by Winter Scott
“Or what? You're going to kill me?” I never stopped to consider my words before they escaped my mouth. I just said whatever was on my mind. Even if I didn't want to know the truth.
“There's worse things than death,” he said softly. His words scared me to the core. But his grin was even more horrifying. What was this man going to do to me? He sat down on the chair across from the bed and studied me. The pathway to the hallway was wide open now but I knew it was hopeless. He'd run me down before I even got five feet.
“I'm not telling you anything,” I said, using every ounce of confidence. I didn't even know what he wanted. And when did I become a keeper of secrets? Not that I had any secrets to keep. My life had been in the dumpster the past couple of years. I didn't know anything worth knowing.
“What's your name?” he asked.
“Tell me yours first,” I replied defiantly. For some reason I thought I had some control in this conversation.
“Name's Brody Jacobs. Now what's yours?”
He wanted to start off small. Get me talking. I'd give him my name but nothing else. “Erica Turner.”
The man leaned over in the chair and scratched his facial hair. “Erica Turner, tell me everything about your dealer.”
What the fuck? That's all he wanted to know? But I couldn't give up my only source for smack. It took me months and months to find a dealer who would give me drugs in trade for blowjobs. Other dealers wanted to fuck me for the smallest amount of heroin. But my first time couldn't be with a drug dealer. I wouldn't let that happen no matter how much I needed a fix. My mouth on the other hand was a different matter.
I hated the way my dealer's disgusting skinny cock tasted. It was a cross between stinky cheese and a rotten banana. It took all my efforts to keep myself from gagging as he fucked my face. But it was all worth it for those hours of being high. There was no way I could give him up. He was too valuable to me.
I put on my best poker face. “I don't have a dealer. Who are you talking about?”
Brody laughed hard, slapping his knee. “That's a good one. A junkie without a dealer. Don't even try to play games with me, Erica. Who the fuck is your dealer? I want a name.”
The urge for a fix was already coming on. I could feel the need deep in my veins. My hands began to shake slightly and Brody noticed it. “Like I said before, I don't have a dealer. I get my drugs from whatever random guy is standing at the corner of the street.”
“If you want to play it that way, we can play it that way.” Brody walked over to a beat-up dresser and pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs.
“What are you going to do to me?” I crawled backwards on the bed, trying to get as far away from Brody as possible.
Brody grabbed my wrist and locked one cuff around it. The other cuff was locked to the bedpost. “You're not going anywhere. And I think you'll be singing a different tune in a few hours when you need a fix.”
I pulled on the handcuffs as hard as I could but all I did was hurt my wrist. “You can't do this to me, Brody.”
“Oh Erica, I can and I will.” My eyes widened as he smiled and left the room, leaving me all alone with my addiction.
–
During the night, the withdrawals had taken over. The need for smack was overwhelming. My body was going back and forth between ice cold and scalding hot. Brody had put a bucket next to the bed that I continually filled with vomit. The room was spinning and the bed sheets were soaked with my sweat. There was no way I was going to make it through the night.
I screamed Brody's name over and over again until he finally came back into the room. “How are you feeling, Erica?” He sounded like a doctor looking after a patient. Brody was one vile son of a bitch.
“Fuck you,” I said through clenched teeth. I rattled the handcuffs against the bed post, making as much noise as possible.
Brody held a cold compress in his hand and set it against my forehead. “I have a proposition for you that I have no doubt you'll agree to. Give me your dealer's name and I'll come back with some heroin.”
Those words were almost too good to be true. I'd do anything for drugs at this moment. Even give Brody my most prized possession: my body. “My dealer's name is Jenkins. Now get me some drugs now. I can't take it anymore.”
“Jenkins? Sounds more like a clown than a dealer.”
“Will you fucking stop talking and get me my smack!”
“Where does he live?” Brody asked.
My brain was so cloudy that I couldn't remember right away. If only I had a little bit of a fix to clear my mind. I visualized his house a few blocks away from my apartment building. He lived in a nice neighborhood for being a drug dealer. “Oak Street. Jenkins lives on Oak Street.”
“Good girl. See that wasn't too hard.” Brody ran his fingers through my wet hair. “I'll go first thing in the morning and get your drugs.”
My body was about to blow up. There was no way I could survive until the morning. “You have to go now, Brody. I can't wait any longer.”
“Not gonna happen, baby.” Brody winked at me and sat down in his favorite chair. He was going to watch me suffer all night. I was going to die in a few hours and Brody was just going to just watch me wither away. He snapped open a beer and drank. Fuck him.
Chapter Four
Brody
I didn't want Erica to know that I could barely keep my eyes open. I hadn't gotten any sleep since I brought her to my apartment the night before. I needed just a little bit of shut-eye to regenerate. But tonight was going to be rough.
