My Beautiful Poison (Wicked Poison 1)

“Go to Alfred’s and collect for me. You know what to do. You haven’t forgotten.” He hangs up, and I resist the urge to throw my phone, to smash it into a million pieces.

Alfred is a local dealer who usually owes Josh a lot of money. Back then, with all the other stupid jobs I did for Josh, he would make me collect from him. Sometimes beat his clients up and take whatever they had on them.

Last time, it was his car.

I start running, arriving at Alfred’s place as quickly as I can. When I get to the front of the house, I don’t bother to knock, simply kick open the door and find Alfred by himself, sitting on the floor with his merch in front of him.

This is why he always owes money, because he uses it.

His hollow eyes blink a few times and glance up to find me standing in his living room. It takes him a second to realize it’s me before he starts scooting backward on his ass, spilling product all over himself and the floor.

“You’re back.” His voice croaks as he speaks.

“Where’s the payment, Alfred? I have to go.”

He looks over to his television and nods. I rush over and open the black box sitting in front of the unit. Yanking up the lid, I see the cash.

“He set you up, you know. Why are you back with him?”

“I’m not,” I reply before heading out, box in hand, leaving him to get high all by him fucking self.

I only have one job, protecting my sister, she’s all that matters right now.

Josh is sitting out the front when I march to him. He has a cigarette in one hand and a glass of alcohol in the other. His eyes fall to the black box in my hand, then to me, and he shows me his rotten teeth in some sort of sneer.

“I knew you could do it,” he says, then nods to the money. “Take half as your payment.”

I throw the entire box at him, and he moves just in time for it to miss smashing into his useless head. Josh doesn’t live in the dumps like most drug pushers. No. The man isn’t stupid and doesn’t smoke nor use his product, but he does prefer the same drug as my mother, alcohol.

“Paige,” I yell.

The front door opens. Even though it’s a fucking mess inside, the outside has you fooled. Appearances make it look like it’s owned by someone who cares. Not someone who doesn’t give two shits about anyone or anything but himself.

When I see my mother standing there, I shake my head. “Where’s Paige?”

“August, come now… have a drink.”

I turn to stare at him. My hands are in clenched fists. He taps his side, where I know he keeps his gun. It’s what he uses to threaten those who don’t listen to him, and the problem is I know he can use it.

“Fuck off. I did what you asked, now give her to me.” That’s when I see Paige. She steps up behind our mother and leans on the wall for support.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Walking straight over to her, I grab her face and check her eyes, then her arms.

“You drunk?” I ask. She nods, but the smile she gives me doesn’t reach her eyes. “Come on, you shouldn’t be around this trash.”

“Hey, I’m your mother.”

“You’re not a mother’s asshole,” I spit to her. “Paige, start walking.” I reach for her as and she steps out of the house and smells like cigarette smoke. Her father is going to whip her ass and then mine.

Has she been doing this for long?

“I wonder if I can get you to do more things for her,” Josh says, looking at Paige. “I never thought I would see the day that you care for someone other than yourself, August boy.” He pauses, thinking about something. “What about that other girl I saw you with last week? We all know who she is.”

It’s no secret. Everyone knows who they are. Their family is one of the richest in our town.

Ignoring Josh because I know all he wants is a reaction from me, I keep walking, practically dragging Paige behind me.

I need a fucking car.

About halfway home, she stops and leans over, spewing. She misses my shoes by a fraction and I jump back.

“Fuck, Paige. How the fuck am I going to explain this to your father?”

She starts shaking her head. Then continues to be physically ill. When I think she’s finished, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder. She hangs on, barely, as I run the rest of the way home.

When I finally step inside, I place her on the couch and grab a bucket, putting it next to her, then go to my phone and call her father.

He answers straight away. “August, everything okay?”