, when something shifts inside me. Damn, she’s attractive. Young—fuck, how young? Panic seizes me, and I throw myself sideways off her.

  Lilly, my PR agent is going to kill me. The media will have a heyday with this. Can’t even imagine what Beckett’s gonna say. Shit. “Listen, I’m sorry—shit!” I grunt as a shoe punches me in the gut. My eyes tear up, the half bottle of tequila ready and willing to come up as I barely catch her shadow take off into the night.

  Rolling onto my back, I grab my phone and dial Lilly. “Cash, shouldn’t you be out celebrating?” my publicist hums over the phone.

  “I may have kinda fucked up…”

  Luna

  I wake up with a start. My eyes shift around the room, and my entire body is on alert. It takes me a few moments to remember where I am. The House. You’re safe. The sounds of laughter echo from outside the door of my room. I throw my legs off the twin bed, my thigh still on fire from the accident. I search for my backpack, when there’s a knock on the door. I hold my bag to my chest as the door opens and a head peeks in.

  “Hey. Morning. Thought you may be hungry and wanted to let you know the kitchen’s closing soon.” The man, Jackson, smiles at me, taking notice of the way I’m clutching my bag. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just thought I’d remind you about the kitchen. I’ll see you—”

  “It’s fine. Thank you. I was just getting up anyway.”

  He nods, making no mention of my obvious discomfort.

  I exit the room, peering down the hallway to my left where it opens to a communal area. I turn right. The smell of eggs and bacon carry in the air, and my stomach growls. My goal is to avoid everyone, grab some food, and head out. I can hitchhike down to San Diego, where another safehouse was listed on the chat.

  The kitchen is off the living room, and thankfully, there’s no one in there. I grab a plate and scoop up a pile of eggs and bacon, then throw on hash browns and pancakes, leaving no empty space.

  The first bite makes me moan, as does the second and third. I shovel food in my mouth in an unladylike manner, but I can’t stop. Food has never tasted so good. I’m instantly feeling the fuel as I fill my belly, giving my mind the energy to kick in.

  “Jerad!” horrible screams.

  His blank eyes.

  The blood.

  I shake my head. Don’t go there.

  I’ll fuck you until I split your cunt in half.

  Which is nothing compared to what Vincent will do.

  Detach your arms, then your legs…

  I drop my fork, my stomach recoiling. I jump up from my seat and cradle the garbage can while all the food I just consumed comes right back up. The tears I’ve been holding back erupt, and a floodgate of emotion I’ve tried to keep bottled up bursts, causing a painful cry to escape my lips.

  This is all my fault.

  I fucked up and now Jerad is dead.

  Over the last few weeks, I’ve cursed him dead for cheating me out of that race. But not like this. Not in cold blood. Why the fuck did I steal that car? And a powerful drug dealer’s car? With all the commotion, I don’t even know if Jade made it out of there. “Oh, Jade. Please be okay—”

  “You okay, Luna?”

  I push off the garbage can, take a step back, and wipe at my face. “Fine,” I say too quickly, the lie evident in my voice, not to mention my appearance.

  “Okay…well, do me a favor. Once you’re done, come to my office. Second door on the left. I wanna chat.” Great. No questions asked my ass. I nod, refusing to make visual contact, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. “Great. See ya in a bit.” And he’s gone.

  I should just leave now. The scene he just walked into screams issues. Which isn’t far from the truth. Why the hell is someone like me, someone well past the age to be fostered, finding solace in a place like this? I worried he would turn me away, being over eighteen, but he didn’t even bat an eye at my age when he got the basics out of me. He actually helped me. As they said, no questions asked. Until now.

  The bigger problem is, I
can’t leave. Not until I find a race. Without that money, I have no means to disappear. And that’s my main goal: win a race with a high enough payout I can disappear and no psycho cartel gang can find me. This also means I need to stay in the good graces of this place until then.

  I pull myself together even as the images replaying in my head threaten to send me back to the garbage can. Breathe, Luna. Just breathe. I can’t think about that right now. It’s done. I need to focus on getting a race and staying alive.

  Taking a napkin to my face, I blot at my eyes and wipe any excess breakfast off my lips. I exit the kitchen, searching out Jackson’s office. I know how this goes. They play nice, attempt to pry, give us the option to open up or not, and then we both go on with our day.

  When I find his office, the door’s open. He waves me in as he finishes up a call. “Hey. Thanks for coming. Have a seat.” I sit in a chair across from him, scanning his walls of memorabilia. “This place has come a long way since it first opened.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask, staring at a photo of a woman, a race car driver, and a bunch of kids.

  “Sure has. Not sure if you know this, but it used to be a boys only home. It’s done so well though, the community raised enough money for us to build an extension. Now we have a boy’s wing and a girls wing. Lots of great stories. Happy endings. Some not. But we do our best to help anyone who walks through our door.” I’m sure they do. That and trick me into spilling information I’m not willing to share. “That’s Rylee and her husband, Colton, in the photo. She was the one who helped get you settled the night you came. Stick around and you’ll get to meet her. She’s great.”

  “And what makes her so great?” I ask, unashamed at my rudeness.