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Chapter Thirty-Two

Breanna packed thelast box of dishes and looked around her kitchen. Boxes were piled on the floor and she shook her head in amazement.I can’t believe I had all these kitchen things and I don’t even know how to cook.She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and went into the living room. The following day, Steel and several of his brothers would come by and take her boxes to Steel’s house.

He’d told her he wanted her with him the night Chenoa died. She’d been staying with him ever since, but all her stuff had been at her house, so she kept traipsing back and forth until he told her that he’d paid off her lease. She smiled, but then she always smiled when she thought of him.

It’d been a rough three weeks since the funeral. Because Steel was so used to being a strong leader, a man who didn’t show his emotions, she had to coax his grief out of him. Her heart broke every time she thought about Chenoa’s death. She couldn’t begin to imagine how Mika and Steel must be feeling. Breanna knew he missed her so much, and she also knew he blamed himself for her death. She’d told him he wasn’t responsible for heroin being in the county, but he just didn’t see it that way. She hoped as time went by, his guilt would lessen.

A knock on her door yanked her away from her thoughts. When she opened it, Nicholas stood there, his skin a gray pallor, bruises and scabs all over. His hair was dirty and stringy, and it looked like he hadn’t washed his clothes in a couple of weeks. She hadn’t seen him since before Chenoa’s overdose, and she was shocked at his appearance. Her fingers touched her parted lips, and her stomach twisted in knots.

“Nicholas. It’s been a long time. Come in.”

He brushed past her and flopped down on the sofa. “I need money real bad,” he said, his eyes darting all around the room.

“Damn, you’re strung out.”

He glared at her. “No shit. Do you have some money? I feel like I’m gonna fuckin’ die here if I don’t get a shot. Fuck.” He wiggled around on the couch, scratching and picking at his scabs.

“What happened to your sales job?”

“Can you leave the fuckin’ questions for later?”

“How much do you need? And I still want to know what happened to your job.”

“A couple hundred would be great. I still have it.”

“Are you shooting up all the money you make?” She walked over to her purse on the table.

“This is a fuckin’ cruel drug. I’m doing ten shots a day. I’m not making enough to support it.”

“Please let me help you. I know a couple of great rehab places.”

“Yeah… well… right now I need a shot. We can talk about that later. Fuck, Breanna, I’m dying here!”

She pulled out two twenty-dollar bills, and then a lightbulb went on in her head. “I have forty I can give you, but I want something from you.”

“Anything.”

“I want to know who the main dealer is. Who’s giving you guys the drugs to sell on the street?” She laughed dryly. “Don’t look so surprised. I figured you were selling when you told me about your job. And you’re using the money to support your habit. But I want to know who in Alina is giving you the drugs.”

He crossed and uncrossed his legs while he wrung his hands. “Candyman. Now can I have the fuckin’ money? I gotta go.”

“His real name.”

“How the fuck should I know? He goes by Candyman.”

“Call him and arrange a buy.”

“He doesn’t do fuckin’ street sales. He’s a big man.”

“Tell him I want a big load for resale. Call him and you get the money.”

“I can’t. I’m so fuckin’ strung out that he’s gonna know something’s up. Anyway, why do you want his number?”

“I’m doing this for a young girl who was my client and then my friend. Chenoa deserves this.”

“Chenoa? I know that chick. She loaned me her lighter. She was cool. Does she want some smack? I can arrange it.”

Breanna fixed her gaze on him. “Chenoa’s dead. She overdosed almost a month ago.” Nicholas stopped moving and his mouth opened, but no sound came out. “She was only seventeen. That could’ve been you.”