Chapter Nine
I must wake up after Mia because when my eyes open, the first thing I hear is the sound of the shower running. I almost forget I'm not alone in this room for a few seconds, but then I process the empty bed beside me and my brain finally registers she must be washing up. For a few minutes, I lay in bed with an arm thrown over my face.
When she steps out of the bathroom, she's wearing nothing but a towel. Wet, dark hair falls down her shoulders in matted waves, and her long legs catch my eyes. It's too early for this, and with the water droplets running down her shoulders and her perfect curves, I'm definitely staring. Suddenly, my pants feel way too tight, and I know she needs to stop before I do something I'll seriously regret.
She must not notice me at first, because she starts to untie the damn thing.
I clear my throat loudly. "Uh, Mia—"
She all but jumps out of her skin. "Shit! Sorry, Wade! I thought you were asleep."
I'm wide awake now. "Just woke up."
She grabs her clothes with flushed cheeks and darts back into the bathroom as fast as she can go. One look at my lap is all it would take to see what I'm thinking about, and I'm glad she's not here for that.
"Carajo!" I hiss softly.
She's already killing me and she has no idea.
Thankfully, she comes back dressed and sheepish. Her expression is apologetic, but she avoids talking to me as she slips her old outfit into her bag. She's in jeans today, and one of her knees peeks out from a hole in them. I like that she doesn't put a fuss into how she looks. She dresses for comfort and keeps it practical.
I climb out of bed and brush my teeth. Splashing water on my face, I try to get the image of her in that damned towel out of my head. It seems I probably won't be able to anytime soon.
"You hungry?" I ask her.
She shrugs. "I could eat, but I'm not too hungry."
Even though she tells me that, the growling of her stomach tells me otherwise.
"There's a gas station a few miles from here. We'll stop there," I decide.
"Don't you have places to—"
"We'll make time," I cut her off. "Can't have you starving on me."
Mia doesn't protest anymore, probably because she wants something to eat too much. We grab our things and head back to the truck in a matter of minutes. Since the radio reception is utter crap, she hooks her phone up to the speakers. Neither of us likes awkward silences, and it turns out, she has half-decent taste in music.
She bobs her head every once in a while, her hair bouncing in time with her chin. Her face is facing the window, so the sun highlights every angle, down to the curve of her mouth. Since she was basically naked an hour ago, it's hard not to picture her like that. She's always been gorgeous, anyone can see that, but the more I learn about her, the more tempting she is. Mia Critt is slowly weaseling her way into my life, and for some crazy reason, I'm letting her.
At the gas station, I get a huge cup of black coffee first. She takes her time wandering by the coolers, finally reaching in for some orange juice when she spots it. From there, she grabs a muffin and stands beside me.
I grab some things for later, but since I don't have much of an appetite, I don't grab more than necessities. I throw a wad of cash at the cashier without really glancing at the total, knowing I have more than enough for this trip.
The guy at the counter leers at Mia, grinning at her with a smile of metal teeth and empty gaps where his molars should be. She steps closer to me, and I feel her arm brush my back. I can tell she's nervous, but she needs to know she can't show weakness. I know she can take care of herself when needed, but right now, she doesn't have her gun, and she's uncomfortable.
As the man counts our change, taking his sweet time, I reach out and slide a finger down her slender wrist. Her breath catches as I reach her palm, then slip my hand into hers. I squeeze once, and I know I shouldn't be holding her hand, but I'll be damned if I let her feel like I don't notice this creep at the counter.
I'd like to pretend I'm only acting like her boyfriend to get the guy to back off, but part of me likes it. It must work because he stops leering at her.
Finally, the cashier gives me a few coins and a couple of crumpled bills. I shove them into my pocket and tug on our linked hands.
"Come on."
I don't let go until we're back at the truck. I don't want to, but I know I shouldn't be touching her more than necessary. Even if Thomas isn't here, I have to act like he is.
"Thank you," she tells me.
"Don't mention it," I reply. "You can't get scared though. As long as you're involved with Purgatory, you're going to be around all kinds of freaky bastards. You can't act fazed, or they'll know they have you at a disadvantage."
"I don't know how you do this every day. Dealing with it all makes me want to puke," she says.
"You get used to it." I ease my foot off the accelerator, letting us cruise for awhile once we hit the highway.
She cracks her juice open and takes a slow sip. When she drags the back of her hand across her mouth, I wish I could just reach out and do it for her. The impulse is quickly dismissed.
I have to stop this.
"Where are we going?" she finally questions, turning her music down.
"Your brother has a dealer out here," I explain. "He wants us to pick some product up and show his potential business partner he's legit."
