Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4) (18 page)

And just like that…

The look he had for me seconds ago. The one I couldn’t stop thinking about. The one that no one else had ever shown me…

Was gone.

Mike opened the bathroom door and walked out before I could give it anymore thought. Before I could dwell on the fact that I was his supplier and he was now my new client.

“Sweet!” he said, sitting beside Austin on the raggedy couch, eyeing the drugs spread out on the table, like a kid in a candy store.

The only response I was familiar with in the room.

“Austin, what pills do you want?” Mike asked him.

Silence.

“I’ll take an eighth of weed. Two of those bad boys.” He pointed to the Ecstasy. “And like ten of the Percocets.”

Austin just sat there blankly staring at me, not saying a word. I reached into my backpack again, pulling out some empty plastic bags to fill Mike’s order.

“What’s the damage?” Mike asked, pulling out a wad of money from his pocket.

“Four hundred even,” I simply stated, exchanging his bag of goodies for money.

“On that note.” Mike stood, throwing some weed on the table. “I’m going to head out. Pleasure seeing you again, doll. I’m glad I kept your card. I’ll be in touch.”

I nodded, unable to form words, only plaguing thoughts.

“Austin, I’ll see you later.” With that he turned and left.

Leaving us in the silence that was deafening in the room.

Austin grabbed the cigarettes off the table in front of him, pulling one out. Looking around the room, patting his jeans for a lighter. I reached into my backpack again, throwing him some matches instead. He caught them mid-air, still not saying a word to me and lit his cigarette.

He took a drag and blew the smoke out toward his left, the furthest away from me. I never told him I hated the smell of cigarettes, but somehow he already knew that. I learned right then and there that Austin could read people as well as I could.

That wasn’t an innate skill.

That was survival.

“So,” I announced, breaking the uncomfortable silence that echoed all around us. “What’s your poison?”

He narrowed his eyes at me before glancing back to the table, pointing to the Percocets with the cigarette in his hand.

“How many?”

“All of them.”

My eyebrows raised and my mouth parted, immediately taking in his scars. Just as I predicted the night I met him, there were several scattered around his chest, and back.

In that moment, in that second, I wanted so fucking badly to ask him what had happened to him, to reach out and ease his pain.

Instead I just grabbed the bag, handing it to him.

He reached into his wallet and for some reason I couldn’t explain, I looked away from him, taking in the room.

The place was a shithole. Most people rented this room by the hour. It’s where whores turned tricks and junkies OD’d.

Austin wasn’t one of those people. I knew that, I was sure of it.

Why was he staying here?

As I took in my surroundings, I noticed there was a dirty, tattered up duffle bag leaning up against the crumpling wallpaper in the corner of the room. The boots placed beside them looked like they had seen better days. The soles were ripping underneath them, and the shoelaces didn’t match.

There were clothes scattered throughout the room, drying over the air vent like he’d just washed them in the shower with him. And the jeans he was wearing were thin, old, and had stains.

He wasn’t one of those people at all.

Austin was just broke.

“How much?” he asked, pulling me away from my thoughts.

I looked deep into his vibrant blue eyes. It was then that I noticed it was like looking in a reflection of my own truths.

“It’s your lucky day.”

He frowned, pursing his lips, confused.  

“We’re best friends now, remember? I don't charge best friends,” I chuckled, wanting to break the tension between us.

The truths all around us.

His.

Mine.

Ours.

“There’s a shitload of pills here, Briggs.”

Hearing him say my name made my belly flutter again. It had the same effect on me at the door when he first said it.

I shrugged, smiling.

Silently hoping he would catch my expression in the air and place it near his heart, like he did when we first met.

He didn’t.

I shook off the sentiment, picking up all the bags and putting them away in my backpack.

“At least let me smoke you out,” he offered, setting the cigarette on the corner of his lips to grab the weed Mike left behind. He started rolling up a joint.

“I don’t get high off my own stash. Drug dealer 101.”

