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“Clink.”
I scowled. “No. I didn’t want to stunt my progression. You fuckin’ know he wouldn’t have made me Treasurer if he knew I was a user.”
“If you were clean, why the fuck would that matter?” Reaper frowned.
He didn’t fucking get it. He never would. Reaper never touched the product. He had his own shit to deal with, but he dealt with it with a clear fucking head. I had no idea how he managed that shit.
He was being too damn calm about this, and I felt myself losing control. He was just fucking sitting there, staring at me.
“Fuck off, Reaper! I can deal with this shit myself!”
He didn’t even flinch, blinking slowly. I snarled, shoving to my feet. “Get the fuck out. I don’t need your help.”
He stood, and I stupidly hoped for a second that he was going to listen to me. Yeah, no such fucking luck. He went for the bathroom instead. My heart lodged in my throat. He was going for the fucking drugs.
“Reaper, don’t!”
He didn’t even hesitate, sweeping the rest of the lines into the sink. Before he could turn on the tap, I lunged at him. It was fucking stupid, but I could probably salvage some of it if I could get him to back the fuck off.
Yeah, I should’ve known better. It didn’t matter that he was injured and fucking tortured a week ago. For Reaper, fighting was as easy as breathing. He saw me coming a mile away and blocked the punch I had aimed for his face. Grabbing my wrist, he yanked my arm above my head, exposing my ribs. Aw fuck.
It only took one solid hit for him to buckle me, but he kept going until I was sure ribs were broken. I collapsed onto the floor, gasping, while he hadn’t even broken a sweat. The sound of the tap turning on was like icing on a very fucked up cake and I felt my eyes slip closed. This night was one of the worst trips of my life, and I knew he wouldn’t let it go. I was starting to resent the old ladies because I could’ve been balls deep in Chrissie right now instead of dealing with this shit.
* * *
“This is fucking stupid.”
“I don’t give a shit. Get moving,” he growled, shoving my shoulder.
Just like I predicted, Reaper hadn’t let it go. He knocked my ass out and swept my room, finding another stash and dumping the shit down the toilet. I couldn’t do shit about it since any time I tried to get up off the floor, he beat the shit out of me. I was now sporting a fucking black eye and probably at least two broken ribs. Asshole nearly broke my leg kicking me when I tried to run. I was walking with a limp because of his fucking need to fix this shit.
We got a few curious looks on our way out this morning, but so far, he hadn’t said shit to anyone. Not even Croy. He didn’t even tell Quinn anything other than that he had shit to deal with, so she shouldn’t wait up for him. I might’ve appreciated his discretion if I wasn’t so pissed off right now.
He was even decent enough to drag my ass all the way to the city for a meeting. There was one in our town, but half the people who went there were in our crew and I wasn’t setting foot near that place without being gagged and bound, so here we were. In an NA meeting in the city.
“Man, I don’t need to go to this shit. I can do it on my own.”
He shoved me again, ignoring my protests. “Stop bitching and move. We’re gonna be late.”
Growling, I shoved past the doors and into the community center they held this shit in. The room was more crowded than I expected, men and women talking amongst themselves. Everyone was different. A few people in suits, a few in blue collar uniforms. Some in just jeans and t-shirts. All eyes swung our way, and I knew this was a bad fucking idea. The Devil’s Disciples weren’t quiet about our involvement in the drug trade. We provided the product that probably put a few of these people on the path they were on now. I took a step back, only to be shoved forward again by Reaper, his grip tight on my shoulder to prevent me from running.
One of the gawkers stepped forward, a man who looked like he was in his forties, with long blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. He cocked his head, a slight frown on his face.
“Can I help you?”
Reaper answered before I could get a word in edgewise. “My friend here had a relapse.”
I tried to shrug off his grip, but he just squeezed until it fucking hurt and I had no choice but to settle. The man watched us curiously, his lips pursed.
“I understand you want to help him, but until he’s ready–”
“I’m fuckin’ ready. I just don’t need help. I can do this shit on my own,” I snapped.
Reaper may have been understanding and kept quiet, but his patience only stretched so far. He already warned me. Get sober or he’ll kick my ass out of the crew. I wasn’t going to lose my brotherhood for a high. It was incentive enough. I didn’t need to go to meetings.
The man gave me a look of understanding. “I feel you on that. I thought the same thing once. Why don’t you hang out for a little while, get the feel of the place. If you still hate it once we’re through, we can talk about some other options.” He offered me his hand. “I’m Tyson, by the way.”
With a put-upon sigh, I shook his hand. “I’m–” My eyes strayed while I spoke and I froze, my tongue turning to lead.
