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“You push drugs?” I asked cautiously, letting my anger simmer.
“You fucking think I’m going to tell you that?” He grinned, so self-assured.
I didn’t like him. In fact, I was quickly starting to hate him.
“Who do you work for?” I asked, ignoring him. “You work for Galverson? Or Jace Lanser? Or someone else? Because I really hope, for your sake, that it’s someone else.”
He was shocked into silence.
Well, that was all the answer I needed. He was probably a small-time player, but he knew who the big guys were.
“You do know what happens to anyone who pushes drugs in Rawley, right? Or did you just start up?”
“Whatever, bitch…” Ah…the infantile defense mechanism—throwing insults when you had nothing intelligent to say. Nice.
“You need to re-evaluate your position and start spilling. Now,” I said firmly.
He didn’t say anything.
Fine. It’s not like I could assault him so instead, I said, “ “I am going to find out who you are. I am going to find out everything there is to know about you. I’m going to know where you sleep, where you eat, who your friends are, and your worst fears. Then I’m going to find out what you’re selling my sister, and when I do, I’m going to be bringing war to your front door. Trust me.”
“You’re a bitch,” he snarled, but he was re-thinking his strategy with me. Watching me, he could see the steel resolve in my eyes.
“If you don’t want me to destroy you, you better start talking now. And I mean, right now!”
“Holy…jeez…your sister’s been coming to me for two years. She’s getting a fucking vitamin from me. That’s it.”
“Vitamin R,” I stated.
The guy’s eyes widened.
Oh yeah, fucker. I knew what Vitamin R was for.
“What’s she doing on Vitamin R?” I demanded coldly.
“I don’t fucking know. Ask your sister. But she owes me five grand and she better cash in or—”
“Or what?” I wanted to know. I really wanted to know. Please tell me, asshole, because your life is over. Right now.
“Or—” He’d grown silent, just watching me.
“You better run,” I stated, fuming, “and you better run far, because getting whatever Mandy owes you is the least of your problems now.”
“You’re psychotic,” the guy whispered, watching me warily.
“What’s your name?”
“Oh no. No fucking way.”
“I’m going to find you anyway and I’m going to be more pissed
off that it took me longer than it should have.”
“Jenkins,” he finally spat out, “Mark Jenkins.”
The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Run,” I taunted coldly, furious.
