Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Well, I mean, there was powder.
But it was contained in big bricks.
I didn’t know a whole lot about drugs. My mom’s drinking issues, and my own concern about the potential for addiction to be genetic, I’d made sure I kept myself in check, never going near the hard stuff. Did I occasionally roll a joint or have a drink? Sure. It was all legal.
But I stayed clear of the illegal, life-ruining shit.
So I couldn’t say for sure but I was reasonably certain what I had in the box was four bricks of heroin.
A quick search on my phone—that likely got me flagged on someone’s watchlist—told me that each brick—or kilogram—was worth between ten and a hundred grand, depending on location and demand.
So, at minimum, I had forty thousand dollars of heroin in my bathtub. At max, four hundred thousand.
“Jesus Christ,” I hissed, grabbing a handful of tissues to move one of the bricks because there was a note under it.
I didn’t touch that with my fingers, either, using two sets of tweezers from my makeup kit instead to hold it and pull it open.
Hang onto this for me. - C.
“Oh, like fucking hell,” I hissed, tossing the letter back in with the bricks of heroin.
I mean, no. There was absolutely no way I was getting involved in their drug business. I mean, sure, I guess I’d been involved before, but that had been different. I hadn’t ever even seen the drugs. It’s why I managed to turn a blind eye to all the red flags for so long.
Clearly, my so-called involvement wasn’t even enough to get me arrested.
But if I wasn’t going to be involved with them and their drugs, what the fuck was I supposed to do?
It damn sure couldn’t stay at my apartment. That was not a chance I was taking.
That said, what other choices did I have?
Rational thought said to take it to the cops.
But if someone was watching me, and clearly they were, then they would see me do that. What would happen to me then?
Would they beat me?
Kill me?
I mean, I get that my life wasn’t for everyone, but it was my life, damnit. I wasn’t ready to leave it because some asshat wanted me to store four kilos of heroin in my panty drawer.
So I had to do something with the damn stuff.
Exhaling hard, I went into my kitchen, finding the disposable gloves I used to clean with and slipped them on before grabbing a garbage bag out of an unopened box, and piling in the drugs, since I’d already touched the box, so that had to be gotten rid of. I folded it up, then made my way out of my apartment, stopping to dispose of the box where it would meet all the other recycling waste from all the other apartment tenants, and then headed out the front door.
My heart was hammering in my chest. Because, whether the drugs were mine or not, they were in my possession. If I was caught with them, it was my prison time.
I always thought I’d been a hyper-vigilant woman. I mean, you had to be. Predators could be behind a random tree for all you knew.
But I had never been so aware of my surroundings as I was right then. I mean, I could hear the grass blades moving, I swear to God.
Which was why when a man appeared out of nowhere, I damn near leapt out of my skin.
“Jesus Christ. Make some noise or something,” I hissed, angry at having been startled.
He shifted a bit, turning to face me fully.
There was a small spark of familiarity that I brushed quickly away because I was pretty sure I’d remember a guy who was that hot, especially in our town full of revolving faces. There weren’t many strange, gorgeous, faces to be found.
He was tall and strong with black hair and bright blue eyes. All angles from his sharp jaw that had a slight cleft to his nice cheekbones and stern brow.
Hot.
The man was hot.
And because that was immediately my first thought, my second thought was that he had to be bad news.
Because I only ever found bad news guys hot.
Was he the one who’d dropped the drugs.
I mean, I was no expert on heritage or anything, but he looked like he could have been maybe Bulgarian. Czar was hot in a somewhat similar way.
But after years of hiding in the shadows, why would he suddenly let me see his face?
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, gaze moving over me. Was there a hint of heat in his eyes? Maybe. But the look didn’t feel penetrative in a sexual way, if that made any sense. It was like he was trying to see into me.
“Then maybe don’t sneak up on women, you creep,” I snapped, lifting my chin and stalking past him, trying not to show any of the anxiety that was moving through me.