Her nose scrunches in disgust. "I'm never gonna get how any of this works."
"You don't have to. A few more months and you're out."
"Same goes for you," she points out.
Maybe. "Yeah."
"Have you ever tried anything?" she asks.
"What? Like the drugs?"
She nods. "I mean, he lets you guys sample, doesn't he?"
Thomas is known for being generous. His top dogs always get discounts on everything. It's why so many of us demons are high out of our minds most of the time. On runs, we're sober, sharp, but afterward, in between fights, some people snort coke lines, smoke what they can get their hands on, whatever they need.
But I don't.
Don't get me wrong, I've had every chance, but I turned it down. I know what it does to people, and I don't want it.
"It's never been for me," I say.
She considers this. "It makes it harder for him to control you that way, doesn't it?"
"Exactly." She's so right.
Addiction makes people susceptible to manipulation. Thomas still controls me pretty effectively, but I'm not hooked on anything. I'm not as desperate as some of the others are.
"He wants me clean," she says. "I'd never want to get high anyway. I don't want any ties to his work, but sometimes I hate that it's his call and not mine."
"I don't blame you."
It's clear she's done talking about her brother because the volume of her music increases and talking fizzles out. An hour later, we're in town, and I get ready for whatever comes next with this job.
Thomas's guy operates out of a shady hotel that charges by the hour. The kind of place most people come to get high and get laid— usually in succession. My skin is already crawling. Girls don't last long here, and a boss usually offers them up before making a deal. The rates are usually a few ounces of cocaine and a hundred for a half-hour with the woman of the day. Mia is so not going with me.
I park a block over to make sure I don't appear conspicuous. I'm headed to the fourth floor, seventh door on the left. The place is a maze, and I won't be letting Mia get lost in there. If someone gets ahold of her, I'll never find her.
I turn to her. "I want you to listen to me very carefully."
Her head perks up. "Yeah?"
"I need you to stay here. Backseat. Keep your head down and the doors locked. Don't give anyone a reason to come after you."
She frowns. "Wade, what are you going on about?"
I glance around, lowering my voice. "Half the women they have around here aren't here because they want to be. If they find you, you're going to be a pimp's new piece. Got it?"
She pales, and I regret scaring her, but she needs to know what she's in for.
"You're terrible at listening to me, but I swear to God, Mia, you have to this time. I'll be fine here, I do this kind of thing all the time. This isn't the dangerous part," I assure her. Obviously, there are no guarantees. Anytime I run an errand for Thomas, I'm sticking my neck out, but as far as chores go, this is an easy one.
"You have an hour," she finally says, pressing her lips into a firm line. "After that, I'm coming in."
"No," I snap. "Absolutely not."
"I'm here to help you," she presses. "Thomas told me to prove myself. I've got a gun, and I'll use it if I have to."
She's made her mind up. I can tell she's afraid of what can happen if she leaves the truck, but she's more afraid of me getting hurt. I don't blame her. She needs me to get back over the border, and she needs my help to get away from Thomas after graduating, but I wonder if she understands that I'm just as afraid of something happening to her.
"I'll be back in forty-five minutes," I promise. "You better believe I'm not giving you a reason to worry about me."
"I'm always gonna worry," she argues. "You always worry about your friends."
Friends, I repeat to myself. I figure I must be the closest thing she has to a friend, and the same goes for me. My brother was my best friend before he died, but I guess as far as companions go, Mia is it.
"Forty-five minutes," she goes on. "I'm keeping track. Go!"
With nothing but a pistol and some money for the product I'm paying for, I set out for room 407. When I look back, Mia is climbing into the backseat, just like I asked. She's good at hiding. I can only hope she plays this smart.
The girl waiting by the door can't be much older than I am, and she wiggles her fingers at me when I pass by. Even despite her confidence, I can see the terror hiding behind her features. She's probably in need of a customer soon, because her desperation is nearly palpable.
I don't stare. I can't.
The first time I ever ran an errand for Thomas Critt, I was seventeen, not much younger than Mia is now. I was scared shitless, but I knew that if I wanted to live I couldn't act like it. Everyone here has a poker face, but it's all about having the best one. I square my shoulders, make each step purposeful, and when I make eye contact, I glare with venom.
I knock once, waiting for someone to get the door. When the guy answers, he's hiking up his pants over his beer belly. His belt is loose and his zipper is down, exposing a hairy torso before he has the decency to cover up. He's smaller than me: a pudgy, middle-aged man with thinning grey hair and nothing but wife-beater on. He's probably got a gun in the hand that's out of sight, resting on the other side of the doorframe. No one answers a door without one when you work for an industry like ours.
