Wretched (Never After Series)

Cillian is one of our drug dealers. He’s not high enough for access to my father, or into our daily business dealings, but he is Liam’s little cousin, and with Liam acting incredibly on edge lately, I figured it was a good time to pay him a visit. Introduce myself and make sure there isn’t anything funny going on we need to know about.

I walk in the door without knocking—idiot keeps it unlocked—and head straight toward Cillian, who jumps up from the ratty couch, his baggy jeans practically falling down his legs.

Anger pulses through my veins from my fight with Brayden and I use it to fuel me, knowing that normally, I wouldn’t be coming in so strong, but not finding it in me to care.

“Hi, Cillian. Nice place you’ve got.” Bringing up my leg, I kick his knee out until he drops to the floor and press my gun to his head.

“What the fuck?” he yells.

“Shut up,” I hiss, pushing it harder into his temple.

From the corner of my eye, I see Brayden rushing in the door behind me and my grin widens as he takes in the scene.

The house itself is nothing special. An old couch with a brown blanket draped over the back and mismatched tables that have lamps with no shades. There’s a tiny kitchen to the left and a small circular breakfast table directly in front of it where a woman sits, her mouth gaping open as she watches what’s happening. My eyes scan the room, noticing for the first time the bricks of heroin—my heroin—cut open and being rebagged.

I tilt my head, surprise flowing through me. “Brayden, be a doll and go tell me what’s on that table.”

Brayden follows my gaze, and walks over, his jaw muscles clenching when he sees it up close. He reaches out, grabbing the cell phone sitting next to the woman and tucking it in his pocket. “Just in case you get any ideas.” He winks at her.

“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” I say. “Tell me that’s not powder being cut and branded as ours?”

Brayden clicks his tongue. “Can’t tell you that, sweetheart.”

I tsk, glancing back down at Cillian, his blond hair matted against his forehead. “Has someone been a naughty boy?”

“Fuck you. Who the fuck even are you?” he spits.

“Oh, just your resident psycho.” I grin. “Isn’t that right, Brayden?”

Brayden groans, his face tilting back to the sky. “Christ, you’re still on that? Can we focus, please?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I’m perfectly focused.”

Cillian snaps his hands out and tries to grab my wrist, and I bring it back quickly before slamming it down on the side of his head. He collapses, hitting the wood floor with a crack, and I move my leg, placing my heel into the meat of his side. I feel it pressing in against his ribs and I lean forward so all of my weight is bearing down. He whimpers.

“See?” I smile at Brayden.

The woman sitting at the table has tears in her eyes, her hands covering her mouth.

Brayden shakes his head. “Ridiculous.”

I look at Cillian. “If I let you up, will you promise to be a good boy?”

He groans and nods, the palm of his hand still covering the gash in his temple.

I release him and crouch down, my elbows resting on my knees, my gun hanging between my legs. “You know, I just realized I never answered your question. I’m Eveline, and I’m dying to know what the fuck you’re doing with my drugs.”

“I’m not doing shit,” he grunts. “Just what you guys told me to.”

“Oh?” Standing up, I walk away from him and to the table, brushing by Brayden as I peer over the woman’s shoulder.

“Please,” she whispers. “I don’t—”

“Ssh.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Bricks are sliced open, piles of powder being transferred and mixed before being rebagged and branded again with our logo. My eyes squint at the sticker on the new bag. It’s identical to mine; the silhouette of a monkey with bat wings. My body shakes from the audacity of their replication. My eyes continue to move along the table, noting the baking soda and rat poison.

Blackness creeps into the edges of my vision. Spinning back around, I walk up to Cillian, who is standing now, dabbing a paper towel to the bleeding wound on his head.

“Are you cutting my drugs with rat poison, Cillian?”

He scoffs, glaring down at me. “If you don’t know what I’m doing, then maybe you aren’t as important as you think.”

My chest twists violently and I react before I can stop myself, aiming my gun at his knee and pulling the trigger. The sound is muted from the silencer, but the woman screams, and Cillian goes down fast, his hands flying to his leg. “Jesus fuck, you crazy bitch!” he screeches.

Before I can react, Brayden is there, his fist flying into Cillian’s face, before he drags him up by his shirt. “Watch your mouth.”