He grinned, glancing over at me with mischievous eyes before returning to his task at hand.

“But… umm… I can stay… I mean for bit... you know? Hang out.”

We locked eyes.

“I mean if you’re not—”

“I’d like that,” he interrupted, nodding toward the seat next to him.

I sat down. His fresh, clean scent assaulted my senses with a mixture of smoke, weed, and something else I couldn’t quite place.  

Austin.

My body instantly burned all over, remembering how in my dreams his hands, his tongue, his body were all over me. I had to look away, my face turning a deep shade of red.

He scoffed out a chuckle and I had a feeling he noticed, but he was being a gentleman and not calling me out on it.

“I went to Washington,” he muffled with the cigarette still placed in the corner of his lips.

I hated smoking. I hated the smell and how the stench stuck to everything no matter how much you cleaned it. Most of all I hated the sudden taste of an ashtray assaulting your mouth when a smoker kissed you. There was nothing I liked about it.  

Except, Austin…

He had a way of making it look so fucking sexy, making me wish I were the filter that was pressed against his lips.

“What?” I replied, realizing what he just said.

He chuckled, vibrating against my arm.

“Washington. I went there.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

“You don’t talk much, do ya?”

“Seems that way, huh?” I laughed. “There’s not much to see in Washington,” I brushed it off.

“I know. I didn’t find you,” he simply stated, catching me off guard.

As if what he just shared didn’t mean anything, when it meant everything.

He finished rolling the joint, took one last drag of his cigarette, stubbing it out in the ashtray in front of him.

“You looked for me?” I asked, needing to know.

He lit the joint, sitting sideways to face me. Our faces now inches apart.

“What if I did?” he blew the words out with the smoke from his lungs.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“You only met me once. What would possess you to come looking for me?”

“I was backpacking, Briggs, and something led me to Washington when I left Miami. I didn’t realize it until I got off the train.” He smiled. “What can I say? When I want something, I go after it.”

Leaning in close to my lips, for a second I thought he was going to kiss me. For a moment, I thought I was going to get everything I had been dreaming about for the last year.

His lips.

His tongue.

His hands.

Him.

Instead he looked deep into my eyes and spoke with conviction,

“And… I want you.”

Her phone rang before she could respond, breaking our connection.

I hated that she had to leave me to go deal more drugs.

I hated that she could be in situations that could quickly turn extremely dangerous.

And I fucking hated the son of a bitch who had her doing this. Not caring about her goddamn safety.  

I saw a shadow of man around the corner when she left. I assumed it was her protection in case something went wrong. I knew Briggs could take care of herself, but at the end of the day she was still just a girl. A hot-as-fuck girl. Something told me that men appreciated much more than just the drugs she was supplying. For some reason the thought of her being with another man fucking pissed me off.

She left the hotel room so damn fast. I didn’t have a chance to get her number. I knew Mike had it, but I didn’t want to call her on that number.

I didn’t want Briggs, the drug dealer.

I wanted Briggs, the girl I met on the balcony.

The one who danced like nobody was watching, but seemed to captivate her audience with each sway of her curvy hips. The girl who was shy and timid, the girl who blushed from just a few words from my mouth. The girl who would one day rip my damn heart out.

The girl I knew was hiding behind the tattoos and purple hair.  

I hadn’t seen her in three days, three fucking days and it felt like an eternity. Even the pills didn’t ease my anxiety. They only reminded me of her. It was Friday night and we had no plans. I sat on the bed racking my brain like I had done for the past three sleepless nights. Consumed with never-ending thoughts of her.

I lit my cigarette. The matches Briggs left behind were in my hands, I kept turning the box around.

They were taunting me.

There was a club logo on it with a website and phone number underneath.  

“Mike, you know this club?”

He looked up from the TV to catch the matches I threw him, catching them in the air.

“Yeah. Everyone knows this club. Alejandro Martinez owns it.”

I raised my eyebrows at him with a questioning look on my face. “And I’m supposed to know who the fuck Alejandro Martinez is?”

