I nod distractedly as I check my text.
Doc: Need u down at the bar tomorrow night at eleven.
Doc is Elderman’s underboss. He’s the one who gives me orders on when and where I need to make pickups and drops. I’ve never actually met Elderman; our only conversations have been over the phone. I quickly found out this is common. The only person I’ve met who’s actually seen him is Doc.
God, I freaking hate this. Just reading the text makes me nervous, even after six months of this shit. Living a lie, pretending I have more connections and power than I really do. It’s what Stale and Senford did to help get me in the door. They gave me a lot of drugs and a buyer. Just like that, I found myself in the middle of deals, hoping that one day I’d be taken into the main warehouse.
Me: I’ll be there.
“So, you’re cool with a party tomorrow night?” Luke interrupts my thoughts as I put my phone away.
I nod, barely listening to him as I try to figure out what I’m going to have to do tomorrow. Hopefully, just a drop. Dropping is the easiest.
“Sounds good to me,” I sign. “I have to go to work at eleven, though.”
“Fuck, that sucks. But don’t worry; we’ll make sure all the fun stuff happens before you bail.” He pauses. “You’re cool with the card game, though, right? Because I want to make sure. I know how much you hate them, considering what your dad used to make you do for him.”
I nod, still out of it. It happens every time I get a text from Doc. I start thinking of different scenarios of what I might to have to do, and then my thoughts land on a final possibility—somehow Elderman has found out I’m working with the feds, and he’s luring me in to kill me.
Luke leans forward and catches my eye. “Are you sure you’re cool with this? Because, if you’re not down, you can always say so.”
No I can’t. Not really.
“Yeah, I’m okay with a party.” I lie because it’s easier to untruthful when no one can ever actually hear me. I lie about who I am, about my past, about where I came from, about who I am now.
For a brief, guilt-ridden moment, I consider telling Luke everything. After putting a roof over my head, he deserves to know.
But like always, my hands remain motionless and my lips stay eternally sealed. Telling Luke means putting him in danger.
And that’s the last thing I want to do.
To anyone.
Chapter 5
The Breaking of Routine
Emery
I panicked. And not just panicked. Freaked the hell out.
When the guy entered his apartment to get the papers for me¸ I received a text from my mother.
Mother: I’m pulling up now.
She was at my place while I was waiting for a stranger, who she would view as some punk, to get papers that contain some of our family’s secrets.
I did the only thing I could.
I ran back up to my apartment and tried to clean up every mess in sight before she made it up the stairway. I didn’t do a very good job, because she criticized every single speck of dirt. Fortunately, her visit was short. She only stopped by because she was in town running an errand for my dad and his partner. She said she wanted to say hi, to make sure I’m doing what I’m supposed to, and to check my amount of pills to be certain I’ve been taking my daily dose. I haven’t, but knew she’d check on me. So every day, I dump one pill down the drain.
Satisfied by the pill count, she turned to leave but asked one nerve-racking question before she went.
“Who’s that guy that lives on the second floor?”
I’d shrugged. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about.” A lie. Having only chatted with one neighbor, I was pretty sure I could guess who she’d crossed paths with on the way up here.
“Dark hair. A bunch of metal on his face.” She’d paused. “Have you been talking to him?”
I shook my head. “No.” Which technically wasn’t a lie, depending on how you look at it. I mean, I have said things to him, but talking with someone usually means a two-sided conversation.
“Are you sure about that?” she had asked, and I nodded. She folded her arms and tapped her foot against the floor. “Well, he looks like a criminal. Just what kind of place are you living in, Emery?”
“This place is perfectly safe, Mother,” I replied, wishing she’d leave so I could breathe again.
She gave me what I wanted for once, but not without uttering some haunting final words.
“You better be staying under the radar. No one can find out who you really are.” She grabbed my cheeks and dug her nails into my flesh as she looked me straight in the eyes. “And I mean who you really are underneath those pretty eyes, lips, and makeup.”
Swallowing hard, I bobbed my head up and down.
“And keep taking those pills.”
Then she left, and I wanted to scream but was too afraid she’d hear me, so I kept my lips fastened, the frustration still trapped inside me well into the next morning.
As I lie in bed, watching the sun rise, thinking about my mother and the papers downstairs, I start to wonder who I really am. I’m not even sure I know. I’m slowly trying to figure it out, though, starting with the breaking of a routine.
Instead of getting up at a specific time like I used to, I remain in bed for twenty minutes. Thirty. Forty-five. It’s only when the hour marker strikes and the sun peaks in the crystal sky that I pull myself out of bed.
Once I do, I decide to do something really new. My mother has been so fixated on me taking those pills. I think it might be time for me to find out what they are.