by Coralee June
It was stupid, but one of my regrets was that I’d never even gone to one of my high school dances. Every single time one came around, I convinced myself that it was lame, that I had better things to do than stand like a wallflower on the sides and watch everyone else have fun without me. But now that I was here, watching bodies sway to the music and dance under the lights, I felt a twinge of nostalgic disappointment. I’d missed out on my chance back then, and I was going to keep missing out on things unless I started taking control of my life.
I continued to watch the people dancing near the DJ from my corner. The club was way busier now than it had been when we’d first gotten here. Now that I had time to really look around, I noticed the open second floor balcony, which housed the swankier part of the building, where people sat eating hundred-dollar dishes on glossy tabletops while everyone else was below, either stationed by the bar or dancing at the back. The music was loud, but not blaring, and the lighting inside was so perfect, I was sure someone had been paid a ridiculous amount of money to test the ambiance.
Godfrey had been gone for at least five minutes, enough for the noise behind my eyes to start pulsing and pushing at me. I didn’t like to stay still for too long since that tended to happen. Needing a distraction, I turned and started making my way toward the bar. I had no doubt that Godfrey would be able to find me. Not just because my white dress was like a beacon amidst all these black dresses and dark suits, but because he seemed like the kind of person who could always find what he was looking for.
I was nearly to the bar when I saw him. Not Pick, but another one of Johnny Jack’s lackeys. I instantly froze, my heart pounding so hard that I was worried my banging pulse was going to push my eyeballs right out of my head. I twisted my foot inside my shoe, feeling my switchblade still stashed there. It was a small comfort, but I knew it was a false sense of security. He was big, mean, and would no doubt overpower me in two seconds flat.
When he turned his head, I ducked mine and quickly veered away so that he wouldn’t see me. Panic flared inside of me as my mind raced. Had he tracked me here? Had Godfrey led him here?
Anger started warring with my panic as I slipped behind two guys arguing about a basketball game. I tried to catch my breath, using their bodies to block mine. If Godfrey tipped them off, then he’d betrayed me and my father. It was plausible, but for some reason, my gut told me that it wasn’t true. What I should do is follow him since he hadn’t spotted me yet. My entire mission with Forty-One was to get information on Pick and bring it back to him. But it was like my feet were stuck to the wood floor and my tongue was as heavy as lead. I should have picked up my phone and snapped a photo of him, but I couldn’t even twitch my fingers. Everything slowed down and sped up at once, and the only voice I could hear was the shame-filled one in my head begging me to fucking do something—anything.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t. I stood there, hiding like a coward, too afraid of my own shadow to get close and do what I needed to do. Tears welled up in my eyes. I was angrier with myself for not being able to act than I was traumatized by seeing someone from JJ’s gang.
Before I could chastise myself some more, someone bumped into me from behind, spilling their cranberry vodka all down the side of my dress and shocking me out of my stupor. “Oh! Sorry!” a loud girl said with a giggle. She produced a handkerchief from her purse and started patting me down with clumsy fingers.
The guys I’d been hiding behind had turned around at the commotion, moving from their previous positions to ogle the other woman touching the sides of my breast as she continued to dab. I looked down at my ruined dress for a moment, trying to push her away, and when I took a panicked look up to see JJ’s guy, I found that he was gone.
“I think the stain will come out,” the woman hiccupped.
“It’s fine,” I assured her, trying to speak without my voice shaking. “I didn’t like this dress anyway,” I promised before excusing myself. I started walking around the bar, uncertain if I was looking for the Macon Mobster or running away from him. Either way, now that my feet were finally moving, I couldn’t get them to stop.
I didn’t know how I ended up in the employees only section. It was either very good timing that I’d missed the bouncer usually stationed there or very bad timing. Maybe fate was being a provoking bitch, because when my nervous feet brought me to the first closed door I saw and my shaking hands threw the door open to escape, what was inside was enough to make me freeze in my steps.
