Malo - Page 51

I swallow hard.

“But he’s working for Las Rosas Negras,” I remind her.

“I know,” she replies, voice cool.

“Which means…”

“Which means that whoever you got that shit from has to be working with them too,” she replies bluntly. She’s had a lot longer to think about this than I have, and I can tell she’s impatient to get to the point, cut to the chase and discuss this properly.

“I had no idea,” I tell her quickly, lifting my gaze to meet hers. “I had no idea, Maria, you have to believe me.”

She eyes me for a moment, then sighs and nods.

“I know,” she replies. “I know you hate them more than anyone. You would never have bought from them if you had the chance.”

I squeeze her hand as tight as I can, needing her to believe me, needing her to understand that I never would have done this if I thought this was going to be the outcome.

She manages a small smile. “I’m glad you’re okay, Malo,” she tells me. “Well, as okay as you can be, given the shit that you just took.”

“Do you know what it was?” I ask her. “It’s nothing like anything I’ve had before. I don’t even remember what happened after I took the hit.”

“Synthetic coke cut with something else I’m trying to determine,” she explains, gesturing to a work table behind her covered with notebooks and the remains of the small clear bag I’d kept in my pocket on the trip back from Mexico.

“But I need to know, where did you get it from?” she asks. “That’s what we need to find out. Who supplied it to you?”

I pause. Now that she is asking me outright, it’s like my memories have been scrambled, making it difficult for me to sort through everything that lead me here in my head. I part my lips, trying to come up with an answer, but nothing springs to mind. I shake my head.

“I… I don’t remember,” I admit. Her lips tighten. I can tell she doesn’t believe me.

“Malo, I don’t know what you’re trying to keep from us,” she begins, and I shake my head again.

“I promise you, I’m not trying to keep anything from you,” I tell her fervently. “My head’s a mess. I don’t, no se…”

I furrow my brow, trying to put myself back in that place where I accepted those drugs. I just… I could remember being in a car, remember talking to someone, but where? When?

“It’s no wonder your memory’s taken a hit,” she murmurs to me, as kindly as she can. “It’s a miracle you woke up at all.”

I shiver at the thought. Fuck. It’s hard to wrap my head around just how bad this could have been. When all you’re thinking about is your next hit you forget how quickly shit can go wrong, just how fast all of it can go south when you’re not paying attention. I’ve known far too many people in my position who have gone back to using after being clean for awhile, and they’ve ended up dead—or worse, brain dead, hooked up to some machine while their family and friends try to figure out what the hell to do with them.

I have always promised myself that wasn’t going to be me, but I came so close, so fucking close, it’s hard to wrap my head around it. If she hadn’t been here, I don’t know what I would have done, what chance I would have stood. It scares the shit out of me. Now, of all times, when I knew the Kings needed me more than ever.

“It’s okay,” she soothes me, reaching over to brush some hair back from my face. My thoughts feel thick, and heavy, but I need to sort through them if I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I close my eyes, trying to remember the moment someone handed me what could have been my doom.

“It was in Mexico,” I mumble finally, my lips chapped and aching as they scrape against each other. “I… that’s where I got it.”

“From who?” she prompts me. “Some street dealer? If this is on the streets already, we need to know about it.”

I shake my head quickly. “No, no,” I reply, remembering the car ride, and the person sitting next to me and then… “I got it from Antonio.”

I open my eyes again. She’s staring at me as though she can hardly believe what she’s hearing.

“From Antonio?” she repeats, making sure she’s heard me right. “As in, Los Desperados, Antonio?”

“He offered it to me just before I left,” I admit. “When we were at the airport. He didn’t tell me what it was, just said that it would help take the edge off all the shit I’ve been going through.”

Her eyes darken.

“They’re supposed to be on our side,” she mutters. “What the hell is going on?”