Page 31 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

“I said drop it.”

My voice is ice. He shuts up.

We drive in silence for a few blocks. The city slides past the windows—cracked sidewalks, graffiti-tagged buildings, the corner store where we move most of our product. This is my kingdom. Every street corner, every alley, every shadow.

Oxy would take a bullet for me. Would bury a body, torch a car, lie to the cops. He’s loyal to the bone because I pulled him out of the gutter when no one else gave a shit.

That’s how this works. You save someone, they owe you. Forever.

We pull up to his apartment—a shitty complex on the edge of campus, peeling paint and broken gutters. He climbs out, leans back in through the window.

“You need me tonight, call.”

“I won’t need you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grins. “Have fun with the girl.”

I drive across town, past the nicer neighborhoods where the houses have lawns and the cars have two functioning headlights. My business is bigger than most people realize. Dozens of runners, drop points scattered across three counties, a network that moves more product in a week than most dealers do in a month.

Axel is a small fry. A mistake I made, falling for his spiel about being connected, about having buyers lined up. Turns out he was just a desperate kid with a habit and a sister who cares too much.

But his sister... she’s different.

I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she stood in front of me this morning, chin lifted, eyes blazing. Defiant. Determined. Hungry for something she doesn’t even understand yet.

Most people fold when I push them. They crumble, beg, make promises they’ll break in a week.

But Lexi didn’t scare off. She pushed back, and I’ll change her mind tonight.

I pull into the rink parking lot at 8:47 p.m. Early. But I don’t mind waiting.

I park in the shadows behind the building, cut the engine, and light a cigarette. The rink looms above me, dark and silent. No one uses this part of campus at night. Too isolated. Too easy to disappear.

Perfect.

I check my phone. A few texts from runners, nothing urgent. I respond to two, ignore the rest.

Then I wait.

The minutes drag. I finish my cigarette, light another. My knee bounces—just once—and I force it to stop. Patience. Control. Always control.

At 9:00 sharp, I see her.

She rounds the corner, dressed in baggy jeans and an oversized hoodie. The fit is all wrong. Shapeless. Hiding everything.

No sense of style, I note. She dresses like she’s trying to disappear.

She spots the car, hesitates for just a second, then walks over. Her steps are measured, careful. Like she’s walking into a cage and knows it.

She opens the passenger door, slides in.

The scent hits me immediately—strawberry. Sweet and sharp. It fills the car, invades my lungs, makes something in my chest tighten.

I turn to look at her.

Her eyes meet mine. Defiant. Determined. Hungry.

I still don’t know what she’s hungry for. But I’m going to find out.