The room was dark, but my gaze zeroed-in on the woman at the table. She looked stylish and beautiful, hunched over in a pencil skirt and heels while she held a metal spoon over her lighter. It didn’t take me long to recognize the black tar-like substance being heated up. She was licking her lips, eyeing it like it was liquid gold.
On the table beside her, there were various syringes, each of them packaged, like she kept a stash readily available. Her long, black hair was in her face as beads of sweat traveled down her forehead. She hadn’t even noticed me yet since she was too engrossed in melting the pure white powder. I gulped, but the audible swallow was way too loud for the room, and it made her snap her eyes over to me.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked in a shrill tone, a Spanish accent clipping her words as she practically sneered in my direction, baring her teeth like a wild animal.
I was too preoccupied to be scared, too consumed with the buzzing in my veins to react right away. My body started pleading for a prick of the needle, tempting me with hours of forgetfulness.
She must have seen the need in me, must have sensed the addiction, because her expression changed from defensive to understanding. “You on this shit?” she asked with a smile like we were somehow the same.
Addiction bonded people, I guess. It was the common thread that was tied to our weakness and knotted with our pain. Every damn last feeling of withdrawal crashed into me like it was a fucking freight train. The aches. The nausea. The all-consuming dependency that had every damn cell of every damn muscle screaming out for just one last hit. Just one last time. Just one last high.
She shook her head and laughed. “Oh, you got it bad, chica,” she said before reaching for her needle and filling it up with the dark substance. “I’ve seen that look before. Trying to keep clean?” she asked knowingly before injecting it into her arm. It was oddly mesmerizing to watch. “Well, let me tell you, it isn’t worth it. Giving in is so much better,” she said with a sigh before leaning back in bliss.
The thing was she wasn’t wrong. The first few times they shot me up, I had been horrified. My mind had rebelled. But honestly? It soon became my safe haven. As soon as it hit my veins, it had made my hell more bearable. Everything just...felt better. It was like the pierce of the needle let all the pain and fear inside of me bleed out. The torturous ticking seconds of the clock would speed up, and I was able to make it through whatever Pick did to me.
But that was why they did it. They lined all of us up, one after the other, like broken dolls. They took our arms, and we surrendered our veins, and the next thing we knew, our wills went with it. We became dependent, which meant we became complacent, and that was exactly how they wanted us.
Some of the girls would sob until one of the gang members came back to give her more. Some of them were given too much and didn’t wake up. Me? I adapted. Having it was better than going without.
And right now? When memories were knocking on my skull and all I wanted was to mute the sounds again? Yeah, I wanted it. My veins were practically salivating. “You want some, girl?” she asked me with a smile, and I recognized the look on her face. She was one of those types that liked to bring the world down with her. She couldn’t stand failing on her own, so she’d tempt people with a taste in order to feel better about herself.
And I should have said no. I should have screamed my refusal and walked away. But I couldn’t. I took a step closer instead, each limb begging, pleading to shoot up and forget.
Another step, and her
wrinkled lips twisted into a smile bleeding with approval. Another step, and I saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. When we were just a foot apart, I saw how her skin looked washed out, her bones brittle from years of use. She twisted to look behind her, and there was a commotion outside ringing in my ears, but I couldn’t focus on that. All I could see was the way her spine poked through the thin fabric of her shirt, making her look skeletal, and the track marks that marred her arms and even her hands. It was sickening, and a sight I was all too familiar with.
She put more of the powder on her spoon for me, and the flick of her lighter drowned out the footsteps that clicked on the marble floor behind me. I was transfixed as she hummed, working in a lazy, relaxed way. Every edge to her had softened and her eyelids had sunk like heavy anvils were resting on them. “I’ll just heat it up for you, babe. No need to suffer. I’ll help you out.”
