Chapter 9
861 Words
Joney’s still breathing hard when I hand it over. Cash. Thick. He looks at it. Then at me.
“Fifteen,” I say. “You’re welcome.”
Already took five. “Finder’s fee.”
He lets out a half laugh. Not amused.
“That was four minutes.”
“Four and a half,” I correct. “You just made fifteen grand. Don’t get picky.”
He watches me for a second longer than he needs to. “You’re a lot harder than I thought you were.” Not a compliment.
I shrug.
“Thanks for the help. I won’t drag you into my s**t again.”
He nods, looks away.
Then—
“Call me if you need me, Indie.” He means it.
“Yeah.”
A beat.
“Mum’s been asking about you. You should come for dinner.”
“I will.” I won’t. He knows.
The room’s already shifting. Money changing hands. Voices climbing again now that it’s over.
"Right." Loud enough to turn heads. "Get your payouts and get out. Go drink like you won something.”
That gets them moving. The girls handle the rest.
I stay until the room thins. Then clears.
Lights off.
Door locked.
Back through the corridor. Down the stairs. Through the grinding bodies. Across to the bar. Same chaos. Same noise.
Sam-girl’s still there.
Sam-boy too.
Close. Talking low.
I slide behind the bar like I belong there.
Glass.
Ice.
Vodka.
The good s**t.
“Can I get some f*****g service?” Too close. Leaning over the bar.
I spray the nozzle. Only water.
“f**k off.”
He jerks back like it burned.
Sammy boy’s already moving.
Grabs him by the collar. Shoves him back.
Says something I don’t listen to.
I top my drink with lemon.
Step aside.
Straw.
Lean back against the register beside Sam-girl.
One of the other bartenders rushes in to clean it up. Throws me a look. I ignore it.
“Tonight’s going well,” I say.
“Speak for yourself. These clowns are just trying to piss me off.”
She’s smiling.
“So why do you look happier than usual?”
She scoffs.
Then nods toward the staff hallway. I frown. Set my drink down. Follow.
Door shuts. Locks.
“Check this s**t out.” Small bag. Smiley faces printed all over it. She taps it out onto the counter. White powder. Card out of her wallet. Two clean lines.
I glance around the room. Pointless.
“How the f**k did you get this?”
“I didn’t.”
She holds her hand out.
I look at it. Then at her. “What?”
“I need a note.”
I fold my arms. She raises a brow.
"I'm sure you've got one."
I roll my eyes. Pull out my wallet.
She sees the cash. “Holy s**t, how much—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I hand her a fifty.
She rolls it. Sniffs. Gone. Hands it back.
“What’s it do?”
“Feels good.”
Her nose is already running.
I laugh. Lean down.
It doesn’t hit straight away.
By the time we’re back out—everything locks in.
My drink’s where I left it. I focus on that. Sip. Slow. Twice.
Sam-girl’s already moving again. Faster.
I pull my phone out.
Text Kian.
It’s time.
I don’t grab my jacket.
I don’t notice.
I’m already moving, out the door, into the street. Harley’s louder at this hour. Engines. Voices. Windows open.
“Hey—where you goin’, girl?”
I keep walking.
“Aye—mamma, I’m talkin’ to you.”
I flip them off without turning.
Laughter. The car pulls off.
By the third block, my arms are folded tight across my chest. Didn’t feel it at first. Do now.
Someone’s coming the other way. Singing. Off-key. He looks at me. I don’t look back. Keep moving.
Everything’s still sharp. Too sharp. Edges clean. Steps fast.
The garage is already open. Lights on. Kian’s leaning against the bench.
“f**k,” he drags it out, then laughs. “You look a little fried.” He pushes off. Stops a step away. Looks me over.
Lingers.
“You gonna be good to drive?”
I scoff.
“I’m fine.”
He steps past me. Closer than he needs to be. Leans in slightly as he goes. “If you say so.” Gets in the car. “Get the door.” Engine turns. Roars.
The paint catches under the light as he pulls out. Orange. Bright. Too bright. Dragon across the body. Hard to miss.
I shut the door behind him. Slide into the passenger seat. Colder now.
Kian leans over me. Closer than necessary. Knuckles brush my knee.
I roll my eyes.
“Get a hold of yourself.”
He laughs. Opens the glovebox. Hands me a set of keys.
“Yours.”
Pockets the other.
“Mine.”
He looks at me again.
Properly this time.
“You sure you’re good?”
“Go.” The word comes out sharp, but I smile when I say it.
He doesn’t argue.
Just pulls away.
- Writer
