Page 49 of Don’t Say Mafia

Zachary pulled the car up to the curb, and I hooked one of Ryan’s arms over my shoulder and half dragged, half carried him to the back door. Zachary got out of the car and opened the back door, one hand steadying the frame so I could maneuver the limp body inside.

Ryan’s head flopped against the leather seat. His mouth hung open, and drool was already collecting at the corner.

Disgusting.

I was going to have to get this car detailed immediately.

Zachary slid back behind the wheel. “Apartment?”

“Yeah,” I said, getting in and shutting the door.

The drive was quiet. Ryan’s breathing had slowed to shallow, erratic rasps. I kept an eye on him, making sure he didn’t choke on his own tongue . . . at least not yet.

We pulled up to her building ten minutes later, and Zachary parked in the alley behind the building—out of sight from the street. I opened the back door and hauled Ryan out. He was completely limp now, and his head rolled against my shoulder. I slung him over one arm like a sack of laundry and carried him up the back stairwell. Zachary followed silently, watching for anyone to come by.

Unlocking Eden’s door with the key I’d copied, I carried Ryan inside, wincing at how crappy it was, just like I did every time I watched her on the cameras.

This was her life.

And he was rotting at the center of it.

I laid him on the couch exactly how I wanted him—sprawled, head tipped back, mouth open. I arranged the empty baggie on the coffee table beside him, open, and made sure residue was still clinging to the plastic. A few stray grains scattered across the wood like confetti.

Zachary watched from the doorway. “It looks good,” he commented.

“Thank you,” I said proudly as I straightened Ryan’s shirt so it looked like he’d collapsed after one last hit. Then I stepped back and surveyed the scene.

A man passed out on the couch after a bad day. Drugs on the table. No signs of struggle. No signs of anyone else.

Perfect.

“This is it,” I told Zachary quietly.

One last chance.

If Eden walked away after this, it would be her decision. If she didn’t . . .

My gaze dropped to Ryan’s slack face.

Then I would make the decision for both of them.

CHAPTER 11

EDEN

Isaw him the second I opened the door.

My bag slid off my shoulder and hit the floor as I stepped inside, a scream forming in my throat. “Ryan?” I gasped.

He was on the floor, curled awkwardly on his side, one arm tucked under him at a wrong angle, his whole body shaking hard enough that his teeth clicked together. There was vomit streaked across the carpet beside him, dark and sour smelling.

“Ryan,” I whispered, then louder, “Ryan!”

I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands hovering for half a second before I touched him, like my body didn’t trust what it was seeing. His skin was clammy and cold, and I watched as his eyes fluttered briefly.

“What happened?” I breathed.

He made a sound that might have been my name, and then his body jerked again, harder this time, and panic slammed into me. I fumbled for my phone with shaking fingers, nearly dropping it twice before the screen lit up.