Deep inside, I knew that this was her guilt talking. I knew she wanted to see me just as twisted up about the drug as she was. It demanded submission from us both, and she had bowed down to it. I held my breath in my chest, still undecided about whether or not I wanted this. My stubborn spirit was at war with my body. But then, one voice broke through the haze of my addiction. One voice cut me like a knife and gave my heart enough power to say my refusal.
“But now that I see you’re just a druggie with daddy issues, I realize there’s nothing special about you at all.”
Those words pushed through the craving, and I shook my head, thinking clearly again for the first time since I’d walked in the room. “No, thank you,” I said around a swallow. My words felt like ash on my throat, coating my traitorous body with the refusal that emboldened me. I could feel my strength growing with each moment, and the woman’s smile slipped into a mask of pain.
I started backing up, easing away from the woman’s orbit while staring at the melted liquid on her spoon. Each step away from her granted me a bit of my power back. Each step made me feel like I could breathe. And then, her eyes widened a bit, just as my back connected with something solid.
Hands came up to gently cup my arms, and lips brushed against my ears as gruff words were spoken loud enough for only me to hear. “You surprise me, princess.”
I whirled around, looking Godfrey in the eyes, and I finally understood why I wanted him around. It wasn’t just because I associated him with saving me from the car wreck. It was because I knew, deep down, that I needed his condescending challenge. If I was truly going to tame the beast inside of me that raged and writhed for the drug, then I needed Godfrey Taylor’s voice in my head. I needed the drive to prove him wrong.
I latched onto his arm, probably with a stronger grip than I should have, but he didn’t seem to mind it. Instead of shrugging me off, he trapped my hand between his arm and side, squeezing it in place. His cool eyes cut over to the woman, and his lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “Mrs. Salvador. Luis is looking for you.”
“Yeah? Well, Mrs. Salvador isn’t here,” she replied with equal disdain, slumping back in her chair like she didn’t have a care in the world.
I swallowed again, craving that emptiness more than I would have liked, but I dug my nails into Godfrey like he could anchor me to my sobriety. Being the pro at reading people, he seemed to sense that my strength was failing, so he eased me out of the room and back to the main part of the club.
My senses were on overdrive, the loud music pumping through my veins and making me dizzy.
“I saw one of Johnny Jack’s guys inside. We need to get out of here,” Godfrey said as he led us past the bodies. “Luis is distracting him, but I don’t want the fucker to see us.”
I nodded numbly, unable to fully sort through the fact that he hadn’t betrayed me. I guess my instinct was right after all, not that I could adequately appreciate that fact right now. I just needed out of this club, as far away from Mrs. Salvador and her heated spoon as I could get. I walked faster, my nails digging into Godfrey’s arm so hard that I was probably close to drawing blood, but he didn’t try to pull away once.
Chapter Ten
Rachel
The valet brought Godfrey’s Bugatti around quickly, and the moment we were back in the car, I switched the music off, reveling in the silence so my brain could have a moment to cope. Breathe, in and out. I whispered to myself, practically dry heaving with the intensity that rattled my brain.
Godfrey’s voice was quiet, a considerate act that softened me a bit. “What do you need?”
It wasn’t a harsh question, but I still flinched in surprise. He seemed to notice, and from the corner of my eye, I watched him grip the steering wheel tighter.
“I need distraction. It’s too...loud. The world is too fucking loud,” I choked out.
We were zipping through Savannah, headed towards the outskirts of town where there was nothing but trees and a long stretch of road. The moment Savannah’s glaring city lights were out of view, he pulled the car to a stop and got out.
My trembling fingers worked the seat belt keeping me strapped to the leather seats, and as soon as I had it undone, I shot out of the car, letting the cool night air dance along my skin with ease. I let out an exhale, bending over to kiss my knees as I steadied myself. Everything was silent. The only sounds I could hear were the buzzing of lightning bugs and Godfrey’s breathing.
“You didn’t take it,” Godfrey observed with a hint of disbelief.
I stood up and turned to face him. “I don’t want to be a druggie with daddy issues,” I snapped, quoting him, and I saw his blonde eyebrows go up in surprise.
