Page 34 of Intoxicating Pursuit

Desperation

THE USER

H e crouched behind the desk.

Were they here?

Something had clattered in the tasting room, but the place was locked up. They shouldn’t be able to get to him.

He listened to the emptiness and looked down at his hands, counting off ten solid digits, healthy and sound. They’d been threatening to take his fingers! He instinctively curled them in protective fists. Why didn’t they just bring him the product and fuck off?

The money wasn’t coming in fast enough. No matter how much he tried.

He’d attempted to reason with them, offering them interest on the debt. Could they not understand the concept of a goddamn investment? They had to know he would be good for the cash eventually.

Getting up from behind the desk, he checked the baggie again. He shook the last bits of powder out of it, lined the particles up on the mirror, and snorted them. But he knew that meant he was out again. He was always out. He wiped his nose and swept away blood. Shit!

He grabbed a napkin from his desk and applied pressure, staining the pale cloth red.

He was so frustrated he could scream, but if he did, they might find him.

It didn’t have to be like this. He just needed enough money to get them off his back—and he needed more stuff.

But it all needed to happen faster. A lot faster.