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I sighed and sat on my couch, dropping my face into my hands. “I know that now,” I admitted in a whisper.
Drake sat next to me and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers linked together in front of him. “I will get revenge for her, Hayles. Every mother fucker that put a finger on her or sold her drugs will fucking die,” he swore.
I jerked my head over to him, my eyes wide. He met my gaze evenly, complete seriousness reflected in his own dark, glittering gaze. “D-dead?” I stuttered. All I could picture was all the blood all over Damien.
He nodded. “Lacie never knew, Hayles, but I have connections of my own, and no one fucks with what’s mine and lives to tell the story.”
He stood up and walked over to my fridge where I had a notepad stuck up with a magnetic pen attached. He uncapped the pen and wrote a phone number on the pad. “If you need anything,” he said, turning to face me after placing the pen back on the fridge, “call me.”
He walked out of my apartment without another word. I looked up at the picture of Lacie and me on my television stand, tears springing in my eyes again.
“Lacie, what did you do to yourself?” I whispered.