The last bit of craving I’d felt with Mrs. Salvador started to dissolve into anger, and my anger turned red-hot. But that angry heat mixed with a different type of warmth as I looked at Godfrey leaning against the side of his car. He was sinfully hot, and he knew it. The craving for the drug somehow morphed into a craving for him, and I couldn’t help but trail my eyes over his body. His lips pulled into a grin, the moonlight dancing along the angles of his handsome face as he observed me.
Dammit. I’d shown my hand.
“So you wanted to prove me wrong?” he asked, pushing himself away from the car.
“Maybe,” I choked out, trying to straighten my body up to my full height. Not that it really helped. He was a foot taller than me.
Godfrey stalked closer, and before I knew it, he was cupping my cheeks. I could smell whiskey on his breath, but it was the tenderness of his touch that made me lean in.
“Keep proving me wrong,” he whispered so softly that I almost missed it.
And then, I fucking kissed him.
We collided, and somehow, my jagged pieces fit with the rough edges of his soul. Nothing was smooth or perfect or good. We were coiled in contempt for life, fighting with clashing teeth and dancing tongues. A kiss had never been so bittersweet, and I never wanted the taste to end.
I didn’t want to want him, but I did. He was the only person since I’d gotten away from JJ’s gang that didn’t treat me with kid gloves. Godfrey left me no room to feel sorry for myself as his tongue clashed with mine.
“You angry, princess?” he asked against my mouth.
“So fucking angry,” I answered right before biting him on the bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. My anger was so hot that I wouldn’t be surprised if steam started to rise off my skin. I was mad at what had happened to me. Mad that my dad had let it. Mad at the residual memories and addiction that plagued me. Mad that no one had come to rescue me, and I was just a byproduct of the Heirs saving their friend Scarlett.
I tasted the blood on his lip that I’d drawn, but instead of flinching or pushing me away, his hands came around my waist, and he pulled me even closer. With my body flush with his, the heat he gave off fed my internal inferno. “Good. I like you when you’re feisty.”
He lifted me off the ground in his strong grip, forcing my legs to go up and over his hips. Without our mouths ever breaking away, he brought us to the hood of his car, my back hitting the coo
l metal. Godfrey bit me on my bottom lip just as hard as I’d bitten him, and I tasted the mix of our copper blood with the dart of my tongue.
He straightened up, pulling his face away from mine, but kept his hands braced on the hood on either side of me. He looked down at me, no doubt noting the flush of my face and the way my dress had bunched up around my waist, barely covering my panties.
“Beautiful,” he rasped before grinding into me, his hard cock pressing against the thin material covering my slick heat. I didn’t want his words. I wanted his body. I wanted him to make me numb and put me in control of my new addiction: proving Godfrey Fucking Taylor wrong.
I arched my back, signaling for him to push harder, kiss deeper, and feel the fucked up way that my body responded to him. I didn’t want him to treat me like a girl on the edge of a trigger. There wasn’t some handbook for coping. There wasn’t one singular way to navigate around the fucked up shit that happened to me. My therapist warned me that touch would be too much. That I might shy away from physical relationships because they reminded me of Pick, but she was wrong when it came to Godfrey. When it came to him, I kept wanting more.
I didn’t need someone telling me how to quietly get over the trauma. I needed someone to work me over, push my buttons, and let me scream and rage and feel empowered. I wasn’t a product of the things that happened to me. I was strong. I could handle my shit. I could work through it with a hard fuck and a demanding kiss if I wanted to.
Godfrey leaned forward and nipped at my neck, licking a line up before sinking his teeth into my supple skin. I ground against him and curled my fingers into his hair while I groaned into his mouth. “Stop being so careful, God. I can handle it,” I whispered before pushing against his hands where he had me pinned down. With anyone else, this might have made me panic, but I felt entirely safe with him. “I’m not a delicate little daisy.”
