She crawled forward with tear-stained cheeks, opening the small cabinet beneath the sink. She’d often hidden her stash in a tampon box when visitors stopped by. Sure enough, a baggie peeked out from the tampons. “Holy shit. Yes.” The relief at knowing she’d feel better had her sighing in pleasure.
It was crystal meth.
She swallowed as she held up the small bag. One of the guys from last night must have put it there. This would take the edge off and allow her to make it through the remainder of this miserable day. But it was one drug she’d never tried.
Growing up, she’d seen one too many toothless tweakers in the crappy apartment complex she’d lived in. She’d sworn to herself, no matter what, this was a line she would never cross.
She stared at the baggie with a sinking heart.
Today would go down as one of the worst days in her professional career. She needed a boost, so, just this once.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
After setting up, she snorted a line, then leaned back against the door as the rush of endorphins fired up her blood.
“One more,” she whispered, then repeated the process once again.
With her heart now racing, she finally felt alive and not like the zombie who’d woken up and stumbled through the morning.
Fuck, that’s better.
She smiled, then eyed the baggie, which still held plenty more meth.
“Fuck it.” After snorting two more lines, she was flying high. Now she was ready to talk to her team. To make a plan and fuck Francola good.
As she tried to stand, the room spun, and she stumbled. Giggling, she landed on her ass and hit the door with her back. “Let’s try that again.” She leaned forward only to have the left side of her chest seize up in a crushing pain that took her breath away.
With a gasp and a garbled shout, she grabbed her chest and slumped against the door. It felt as if the entire trailer had collapsed on top of her chest. Fire shot down her left arm. She tried to yell as panic set in, but it came out as a strangled cry once again.
“Scarlett?” Becca called out as she knocked lightly on the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she croaked, throat tight and aching.
“What do you need? What can I get for you?” Even after being snapped at and treated like nothing more than a servant, Becca’s sweetness won out.
“Help,” Michaela whispered through the agony. “I think I need some help.”
The knob jiggled, and pressure hit her back. “Scarlett, I can’t get the door open.”
“Call…call EMS,” she managed as the room began to fade to darkness.
Please don’t let me die here.
CHAPTER TWO
THE PHONE RANG at the exact second Keith’s teeth tore through his Big Mac. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered with his mouth full of bread and greasy beef. He dropped the sandwich to the open wrapper on his lap then brushed his hands together, sending crumbs flying through the cab of his tow truck. As owner of his own garage, he typically had someone to do the towing for him, but they’d been out sick so he gotten stuck with the job he hated for the day.
When he saw his sister’s number on the screen, he groaned. “This better be fucking good,” he barked into the phone once he’d swallowed.
“Hey, Keith, I love chatting with you too,” Veronica quipped.
“What do you need, Ronnie?” He wiped his mouth with the rough napkins the fast-food restaurant provided and rested his head against the back of the seat. It’d been a shit day. If Ronnie needed him to bail her out of a mess, he might cry.
“Got a tow for ya, bro. Ohh, I like that.” She laughed. “A bro tow.”
Keith rolled his eyes. His family was nuts. “Yeah, you’re a regular Dr. Seuss. What do you mean you got a tow? Thought you were working at the bar tonight.”
“I am. JP had an appointment and asked me to keep the garage cell for him. And actually, it’s not a tow. Just roadside assistance. Blown tire, but I couldn’t pass up the rhyme.”
An ache began to form above his eyes. Keith massaged it, but it didn’t help. “So he closed the garage? No one’s there?” It was nearly eight in the evening. JP couldn’t have waited the extra twenty minutes before taking off?
“Guess not.” Then Ronnie’s tone changed and she said, “That’ll be seven even, buddy,” presumably to a customer.
“If I wanted to shut down my garage, I’d have taken the phone myself and not asked JP to stick around in case someone came by. What the fuck kind of appointment does he have?”
“Beats me. Chlamydia test?”
Keith snorted. His youngest brother wasn’t exactly discerning when it came to who and how many women he fucked around with.