Page 57 of Devil's Azalea

I blink at her. She thinks I’m feeling bad because I ran away from the situation? A twinge of guilt stabs me right in the gut.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She rolls her eyes. “You think I don’t know you’re still attracted to him? Don’t even try to deny it.” She raises a finger when I start to protest. I surrender immediately.

“Good. And from what I saw last week, the attraction is mutual. It might explain why he’s been stalking you all over the world. If you had stayed and he saw you, who knows what might have happened?”

Iknowwhat happened. My lips tingle with the phantom pressure of Rafael’s demanding tongue.

“You made the right call leaving. No need to tempt fate. Tomorrow we can go out together to find another source. Forget about that bartender at Rafael’s club,” she finishes, and I nod numbly, drinking more of my cold beer.

The next day, Katie and I hit the seedier parts of lower Manhattan I didn’t comb through yesterday. Venturing into these neighborhoods solo is asking for trouble—things can spiral out of control very quickly—so having someone watching your back is essential.

We’ve barely walked ten minutes when a rail-thin guy with patchy blonde hair and blackened lips sidles up to us. “Hey, beauties. Ya lost?”

Katie and I exchange glances. “No, we’re right where we’re meant to be,” Katie dismisses coldly as we continue walking. But the man falls in step beside us anyway.

“You look tense, blondie. Might wanna loosen up.” He leers at Katie, flashing his yellowed teeth. “Listen, I’ve got some premium sour deez for you. Ten outta ten stuff, ya know? Thecrème de la crème.”

I stop abruptly, just as Katie snaps, “Nobody wants your fucking weed, man. Fuck off.”

“Wait!” I call out, and both turn to stare at me—Katie in disbelief, the man with renewed interest. I offer him a carefully crafted smile, just coy enough to be believable. “Sour deez, huh?”

The dealer, seeing I might be the easier target, abandons Katie and slithers towards me with a greasy grin that makes my skin crawl. “My strain is nice and fluffy, real fat bags. You can’t go wrong with this one, beauty. I can even let you have a free sniff to be sure.”

I pretend to consider while my mind races through options. I could flash my badge and threaten to lock him up for the rest of his life if he doesn’t talk. But that’s risky. What if he clams up? What if he runs straight to one of the mobsters around here to spill that we’re poking around? Worse, what if he tips off Rafael?

No. Intimidation is the wrong tactic with this guy.

I force another smile as I reach for my wallet. “How much for a dozen bags?” I ask, voice honey-sweet.

His rheumy eyes light up like I’ve just offered him the keys to Fort Knox. “Tell you what—since you’re buyin’ in bulk, I’ll give you a promo deal. Six for fifty bucks. Best price you’ll find on these streets.”

I nod sagely and pull out four $50 bills. “How about I give you all these? But I don’t want sour deez. I’m after a different type of drug.”

He studies me, recalculating. “You want something with more kick? Ecstasy, coke?”

I wave him closer, and when he obliges, I whisper in his ear. “I have a diabetic friend who needs Ozempic. Word on the street is there’s a supplier dealing that kind of medication around here.”

Katie catches on instantly and subtly positions herself behind our new friend, boxing him in. But he’s too focused on me to notice.

“Make it five hundred, and I’ll lead you right to my guy’s doorstep. That’s his forte.”

“Now you’re just being greedy,” Katie murmurs, pressing her concealed gun into his lower back beneath her coat.

The dealer goes rigid, eyes darting wildly as he finally grasps the situation. We’re still casual-looking enough that passersby would assume we’re just doing a shady deal—nothing new around here. And if anyone does suspect foul play, well… this is New York. People don’t get involved unless it’s personal.

“You get to keep your drugs, your life, and walk away two hundred richer. I’d say that’s a pretty sweet deal, wouldn’t you?” I ask coolly, and he gulps. “What’s your name?”

“Boa,” he mutters, face sour, his eyes still shifting around for a possible way out of this.

“Listen to me, Boa. We don’t want to harm you. Wegenuinely just need the meds for our friend. So take us to your supplier, collect your money, and walk away. But if we suspect foul play at any point, your life isn’t guaranteed.”

“I want a hundred upfront,” he demands, fixing me with a look that says he’s still trying to salvage some control over the situation. Too late for that.

“You get nothing until I’m sure you’re not leading us into a trap,” I counter, holding his gaze without blinking.

A slow smirk crawls across his face, and I glimpse something like respect glinting in his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, beauty. But I can’t say no to that face.” He makes revolting kissing noises, and I recoil in disgust.

“Start walking.” Katie jabs her gun harder against his pine, and Boa grins as he complies.