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I handed her my cards. No doubt unless Reaper played for her, my entire pot would be gone before I got back, but if I wasn’t gonna get laid, I might as well take a hit. I still had some leftovers. I had to get rid of the shit before I cut myself off again anyway. I wasn't going to waste it by throwing it in the trash or something.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I strolled casually to my room. I looked around to make sure no one followed me before ducking inside. I’d hid the little baggy when I got back last time and no one was any wiser that I had any product here. Pulling it out of its hiding spot, I moved into the bathroom for another layer of security. I didn’t generally mess with the shit while at the clubhouse, but I needed a hit.
I’d lined the shit up on the counter when the bathroom door flew open. I couldn’t do shit to hide it even if I hadn’t already done a line and my brain was still buzzing from the effects. I stared at Reaper, dumbfounded.
“Uh… Hey, man.”
CHAPTER 9
CLINK
Somewhere in the back of my head, I felt like I should probably be panicking. I wanted to, but it was like I stalled out and I could only stare at him while the drugs already in my system drop kicked me into a false sense of ease. I shot him a grin.
“What are ya doing up here, man? Thought you’d be with your–”
He didn’t give me a chance to finish. He lunged for me, grabbing a fistful of my shirt and hauling my ass out of the bathroom. I stumbled, his movements too quick for me to keep up with, and hit the deck. On any normal occasion, I’d be fighting back, but this was Reaper we were talking about. You didn’t get into a fight with that bastard unless you were looking to die.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t bring your ass to Croy right now. One fucking reason, Clink.”
I shook my head slowly, trying to think straight. Fuck, usually the drugs helped me sort my shit out, but today they were leaving me muddled, and I was struggling to focus. I used the edge of my bed to push myself into a sitting position. Couldn’t make myself look him in the eye, though.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Like fuck, it isn’t. You know the fucking rules. And after all that shit with Wrecker, you thought now was a good time to start skimming?”
My head jerked up, and I scowled at him. “No one is fuckin’ skimming, man. I get my shit from my dealer. I don’t steal from my crew.”
Yeah, it was against the rules for members to do drugs. Croy made it a fucking law when he took over as Prez because he didn’t want his crew partaking in his product. He said it caused too many headaches between keeping the crew from stealing and chasing after the guys too high to do their jobs. I knew I fucked up when I started using again, but I didn’t fucking steal. My crew was my family and I would never do that shit.
“Prove it. Show me fucking receipts. Because if I find out you’ve been skimming, Clink, I swear to fucking god, I’m gonna tear you to pieces.”
I had a sarcastic comment all primed and ready, but now was not the time. I fucked up, should’ve locked the fucking door. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, pulling up the messages from my dealer. Every two days for the last few weeks. I’m fucking pathetic.
Handing the phone to Reaper, I leaned back against my bed. The euphoric feeling that normally came with a hit was nowhere in sight. I felt agitated and antsy and I didn’t get nearly enough to get the high I wanted. My gaze flicked to the bathroom. There was another line just waiting for me. I just had to get Reaper to fuck off.
“How long?”
My brow furrowed. “Huh?”
He glared down at me, my phone still clutched in his hand. “How fucking long, Clink? How long have you been using?”
Turning my face away from him, I glared at the wall. “What the fuck does that matter?”
I didn’t want to admit it. He’d only blame himself. Five years sober down the drain because of a job we did together. Reaper was a good man, a good brother, and protective as all hell. He’d take the blame for my using when it was my fucking choice. I knew what to do when I got exposed. I chose to ignore it.
I waited for him to drag me down to Croy. After the shitshow of Wrecker stealing from the crew and all the fucked up shit that came along with it, there was a zero tolerance policy. The thought of them kicking my ass or killing me didn’t bother me as much as the potential that they’d kick my ass to the curb. I couldn’t lose my brotherhood. It’d fucking kill me.
When Reaper sat down across from me, his back up against the wall, I frowned at him. “What are you doing?”
He drew his legs up, resting his arms on his knees, my phone dangling between his fingertips. He didn’t look pissed. He looked… tired.
“We’re gonna wait out your fucking high. I’m sweeping your room once you crash and can’t try shit and tomorrow we’re gonna go to a meeting. This is my fault and–”
I made an irritated sound. “No, the fuck it isn’t. You can’t blame yourself for every fuckin’ thing, Reap. I knew better. I did it anyway.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, Clink. If I’d known you were one of the guys who got clean, I never would’ve had you around that shit. Does Croy know?”
I didn’t answer. Most of the guys who got clean were pretty open about that shit. They said it helped them stay accountable or whatever. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want that to be how people saw me. I was the king of good times and they’d always be suspicious that it was because of the drugs.