“He’s notorious around New York. Fuck,” he chuckled, “he’s notorious around the world, Austin.”

I cocked an eyebrow.

He sat up. “You’ve seen
The Godfather
, right?”

I nodded.

“There’s your answer.”

I jerked my head back, stunned. “Those matches belong to Briggs.”

He shrugged. “It makes sense, bro. There is very little that Martinez doesn’t have his dirty hands on. He fucking owns this entire city. He’s a smart motherfucker too. The cops, the mayor... shit, you name it, he owns it. No one can touch him and nothing ever gets traced back to him. And, women, they spread their legs open for him like he’s the king of the fucking universe.”

“How do you know this?”

“I’m a New Yorker.”

I eyed the matches that were still in his grasp.

“Austin, if you want to fuck her so bad. Call the number I have. You’re a good looking guy, I’m sure she’s done worse.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I sneered. “If I wanted to fuck her, I would have the other day. You don’t know shit about shit, so watch your goddamn mouth when you talk about her.”

“Jesus Christ, relax. You don’t even know this girl and already you’re pussy-whipped. Look,” he put out his hands in a surrendering gesture, “how about we go to the club tonight? It’s a few streets over on Broadway, a bit of a hike from here, but I feel like getting fucked up tonight anyway.”

He stood.

“Try to find something nice to wear, pretty boy. This club is dress to impress. I know the bouncer. He’s been working there for years. We probably won’t have to pay a cover.”

We pulled up to the club around midnight.

I had brought a pair of black slacks and a few button down, collared shirts with me from Miami. I never wore them, they were only clothes I owned that didn’t look worn out and old.

Just like Mike expected, the bouncer didn’t charge us. He stamped our hands, opened the velvet rope, and let us through. The people waiting in the line wrapped around the building were pissed to say the least. As soon as we walked in, I immediately realized this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. The club was huge and packed with people. It was hard for us to even get by without having to wait a few seconds for the crowds to separate.

I was there on a whim. I knew there was a huge chance Briggs wasn’t even at the club tonight, but that didn’t stop me from getting dressed up and paying the sixty-dollar cab fare from our motel. The music was pounding through the speakers all around us, vibrating through my core as we tried to make our way over to the bar. The place was exceeding capacity, filled to the brim. Everyone dressed to the nines, beautiful people just getting their night started with the beat of the house music blaring above the crowds.

My eyes wandered all around the two-story building. Everything from the flashing lights to the neon strobes strumming around every corner. The plush couches and tables stacked with bottles upon bottles of Moet and other expensive alcohol. The already fucked-up people dancing their asses off with their eyes closed and their heads leaned toward the ceiling, letting the melody of the music take over them.

I instantly knew that drugs flowed in this place as much as the booze did. Which only gave me more hope that Briggs was here. Mike ordered us some drinks from the bar, while I continued to search the crowd, trying to spot the girl with bright purple hair and tattoos.

When he returned, he handed me a whiskey neat along with one of his ecstasy pills that I turned down.

I wasn’t here to party.

He looked at me like I had grown three heads before shaking his, swallowing them both down instead. I never turned down a good time, but I didn’t want to be fucked up while trying to find her. Mike found some old friends that had a table in one of the corners and they asked us to join them.

More drugs…

More booze…

No Briggs.

I was beginning to lose hope. The song changed over to ‘
Young and Beautiful
’ by Lana Del Rey and out of nowhere, out of pure instinct, emotion, and feeling, I looked up to the second story. She appeared out of thin air, like a goddamn angel, wearing a tight white dress with red heels. She was standing in the dead center of the club, her vibrant purple hair flowing all around her with her fucking tits on full display. Her hands leaned against the railing, looking down at the crowd of people below her, swaying her body in a slow, sexy, seductive way that only Briggs could pull off.

And then… as if it was meant to be.

As if
we
were meant to be.

She found my gaze in the endless crowd of people, like she felt me too.