17
“You got any of that coke left?” Jonny asks me. But Jonny doesn’t ask for things. He demands. Only a fool or someone with a death wish would say no. And right now, after stuffing that cardigan into Ted’s mouth, the last thing I want is a fight.
Natalie is sitting next to Curtis on the floor, propped up against the wall. He’s sleeping, but she’s fully awake, glaring at me as I reach into my pocket for the coke. Jonny’s bloodshot eyes light up when he sees the half-full bag. “It’s technically Hoppy’s,” he says as he snatches it out of my hand, and then heads back over to the bar.
God knows why Natalie’s obvious disapproval of drugs bothers me. It shouldn’t, not when I’m sealed in a room with a zombie.
But it does.
There’s got to be something wrong with me.
It’s almost midnight. The
