Page 21 of Unspoken Lies

I’m pissed off, and the fucker in the street didn’t help my mood either. He reminded me of Elijah, which may have made my foot a little heavier on the accelerator.

Oops?

It’s impossible to forget those boys. It must be nice to live rent free in the person’s mind whose life you ruined.

“Fucking assholes,” I grumble under my breath as I drive to see Maurice.

So far, I haven’t heard any whispers about anyone selling GHB. I have a feeling I may need to dress like someone else and hit a club in an attempt to have someone try to drug me. Maurice is the only one I deal with, which means that no one knows who I am.

I’ve already been hit on a few times by people that I know work for him yet are going to UCSB. Both men and women, but it would be laughable to say that I’m interested in dating or fucking.

I just want to figure out how far the GHB drug selling goes so I can stop it. I may need to make myself bait to be able to find out.

“Lili,” Maurice says as I walk in the back entrance of his warehouse. There’s no one around, and I have a feeling that he cleared the areas that he knows I’ll be walking through.

“Tell me how business is,” I reply. “Did the shipment of weapons go well to Abel’s crew?”

“Yes,” he says. “The truck left yesterday, and is traveling to Texas now. So far, no issues.”

The silly thing about all of this is that there’s no real issue with Maurice’s ability to sell weapons or run the strip clubs that he manages. The problem Mr. Emil has is the drug selling of such a dangerous substance.

This is a meaningless meeting that is a waste of both of our time. However, I can see that Maurice is sweating a little as I sit in his office.

“Am I keeping you from something?” I ask him. I haven’t killed anyone in two fucking weeks, and it’s making me twitchy. I’m an addict who needs her next fix now.

“No, ah yes?” he says. “You make me nervous, Liliana.”

“This is a scheduled meeting, I’m where I’m supposed to be,” I tease him, pulling out the knife from my boot to play with it.

He hates when I do this.I’ve learned quite a bit about Maurice recently.

“Yes, I know. We just had a small issue with my son,” he explains.

Brow raised, I incline my head. “He’s going to UCSB, isn’t he?” I ask.

He doesn’t know much about me or my movements, and I regularly check the SUV my father bought me for trackers.

“Yes, he is,” Maurice says.

“May I ask what the trouble is?” I ask innocently.

The poor man looks as if he wants to shit himself. Rumors of my prowess with a knife have been circulating, even if few people know what I look like. The smell of fear is sour, but it’s also gratifying to know that he knows what I’m capable of.

“My son says that he had a run-in with a crew in Goleta,” he explains. “It may or may not have been related to me.”

I stare hard at him, wondering if he knows what his son is doing. I haven’t given up the idea that Santiago, his son, may not be selling drugs and that he’s being set up as a fall guy.

I’m exploring all of the options. Just because I have a heavy trigger finger and a sharp temper, doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of deeper thinking. I’m responsible for finding out the facts.

Maybe it’s time for me to be seen a little more. I need to feel this out.

Fuck it.

“Is your son here?” I ask, raising a brow. At his nod, I shrug. “Why don’t I ask him some questions?”

“No!” Maurice yells, swallowing hard as he begins to breathe hard. He’s not really helping his cause here.

“Si, o me lo vas a pagar,”I growl, shoving my knife back into my boot as I stand. I told him that I would take it from his very hide if he didn’t bring me his son, and I mean it.