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I stare her down, and her smile wavers. She hands me my change, and I grab my purchase, heading out. Back in the sweltering heat, I don’t know who to call. Or more accurately, who would bother to pick up. I could call Connor, my older cousin, but decide against it. He barely knows the extent of my drug use. I’d rather keep it that way.
Glancing over, I notice a payphone and walk over. I take out the piece of paper and use one of my last quarters to call the one person who, I think, could be willing to do what I’m about to ask. The phone rings, and my grip on the receiver tightens.
“Yeah?” Kenzie answers, seeming distracted.
“It’s Bastian,” I say, my voice flat as always.
He scoffs. “I don’t know what you’re about to ask me, but the answer is no.” His Scottish accent still thick even after years of living in the States.
“It’s different this time.” I can’t hide the impatience in my tone, but I can’t blame him either. There’s no one less reliable than a junkie. “I just need a place to get clean.”
He falls silent over the phone. For a second I think he’s hung up. Then finally I hear a long sigh. “I’m busy right now. But you can come to the ranch later tonight.”
The relief is so sudden that I smile. I drop it as soon as it forms and clear my throat.
“I’ll be there.”
“You owe me,” he says.
I’m sure if we’d been face to face he’d be rolling his eyes.
“I know,” I mutter and hang up.
I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans, unsure if the cause is stress, heat, or the withdrawals already starting to take effect, but I ignore it, heading home to pack a bag and get myself ready.
* * *
“How’d you get here?”Kenzie asks while he closes the front door behind him.
“Cab.”
I’ve known him for a little over two years now. He lived in Scotland most of his life until his mother died a few years back. He ended up across seas with his uncle, who happened to be the president of the Black Plague MC, based in Pueblo Quieto. It’s also where his family ranch is located, about two hours away inland from Noxport. With my cousin Connor now at the lead of the Sin Eaters, the most influential crime syndicate in Noxport, let’s just say we run in the same circles.
Even at his ranch, away from the MC compound, Kenzie wears his leather cut faithfully. While we walk, his rusty brown shoulder-length hair falls into his face, his build far bulkier than mine. Despite all his time spent in the sun and on the back of a bike, his skin is as pale and white as mine. He leads us down a narrow dirt path to the back of the main house. He glances at me from over his shoulder, blue eyes narrowing in the waning evening light.
“That’s an expensive cab ride.”
I shrug. “Stole some cash from Connor before I left.”
He grunts in response but says nothing more, boots crunching over dry dirt.
“Here we are,” he says. We stop in front of what looks like a large, rustic shack. “You can stay in here while you do… whatever you got to do.”
I adjust the strap of my cross-body bag higher up my stiff shoulder and nod. He opens the door, flipping the light switch. From the inside, the room looks less like a shack and more like a bare room with a bed, a place where the ranch workers sometimes rest when desperate. There’s a mattress on the floor in the far corner near the only window in here, a small TV placed atop a milk crate, a fan, and not much else. Luckily, there’s a connecting bathroom. It’s dirty, with dust coating the sink and toilet, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Before dropping my bag on the floor, I find the padlock I bought earlier and hand it over to Kenzie, then fix him with a determined stare. “Lock me in.”
His eyebrows knit in worry but still, he takes the lock from my hand. “What if you bang on the door, screaming to get out?”
“I won’t.”
He takes a heavy inhale and shakes his head, turning for the exit. “Good luck, pal,” he says before disappearing behind the closing door.
The slide of the lock echoes in the now heavy silence of the small, stuffy room.
Luck will have nothing to do with it.
* * *
