AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Cheers, angel.” My heart thumps, and I laugh, covering my surprise.
“Angel? That’s a new one.” I swallow the hope dancing in my throat.
“It beats ‘bitch’, which I believe I called you earlier.” His chuckle floats into the night, and I drop my head back on a sigh, resting on his broad shoulder.
“I’m not coping with this well. I feel guilty. I hate being out of the loop, and you want what you want, no questions asked,” I start quietly, as a wide palm flattens against my stomach.
“I can imagine this is hard, but it’s nothing compared to what could happen to you. Other than Oscar, you're a lone wolf like me. I bet half the shit you get up to with Oscar isn’t even stuff you enjoy. You’re so used to keeping up this façade.” I bite my lip because he has unravelled my life and laid me bare within a few seconds.
I can’t deny it, so I don't.
“Still, he has been there for me.”
“I can guarantee Oscar would give you up to save his own skin,” he comments harshly. I throw him a spitting glare. “He would,” he tells me shortly. “I’ve known that boy for a long time, and he wouldn't support you like you did him that night. That’s when I knew you were different—you stood up to us all.” He laughs lightly. “Threw your fucking shoes at me as you stood by him and nursed him better.” He sighs.
“He’s my friend,” I affirm. Of course I would care for him. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?
“But would he do the same for you?”
“Ye—”
“He leaves you on nights out, uses you to gain popularity, entry to places and receive freebies. He’s weak, a coward,” Callan spits out, not at me, but I realise just how much he dislikes Oscar.
“He worked for you,” I say, confused.
“He ran favours for me to gain access to my club. The little prick owes me money.” He does? Why?
“I didn't know,” I admit. I lift my drink up, and Callan takes it, placing it on the side. “Why does he owe you money?” Silence hangs between us, but I want to know. He’s debating whether to tell me or not, and I shift and turn, so I’m straddling his lap. “Tell me, please?” I run a thumb over his rough jaw and stare directly into his eyes. I can see the stars and moon reflected in their dark depths, and I feel like I’ve fallen into another dimension.
“You have no idea who he is, do you?”hewhispers, shaking his head sympathetically at me.
I feel ridiculed and stupid.What does he know that I don't? Oscar shares everything with me. Or did, until this man. And he never confessed to being involved with Callan until I walked into Skyn. I want to say as much, but I hold my tongue.
“What do you mean?”
“The coke?” he says, frowning at me.
“Absolutely not!” I defend my friend with all my might because he isn't here to do so. Callan simply raises his brow, looking overly pitying. I chew my lip, but I can’t say I have ever seen Oscar high. When we go out, he gets pretty drunk, and I’m boringly sober, but I’d know if he were high. I’d know. I shake my head at him. “He likes a drink when we’re out, but he’s never taken drugs, not with me around,” I say. Hands run up my back and bend over my shoulders so his fingertips trace above my collarbone.
“The guy is a right coke whore. He’s always face down in snow at Skyn.”
What? This is news to me: disgusting and unwanted news. How long has this been going on? How have I never known? I feel a burden of grief rise in me and eclipse into revulsion at myself. How could I miss something like this? Is it because of Anita? Is he so bogged down with exhaustion that he is using anything he can get his hands on to give him some relief? More concerning, how is he getting it and from who?
I land Callan with an accusing stare.“Soyou supply him then?” I snap angrily. Is this where Callan gets his money from? Drugs?
“No, Skyn supplies him. Sex and drugs go hand in hand,” he informs me coolly. “Even that night he left you alone in a car was to get a fix.”
“Sex? I thought it was a strip club.”
“It is, but I know the odd party favour occurs behind closed doors. The girls are prohibited from having sex on the main floor, but what they choose to do in their work hours with my clients privately is up to them. Some of them want the extra cash—others don’t.” He shrugs.
“That's prostitution,” I whisper hotly.
“That's their business—plausible deniability.” He grins.
I scoff and turn away. “I don't want to talk about this anymore,” I mutter, floating to the other side and frowning at him.
“What, hearing that your BFF is a druggie or that the women who work in my club choose to sell sexual favours for their own gratification is too much for your pretty little head?” he murmurs darkly. “For a woman who has experienced the dark in this world, you’re damn naïve,” he delivers coldly.