Behind him, I hear a woman protesting, asking him to come back to bed in perfect Spanish. I don't try to hide my disgust, and that probably pisses him off a little. A lit cigar hangs from his lips, grey smoke billowing out of it.
With a throaty cough, he pulls it out and asks, "Who are you?"
His English is pretty broken, so I respond in Spanish. "I'm Valdez. I'm with Lucifer."
It's all I need to say. No one screws with Thomas, or anyone working on his behalf. A lot of us are just nameless faces, but there's a look about demons that unifies us. I don't even know what they call this guy, and I don't care. He doesn't ask for more than my last name, either. We're indifferent.
He grunts and beckons me into the room.
The blinds are drawn, so the room is dimly lit in the morning sun. The woman in the bed is shamelessly naked, her breasts perky and full. She lets me have a long look at her before rolling over to grab a cigar of her own. I'm not interested, and she almost seems disappointed by my lack of response.
The conversation plays out in Spanish, which is strange to me. I grew up speaking it, but having my native tongue slip out is something I'm not used to. Most people in Purgatory speak English, so I do too.
"Thomas sent his order ahead of time," the man tells me as he opens a briefcase. In it are several bags, marked and labeled with the weights of each product. Thomas wanted a little bit of everything, just to show that he had both a variety and the best stuff on the market. I swear, this man seems proud, probably determined to be on the devil's good side.
He holds out a pudgy hand when I'm finished rummaging through the case. His meaty fingers are empty, waiting for his pay. I slap a stack of pre-counted bills into his hand and wait for him to go through them again. Wisely, he doesn't try to hustle more out of me after flicking through it.
"What's does he need all this for?" he asks. "Don't you have product in America?"
"We do, but Thomas has a plan for this," I reply. That's all the information I offer, and all the information I plan to give.
"Pleasure working with you," the man says. I can tell by the glimmer in his eye that he's trying to kiss up, maybe thinking if he works hard enough I'll put a good word in. I don't bother telling him it's pointless.
I don't echo his sentiment. Instead, I take the case and go. There's no point staying longer than I have to, and the sooner I get out, the better, You never know if it'll be a smooth exit or not. Sometimes, people change their minds and try to pocket the money and take back what was sold. Doing that would be a deathwish because Thomas would come for him and his men even if I died. Still, some people are dumb enough to try that kind of thing.
It took only twenty minutes. It was quick and painless in a way I least expected. A few eyes follow me back to the truck, but I don't pick up the pace. Walking faster would show fear, and I won't risk that. Instead, I unlock the truck with ease, shove the bag under the seat, and slip the key into the ignition.
Without turning around I ask, "You alive back there?"
Mia perks her head up. "That was fast."
"Told you I'd be fine," I say.
As I back out onto the main road, she swings a leg over the seat and falls beside me. Her fingers run through her messy hair as if she's trying to tame it, it's adorable, but I wouldn't admit that.
"Where are we going now?" she wonders.
"A resort," I reply. "Your brother takes care of us his people. We're going to live like kings and try not to get our heads blown off all at once."
The fancy hotel is Thomas's consolation prize, almost like an apology for the prospect of being maimed or murdered in the time we're away from Los Angeles. He pays for a four-star room, every luxury one can have, and whatever else we want. The downside is, we do what he asks, and risk it all every minute. Today's task was easy, but the deal with one of his rival dealers could be a disaster. There's never any telling.
"Sounds fun," she says. "It's almost like a vacation."
"Yeah, a vacation for drug traffickers," I deadpan.
"Could be worse."
She's not wrong, but I'd take a run in LA over this any day. The rewards are not worth the risk.
But, it's not like I had a choice.
She cuts to the chase. "How long do we have before it all hits the fan?"
It's clear she means the meeting, and I can feel her apprehension secondhand.
"A day," I say. "Enough time to enjoy things for a bit."
Mia scoffs. "I don't know how I'm supposed to enjoy anything."
"Neither do I, but we can try."
I'll probably be drinking my weight in tequila tonight if we're being honest. Alcohol makes me braver, and I'm gonna need courage tomorrow. People hate Thomas, especially the people he steals customers from. His revenue alone is enough to make enemies, but when the profit comes at another's expense, he paints a target on the back of every demon.
He might run the trade in the US, but here, things are different. This venture of his will either forge an alliance or make things worse. Only time will tell. The thing is, Thomas is crazy enough to take the gamble.
You better believe I'll be praying tonight.
***
i forgot this book existed!!! i'm the worst but hey at least i updated
thoughts? wade is my fave rugged bad boy, hbu?
hope you're all having a great sunday!
signing off,
mads