I grin at him, warmth spreading through me and dousing the anger, just slightly. It’s cute he’s defending my honor, even though he’s called me worse himself.

“I’m only doing what I’m fucking told to do,” Cillian cries.

“By who?” I tilt my head.

He glares, tears tracking down his face as blood seeps through his fingers. “Fuck you, why would I tell you shit? So they can kill me when I do?”

“I’ll kill you now if you don’t,” I reply.

Silence.

Cracking my neck, I grin and walk into the kitchen, flinging open his drawers until I find a large kitchen knife. This will do.

Silently, I walk up to the woman who’s shaking in the chair at the table and I smile softly. “Sorry.”

I raise my gun and shoot her in the head. She slumps over the table, red pooling beneath her and spreading over the product they’ve already ruined.

Brayden’s mouth is parted as he takes in the scene, his eyes like stone.

Sauntering back toward him, I hand him my gun. “Hold this for me, pup, won’t you?”

His eyes narrow at the nickname, but he does as I ask, his gaze flickering between the knife, the dead girl, and then back again, before he finally raises the weapon, keeping it aimed on the back of Cillian’s head.

I step in close, using the edge of the blade to tip up Cillian’s face. “I’m not sure you understood me before, so let me be clear. This isn’t a negotiation, and despite what you may think, I am your judge, jury, and executioner. Which means you answer to me.” I slide the blade in farther, just beneath his jaw, a sick sense of satisfaction melting through me when it meets resistance, then sinks into his skin, blood starting to drip on the metal.

He whines, and the sound sends shivers down my spine.

“What made you think it was okay to cut my drugs?”

“He told me to,” he stutters.

“Who? Is it Benny telling you to do this? Your cousin?” I purr. “Tell me and this will all be over.”

He presses his lips together.

Sighing, I shake my head, snapping back my hand and withdrawing the blade from under his jaw.

“Fine,” I say, walking over to the table and grabbing one of the remade bags before making my way back again.

My heels click on the wood floor as I move toward him and nod at Brayden. “Bend him back for me, pup.”

Brayden’s jaw clenches and he glares at me. My heart starts to pound in my ears when I think he isn’t going to listen, that maybe he can’t handle what’s happened. But then, slowly, he nods and reaches down, wrenching Cillian’s matted blond hair until his sliced up neck is exposed.

“You’re not putting up much of a fight, Cillian,” I tsk, leaning over him with one of the baggies. I cut it open with the edge of the knife. “It’s almost a disappointment.”

Cillian presses his lips together and my fingers surge forward, digging into his chin and prying them open, his flesh getting stuck under my nails. I dip the bag of cut heroin into his mouth, the powder filling up the empty cavern while he chokes on it and spits. I make sure to angle my face away, not wanting any of it to accidentally enter my nostrils.

I grip his cheeks tight, dropping the bag and bringing the flat of the knife up to cover his mouth. “Swallow.”

Tears track down his face and he jolts against Brayden’s grip. Brayden squeezes his eyes shut but holds him in place.

Finally, Cillian’s throat bobs as he eats the dry powder.

“Think that was enough to make you feel good, baby?” I purr, gliding the blade down until it rests against his jugular.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” I whisper. “Who?”

“Liam. He want… wanted to start putting some cash aside. So we could get away from this shit. From all of you fucking Westerly assholes.”

My hand twitches on his back and he jerks forward, catching me off guard. My knife slides into his throat, blood spurting, the warm liquid spraying my skin. His eyes roll back in his head before his body weight sags, the soul leaving his body.

I stare in shock for long moments, the silence around us thick and heavy. Then I step back and sigh, looking at the mess, my hands stained in red. “Well, this is unfortunate.”

Brayden drops Cillian’s body and stands, his eyes empty as he stares at me like he’s never seen me before.

My stomach twists but I push the odd feeling away. It’s not a new thing for people to not like what they see and having him realize that I’m not the girl he created in his head is a good thing.

“Call Zeke,” I instruct. “Tell him we need to meet at the cleaners.”

Brayden swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I snap my fingers in his face. “Hello? You alive in there? Do it. He’ll know what it means.”

And then I spin around and walk out the door, marching back to the car and sliding inside, reaching into the glove compartment with shaky hands, grabbing the baby wipes to try and scrub off the blood.