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Chapter 14
HENDRIX
Venom.
A non-addictive, hallucinogen substance that produces psychological effects.
Powder, pills, injectables.
Doesn't matter what form it comes in, they're all perfect because I created them. Right here in this very lab. Top floor of the science building, chemistry department, room two. Professor Moore doesn't give a shit what his best chem student is doing in his lab out of hours, as long as they don't make a mess, and I just so happen to be the neatest.
A smile curls my lips as I smooth the knuckle of my finger up to the bridge of my nose, pushing my thick framed glasses up higher. My gaze focuses solely on the little glass test tube held between metal clamps, bubbling over the Bunsen burner.
The science lab is empty, lights off, blinds drawn, nothing but the hiss of gas and my own thudding heartbeat filling my ears. I'm trying a new chemical compound that I know is going to work, but I want to test it out just once more before I let Bennett put it into production. I don't trust anyone to make it as perfectly as me, but it's something I'm working on.
Letting go.
The wood of the desk vibrates under my elbows, and then it buzzes again, again,a-fuckin-gain.I don't even glance at my cell, knowing I'll have to start over if I fuck this up. So I ignore it, even as my teeth grind, a bead of sweat rolling down my temple.
And then my timer's going off. I kill the heat, plunge my test tube into the waiting slush-filled ice bath, and wait another minute. Counting the sixty seconds in my head along with the timer. Precision. I lift the tongs, tap out the crystallized contents onto the glass slide and place another over the top, sandwiching the two together. I slip onto the wooden stool beside me, pull forward the microscope and place the slide under the lens.
I get lost in what I'm doing, forgetting all about the incessant messages my cell was trying to alert me to, so I shouldn't be surprised when the wide, wooden door bangs open, ricocheting off of the drywall and sending the vibration of Smiley's entrance through my bones.
“Yo, Rex, my man,” Smiley hollers, lifting a big hand to wave.
Without lifting my head, I flick my gaze onto him, watching as he swaggers across the room, muscular body loose and comfortably slumped, arms swinging casually by his sides. His brown eyes skate across the room, calculating the space and its contents in the same way he does as a left winger on the ice. The only time I think he has half a brain cell is when he's strapped in hockey gear, holding a stick and smashing someone into the glass.
The bones in my neck crack as I twitch, having spent the last few hours in this exact position, Smiley's over-happy, idiotic demeanor is an irritation I'd rather not have. This is the only place I'm serious. Ever. Well, and when I'm beating the shit out of someone, but that's more about enjoyment, the seriousness comes in the first act; intimidation.
This shit, the drugs, is just something I'm good at. And I'm probably a bit of a perfectionist with it.
“What?” I ask lowly, rolling out my shoulders to straighten on my stool.
Smiley's face falls, anxiously shoving a big hand through his short brunet hair, he shifts on his feet.
“I texted you,” he shrugs a little awkwardly, “Hudson said to pick up the product for the team party.”
Fucking Hudson.
The hockey team Captain, Hudson Cooper, blue eyes, black hair, cocky, sinister smile. He's one of the only people that King will listen to outside of our family, for reasons unbeknown to me. It's not personal, I just don’t really like anyone outside of my family. So I tolerate him, along with the rest of King and Lynx's teammates, for the sake of my brothers.
I'll never understand their obsession with hockey, I mean, we all played it back in high school, but I thought they'd drop it like I did when we got to college. They didn't. If anything they only played harder. Lynx plays because he's passionate about the sport, probably dreaming of making it to the NHL, maybe in another life. And King plays because it's one of the only legal ways he can beat the shit out of people with a stick and be cheered on for it.
“Right.”
He relaxes as I slide off of the wooden seat, shove my glasses up into my hair and cross the room to where I dumped the rest of my stuff. Fingers flicking open the duffle bag, I grab two baggies of pills, tossing them at Smiley as I turn back to face him.
“Thanks, man,” he sing-songs, beaming at me, bright and happy again, over-eager with too much sunshine for any normal fucker, probably taken one too many pucks to the head.
“You're good,” I flick my chin towards the door in suggestion, and thankfully he takes it for what it really is,an order.
Knocking my glasses back down onto my face, I get back to work, relaxing back into what I was doing with every one of Smiley's disappearing footsteps down the hall.
“Kitten,” I husk directly into Poppy’s ear, my hands smoothing around her sides, fingers drumming over her ribs as I wrap my arms around her, draping myself over her back, chin resting on her shoulder.
I lift my head in greeting to Lynx, red plastic tray in one hand, his other linked with our girl's, that coy, playboy smirk lifting one corner of his filthy mouth.
Satisfaction.
