Page 135 of Reasons We Break

But Rajan’s certain whatever else was in that file is no big insult. It’s probably just sad. And if Zach wasn’t such a dick, Rajan might even feel sorry for him. But since Zachisa dick, and has also been torturing him for four days straight, Rajan will use it to his advantage.

“Why don’tyoutell them, Zach?” Rajan suggests. Zach says nothing. “There was a lot of interesting stuff in your file. You always acted like you had big money, but the truth is, you and your family are—”

“Hold him down,” Zach barks at Snake Tattoo, and Rajan settles back.Finally.

Snake Tattoo, however, looks confused. “I thought you said—”

“I changed my mind,” Zach snaps. “We’ll bring the notes back. And the ledgers. That’ll be enough proof. You’re right, I don’t trust him to not escape.”

More like, he doesn’t trust Rajan to not be a loudmouth about his family’s exact circumstances the whole way there. But Snake Tattoo, appearing pleased that Zach’s agreeing, doesn’t question him further. They all look at Rajan, and the energy in the room changes slightly. Rajan knows what this means. He feels strangely calm, though. Whatever they do to him, it will be over eventually. He just has to ride it out.

Then Zach produces a syringe from his pocket.

“Wait,” Rajan says slowly. “What’s that?”

Zach examines the syringe. “Remember when Perry threatened me with a needle?”

Of course Rajan remembers. There are some things he can never forget.

“He gave me an idea,” Zach continues, nodding at the guys around him, and the circle tightens around the chair. The foreboding feeling intensifies. “Ever done the IV stuff, buddy?”

It all clicks. The needle Zach’s uncapping. The reason Zach didn’t want anyone giving him obvious injuries—it wasn’t just because they needed him for a mission. It was because Zach had always planned to kill him like this.

It’s theoneway he doesn’t want to die.

Rajan launches himself out of the chair.

They clearly didn’t expect that, because he gets halfway across the room before there’s a blow to the back of his head. He staggers. They grab at him, voices everywhere.

“Careful with the face—”

“Grab his legs—”

“The jacket—”

He’s slammed back to the floor. His already injured ribs and shoulder explode in pain. That’s all they need to roll him over. Dazed, he barely registers the flash of scissors. His jacket and hoodie are being cut off, leaving him in his T-shirt.

He claws at them with his fingernails, and when they force his arms to his sides, he surges toward the pointed part of the scissors. He’s yanked back instantly, someone putting him in a choke hold. Snake Tattoo gives him a disbelieving look. “What are you doing, you freak?”

Zach answers for him. “He’s trying to get his face carved up so they can’t write him off as an OD.” He lights a cigarette, a smile twitching on his lips. “But you know what, buddy, that just isn’t gonna happen.”

Rajan pants, immobilized. Zach sinks to his haunches to speak in his ear. “To answer your question, this is heroin. And fentanyl. Everyone knows you prefer”—he mimes snorting a line—“but tonight it wasn’t enough, was it? You wanted something new, but you took it too far. Open-close case, when they find you. No one gives a shit about a junkie.”

Rajan finds he has only one word in his vocabulary. “No,” he whispers. “No—no—”

Zach blows smoke into his face. “Goodbye, Rajan.”

His arm is forcibly extended as Zach gets up. The voices around him become almost soothing. Mockingly so.

“Relax, man.”

“Yeah, take it easy.”

“You’ll enjoy this.”

“OD’ing is a nice way to go.”

No, it’s not. It will confirm what everyone thinks about him. The words on his medical records—substance use disorder—will be his legacy. Everyone—his dad, his brothers, Kat, Simran—will believe it. He’s already relapsed once. The bruising on his arm will damn him. So what if he’s a tiny bit scuffed up? Junkies usually are. His sobriety before all this will mean nothing, his struggles will mean nothing. Everything he tried to do for himself, meant nothing in the end.