Chapter 57

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He ignored her call and sat on the closed lid of a toilet in the bathroom of a bar, frequented by junkies so no one would bother or judge him, or wonder why he stayed in the room so long. He liked shooting up away from the prying eyes of strangers; no danger of being recognized no fear of being asked about who he was or maybe used to be. The kiss of the needle was sharp and a little jarring to his once desensitized arm but it was no bother. The giddiness he felt as he injected himself was a bliss of its own, but it had nothing on the warmth of the drug flooding his longing veins, pushing its way quickly into his lacking bloodstream. Warm and then hot, fast and then faster, blinding light and then total darkness; he slumped over against the damp brick wall and knew nothing of being high or anything else anymore.


"So. You see what we do, how we buy farm?"

Liam smiled and puffed on his cigar, watched the sunset over the acres of land that sprawled out from the porch of the modest farmhouse that the owner lived in, took in the humid atmosphere and breathed in the warm air; the climate was far different than anything he'd experienced in England, and he had come to love it. But that was about the only thing he could say he enjoyed about the place.

He wanted to go home; he also wanted the security of owning the farm. He needed to buy the place but could not do so without having someone who could live there and supervise it, because he certainly wasn't going to.

The dilemma was that he had no one to send, no one he could trust to do such an incredibly important  job; who ever controlled the farm controlled the entire supply of heroin and cocaine to his operation. Who could he possibly appoint to such a position of power? How could he ever make his business that vulnerable? These were the things that he did not consider when he sold those kilos to pay his way through college; his ambition had never been to become this big or this heavily involved. Never did he imagine that dealing coke out of dorm rooms would lead to an international drug operation employing more people than he cared to count. He'd never meant for this to be permanent; now he didn't see how it could ever stop.

He let the smoke from his cigar billow out of his mouth, and kept his gaze fixed on the horizon many many yards away.

"I need more time, I'll tell you tomorrow."


There were several children in the house, all running around with the same color hair and similar features making it impossible to count them all with any kind of certainty. Zayn sat in the kitchen of the stucco house amongst walls painted a bright but somehow comforting shade of yellow, and sipped on his sweet drink from a glass bottle. The man of the house was genial and hospitable to his guest, the rifle that he carried for work was cast into the corner of the room and was forgotten for the moment; at home they were safe and it was not needed.

The boy sat kicking his legs and waited to be spoken to, eagerly anticipating having some of the wonderful food his mother flitted about the kitchen preparing to serve.

"How would you like to run the farm?" Zayn asked as the other man raised his brows in surprise."there needs to be someone trustworthy in charge of it; it would be very lucrative for you."

"I cannot? Um...the old man; Rojas, the farm is his?"

Every sentence ended with an upward inflection for the man was uncertain of his English and wanted Zayn to understand him.

"Yes, but he is going to sell it; and we will buy it if you will live there and take care of it for us. Yes?"

"No, is no safe? The cartel?" He looked over his shoulder and whispered cautiously as though the cartel were omnipresent and always listening. "I cannot do this. They will be angry."

H. A Harry Styles A.U.Where stories live. Discover now