Erica was going through extreme withdrawals and if I didn't watch her closely she could die. But it was all worth it because I had the information I needed. Jenkins, her dealer, didn't live far away. In the morning I'd get the drug shipment back, return Erica to her dumpster of a home and everything would go back to normal. Or at least I thought.
We both survived the night. There were some pretty close calls when Erica almost choked on her throw up. I was able to roll her over so she could vomit into the trash can. I didn't get a wink of sleep again and knew that it would affect my entire day.
When dawn came, it was time to show this drug dealer what happens when you mess with the Kelly brothers.
I drove down Oak Street in my Dodge Charger. Erica didn't give me his exact address but I knew his house immediately. Oak Street was filled with two story mansions that were easily in the million-dollar range. Jenkins' drug house was the only one that didn't fit—a white one-story with bars on the windows.
I parked across the street and watched the house for awhile. It was still really early in the morning. The sky was clear and the air crisp. I'd known many dealers in my time and he was most likely asleep right now. Most dealers didn't do business until the late afternoon and stayed open late. If I was lucky, I'd catch him off-guard in bed.
I walked to his front door and tried to look through the side window. The blinds were closed and the view blocked. I quietly tried the door handle but it was locked. Some dealers were stupid enough to keep their doors unlocked. My only way in was the old-fashioned way. I looked around carefully down the street. Any witnesses could easily put a wrench in my plan. But nobody was out this early.
I curled my hand into a fist and smashed it through the side window. The dealer would probably be awake by now. But I still had time. I reached in through the broken window and felt around for the deadbolt. My fingers barely grazed it but I was able to turn the lock and open the door.
The living room was completely empty. Not usual with a drug dealer. Most of them made a lot of quick money so that meant lots of high-end electronics: big screens, sound systems, and video games. But this house was barren. Something was wrong. I could sense it.
The back bedrooms were empty too. Not even a mattress was in there. If a drug dealer lived here, there was no evidence of it now. Or that bitch, Erica, was lying to me. That sounded more likely. In her messed-up state I took what she told me as the truth. Why would she lie to me when she needed dru
gs so badly? She had to of known that I wouldn't bring any back when I found out she was lying.
Or what if she was just trying to get me out of the house? I quickly checked my car keys and noticed the handcuff keys were still on there. She could break apart the bed if she really wanted to. I had to get back home.
I rushed back to the living room and to the front door. I almost opened it when I heard someone knock from outside. I froze in place, not knowing what to do. Could be the police or a concerned neighbor. I'd have to run out the back in a hurry. I looked through the peephole and saw a skinny guy shaking and constantly scratching his arms. Definitely not a neighbor or a cop. I opened the door.
“Hey man, is Jenkins around? I know he's not open yet but I just really need my fix. I'll pay whatever he wants.” The guy looked around nervously. I pulled him inside by his shirt, closed the door, and slammed him against it.
“Where the fuck is Jenkins?” I growled. My patience was already wearing thin.
“Dude! What the fuck? Just chill out.”
My fist sank into the junkie's stomach and he collapsed to his knees, his breathing turned to rasps. “Tell me where Jenkins is or I'll have to hurt you more.”
The druggie put his hands up in surrender. “I don't know, you psycho! I just came to his house looking for a fix.”
The rage told me to hit the guy one more time for good measure. But he didn't know jack shit. Getting my hands dirtier wouldn't get me any closer to finding the dealer. But it would damn well make me feel better. I threw a right hook at the junkie's face, snapping his head back and knocking him unconscious. The boiling anger subsided and I really did feel better. I opened the door, pushing the druggie's limp body to the side.
I put my sunglasses on and realized that Erica wasn't lying to me. This house was Jenkins' but he had already skipped town. He either ran after the stealing the drugs or heard that the Kellys were on to him. Either way, it wasn't looking good for me. The Kelly brothers expected results and I always delivered.
On the way back to my apartment, I got another call from Damon. No way I could dodge it this time.
“I need a fucking update, Brody. You've been gone too long. Where the fuck are my drugs?” Damon was already furious and I needed to play this cool.
“I got the dealer's address from the junkie and I'm on my way there right now.” I had no choice but to lie to Damon. I had to give myself a little time to figure out my next move.
“Why is it taking so fucking long? You should have already flayed that drug bastard yesterday.”
I couldn't tell him that I had taken Erica home with me. He wouldn't understand. “The junkie took a little longer than usual to get the information out.”
“Keep me posted, Brody. I want this mess cleaned up and I want it done now.”
“Yes, sir.” I threw my phone into the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel, clenching my teeth. I needed to find that drug dealer and fast. But first I needed to check on Erica. I didn't want her to dying on me in my fucking bedroom.
