Page 23 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

Catherine sliced the side of the cellophane wrapped brick open, and tipped it sideways to let the white powder collect on the digital scale. She slipped the medical mask over her mouth as she watched the number on the scale rise to where she wanted it to be. Quickly, she set the brick of cocaine aside, and used a knife to slide the powder off the scale and neatly into a waiting bag.

When she had first started dealing, Andino or John would take care of handling this part of her business. She rarely actually touched drugs with her own hands, except when she was doing a trade between herself and the person buying. Even then, she only touched a bag with drugs inside.

Then one day, Andino handed her over a brick of cocaine and bags of pills and told her to figure it out. He no longer had time to cut her product properly. She had to do it herself.

So, she did.

Unfortunately, handling drugs was supposed to be a hard line for someone like her with the kind of history she had. She was the kind of person who preferred to self-medicate her depression and anxiety away, and had done so more than once using prescription drugs.

Cara—her old therapist—had been one of the few people who knew about Catherine’s drug abuse, and her past time dealing for her cousin. She was quick to point out the dangers, and the likelihood of relapse when substance was so readily available, not to mention a part of her everyday life.

Yet, Catherine never touched the drugs.

She didn’t even drink.

The ringing of her cell phone brought her out of her thoughts, and Catherine pulled the medical mask down as she reached for the device. Turning her back to her work, she answered the call without checking the ID first.

“Hello?”

“Catherine.”

She turned to stone on the spot, unsure she had heard the caller’s voice correctly. Except she knew that she did because his voice was unmistakable. She could never quite forget the way he sounded murmuring into her ear.

“Cross,” Catherine said. “How did you get my number?”

“You’ve never changed it, babe.”

She wet her lips, and tried to ignore how damn good he sounded. Like crushed velvet and liquid gold. Silky, hot, and expensive. A cost she didn’t know if she could afford.

A cost like her heart.

“You just remembered it?” Catherine forced herself to ask.

How she kept the lingering emotion out of her tone, she didn’t know.

“I remember a lot of things,” Cross replied.

“Why are you calling me?”

“You didn’t answer my question at the restaurant yesterday.”

“What question was that?”

“I wanted you to go out with me this weekend,” he said like it was nothing at all.

“You didn’t actually ask that, Cross. You simply said it.”

“Don’t you remember what I told you years ago?”

“You said a lot of things,” Catherine muttered.

Broke her damn heart with his words, too.

“I told you that where you and I were concerned, I would tell you what I wanted, and you would either agree or not. That’s all there is to it. No games. That still stands, Catty. I’m telling you what I want.”

She let out a slow, long stream of air. She despised how a part of her was absolutely ready to agree, and meet up with Cross. If nothing else than to catch up, and see if things still felt the same when he was close. Problem was, she knew it would feel the same. How could it not, when this was the only man she had ever loved?

Catherine wasn’t ready to let something silly like old feelings and dusty memories rip her heart out again. She was not falling, crashing, and burning with Cross Donati one more time.