I got back to my apartment with some burgers and fries. She needed some solid food in her. I knocked on the door before opening it. Erica was still chained to the bed right where I left her. Her skin was slick with sweat and her legs were shaking. A pool of vomit puddled on the floor. I'd have to change the sheets tonight. She opened her eyes slowly and realized it was me.
“Give me the fucking drugs, Brody. I need them right now.” The desire in her eyes was unmistakable. She'd do anything right now for a fix.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping my distance. Her nails were long and she could do some serious damage. “Your dealer skipped town, Erica. Tell me where he went and I'll get you the drugs.”
Erica sank back into the bed, slowly whispering to herself, “You told me you would get me the drugs. You told me you would get me drugs.” Her eyes darted back and forth across the room.
I raised my voice. “Tell me where your dealer went and I'll get you your drugs.”
She looked up at me with wide eyes. “I have no idea. I only knew the one place. Now please give me something. I can't take much more of this.”
I was at a dead end. It could take me weeks to find that cockroach of a dealer. The Kelly brothers wouldn't like this. Just because I grew up with them didn't protect me from their extreme punishments. I could lose a hand for this. Literally.
I set the bag of fast food down on the nightstand next to Erica. “Where the fuck are you going?” she demanded. If only I could fuck her to shut the bitch up. Erica's blouse was dark with sweat and her erect nipples were poking through. The stiffness in my pants was ordering me to fuck her and get her addicted to my cock. Erica was chained to my bed and it wouldn't be hard to take her. It might make both of us feel better. But she wasn't in any condition for sex. And I needed to clear my head.
I left the room to Erica throwing every curse word known to man at me. She was going to have to beat this addiction or die trying.
I leaned against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the ground in the hallway. What was I going to do with Erica? She shouldn't even be here right now. Why was I being such a do-gooder. That wasn't me. That wasn't the Brody that beat this shit out of people for a living. With any other person, I'd have thrown them away the second I got the information.
But Erica was different. I wanted to save her. Save her from herself. But my honor was going to get us both killed.
Erica
Days passed as I came in and out of consciousness. I thought I was going to die at every moment. But Brody was there to keep my straight.
I could barely keep down the tacos that Brody brought me. I was so hungry but the withdrawals were kicking my ass. They weren't as bad as the night before but I didn't know how I was going to make it out of this alive.
That night, the aching and shaking subsided and I was able to get some real sleep. The next morning, I woke up feeling almost normal again. Almost. The overwhelming need for heroin was still there but it was somewhat more manageable. I had thrown away my life for a drug and now was the time to get it back.
“How are you feeling?” Brody asked as he swaggered into the room, carrying a box.
I rubbed my eyes and squinted against the sunlight coming through the blinds. “Feels like a nasty hangover but not feeling like I'm going to implode at any moment.”
“I'm glad to hear.” Brody set the box down at the foot of the bed. “Here's your stuff from that dump you called home.”
I looked around at the holes in the stained walls. “You shouldn't be talking. Your place ain't much better.”
Brody almost fell over laughing. His smile was contagious. “I'm going to make some breakfast, if you want some.”
“I'd like that very much.” I stood up and the handcuffs preventing me from getting very far. I fell right back down on the bed.
“I guess you won't be needing those anymore.” Brody produced a set a keys and fit a skinny one into the cuffs. My wrist was red but not too sore.
I realized what Brody had done for me. He had saved me from the deepest darkest hole. I could finally be me again.
“Umm, I wanted to tell you thank you.” I couldn't even make eye contact with him.
“For what? Kidnapping and almost torturing you?”
I chuckled. “For getting me through the withdrawals. If you hadn't come along. I'd still be in that nasty building, shooting that junk into my veins.” I looked down at the track marks on the inside of my arms. Would those ever go away? Would I always be that junkie?
“Don't mention it,” he replied. “I couldn't see a pretty girl like yourself waste away in a place like that.” I knew he must've been lying because the drugs had destroyed my looks. I had avoided mirrors on purpose just so I didn't have to see the damage it had done to me.
Brody left me alone in the room with the box of my stuff. I had sold almost all my belongings to get a fix. I had no idea what Brody could have brought over from my old place. There w
as nothing left. I peeked inside to find brand new clothes: jeans, shirts, panties, bras, and socks. They were all my size. How did he know?
Below the clothes was a small makeup kit. Nothing fancy but all the basics: eyeliner, eyeshadow, foundation, and lipstick. I didn't even remember the last time I woke up and actually put makeup on. It was probably the night of the college party when my whole life went down the toilet.
I set the contents of the box to the side and at the very bottom was a crumpled-up photo. Tears began streaming down my cheeks. How did Brody even find this? It was a picture of my parents and me at the Grand Canyon when I was around seven years old. I had kept it under my dirty mattress and had forgotten all about it. I had sold my purse to a pawn shop for something like five dollars and that photo was the only thing I kept.
