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Beta'd by HollettLA.

Higher

Chapter Twenty-Seven: X-Man

Before I was to meet my uncle, I had to stop by a jewelry store near my father's house. They close at nine p.m., and I was just going to make it. Homeboy was actually locking up shop when I approached the door.

He didn't bitch but opened up wide for me. "How are you?" he asked, and I don't know his name.

I nodded. "It's ready to go?"

He walked behind the counter and then placed the red, ring box onto it.

Afraid to open it, I just stared for a second.

It's no big deal, just a birthday gift for Bella that I hoped she'd love.

Needing to have a ring on her finger, I picked out a nice one—this thick, yellow gold band that had two diamond-encrusted hearts. Our initials and the date we met had been engraved on the inside of the band.

I knew what it looked like, and it truly wasn't anything that grand, special. But the bullshit promise, double-heart rings, or whatever they're called, are mad cheap.

I went with this one because it was more expensive, but not by too much.

Homeboy opened the box and held it out to me. It was the same as it was the other day, and I reached to close it up.

"How much?" I asked.

"Since you're Cullen's kid—three-fifty."

"You know my father?" I raised a brow.

He nodded. "Both your parents, actually. We were all New Utrecht, class of 1970." He started chuckling. "How's Carlisle doin'?"

"Good." I didn't say anything else as I counted out his money. "Thanks." I placed the box in my pocket.

"She's going to love it." He followed me out.

I gave him a curt nod and then hopped back into the van. Before I drove off, I grabbed my gun from under the seat to place it in my waist. Yes, Demetri is my uncle, but I don't trust anyone when I'm doing shit like this. Especially if we're not at the club with a shitload of other heads around.

I just feel safer with it.

I got to the block quick since it wasn't too far, and I drove around for a while, checking shit out. With nothing shady on the outside, I parked the van in front.

The coffee spot, which is just one of those old-fashioned mom-and-pop shops, was empty when I entered; I knew it would be, and I spied the old man who runs the joint behind the counter. He didn't even look up when I entered, and I also spotted my uncle right away. He sat in a booth toward the corner, had his arms widened when saw me.

"I got caught up," I explained, sitting and reaching low to undo the package from my calf. "How you doin'?"

"Got you a coffee." He pushed a cup over. "I bet it's cold by now."

I grabbed the mug with my free hand to sip it. "Tomorrow, I'mma be coming through with my girl. You could meet her." It killed me to be so nice; it always does. Truth is I have a lot of resentment toward this motherfucker. I'm constantly hoping to push past it—let go of the past—to get Dad and D to talk again, so we can possibly be a family or some shit.

Demetri already knew what I was doing, and he had his hand reaching for mine underneath the table.

I kept my eye on the old man, who still paid us no mind while he watched the evening news.

"Sounds good," he said.

When he had it, I let go.

"We gotta talk." Demetri placed the package into his jacket.

I had some more cold coffee. "Yeah, me too."

He gestured for me to go first.

I sighed, sitting back, and I felt comfortable speaking here. Nowadays, I'm truly no one. No one gives a fuck about what I do, no one knows what my uncle's up to, and no one's the wiser.

"Next time, I want my money upfront—when we exchange hands. Have your boys pay you before you come see me," I said.

It's a reasonable request, how I used to do things, and Demetri was short last week. It was only a C-note, but still. That shit don't fly. My uncle's getting a little too comfortable with me, and when people start slipping…it's time to have a firmer hand, which is another reason why I came by strapped this time.

I promised myself this morning I'd be cool, but I wasn't sure…not with how I was feeling now.

Coiled and ready to spring, the wrong word, the wrong move might set me off.

He smirked, leaning forward. "That's…Look, I met this guy…and you know it's business, Ed. He's got the same product you do for less money." He shrugged sitting back.

I chuckled, not really surprised by that.

Ecstasy—the new party drugs, the MDMA mixtures—are getting to be more mainstream, especially during the past few months. You get some nerdy, pharmacology motherfucker like Paul, who knows what he's doing, who's bored with his life, wants more money, and you put him to work. You front the money to get him a space somewhere, the necessary equipment, and there you go. I actually knew Paul from junior high, and I'd just happened to run into him one day. He told me what he was up to, how he couldn't find a job, and we hooked up—started doing this. And I knew exactly who to go to, who'd unload it all easily, and who owed me one, Demetri.

"Oh, I'm sorry…you're mistaken." I shook my head, keeping a smile on my face when he'd actually struck a nerve—quite a few. "You think I work for you?" Raising a brow, I leaned toward him, grabbing my .38 Special, my little five-shot revolver—from my waist—to place it to his kneecap. He felt the barrel because he sat up real quick, stiffening; I could smell the fear from across the table. "D, you work for me. Get that straight, and the next time we meet, you're gonna pay me upfront. Understand?"

"Edward…" He backed into the booth.

"A lot has changed—" I nodded "—many things are different. But I still got a lot of friends. I'm not the punk kid you pushed out on to the street to deliver dope—"

"I was young and stupid, and how many times have I apologized?"

I smirked. "You were small-time. A year in the game, and, hey…I was making more money than you were. You weren't shit then, and you ain't shit now. So, if you fuck me…Yo, I'll make it so no one…not a fucking soul sells to you or your boys—not even a fuckin' aspirin. You hear me, D?"

He swallowed, staring down to the table. "I really created a monster—"

I slammed my free hand down to get his attention. "You understand?"

Demetri nodded.

"Good." I smiled, not taking my gun back. "But the price just went up at Tunnel for X…because…I want twenty a pop now. Next time I see you, you best have my ten grand. Now…go." I jerked my head to the door.

Demetri scrambled to get out of the booth, staring at me wide-eyed. "I should call your father—"

"Do it. I'll put a hole in your head without blinking, you fuck."

My uncle took in a shaky breath, rapidly walking out of the coffee shop.

When he was gone, I slumped my shoulders, resting my elbows to the table to place my lips to my hands—stuck.

Back in the day, business was never personal, and I couldn't believe my uncle was ready to fuck me over for a few extra dollars.

Hurt, I turned off any emotions I had for the man, which has always been easy for me.

Fuck.

With all those rave-style clubs in the city now . . .

The owners actually want X dealers in their joints. They rack up the entry fee, and they still make dumb money from those watered-down drinks.

And people who roll…they party all night.

If Demetri didn't want to buy from me anymore . . . it'd truly be nothing to me, but it's the principle.

I could talk to Paul—see how many he can make in a week. Or, we could slow down for a bit, at least until he's got a nice-sized stock, and then we take over the scene.

I could distribute to more people, make more money…I could even put people out on the streets during the week, hook up with a few bangers from the 'hood.

Alas, Ecstasy is a party drug. It's not like coke or heroin—something someone might need daily to feed a habit. It's big at the clubs, college campuses, and shit like that.

I could definitely fuck with that again, too . . . make even more fucking money.

And it's not like dope or blow, and they're actually cracking down on Special K right now, which is wider spread than X.

Ecstasy is new. Its popularity stays growing and growing, and there's no true top dog in that market at the moment, that I knew for sure. It's still hard to come by, too, and that's why it can cost up to thirty bones for one tab—for two to three hours of feeling nice, the high of a lifetime. It's worth it to those who enjoy.

That could be me—X-Man of New York—and I wouldn't have to lift a finger.

Aggravated, I groaned as I tore out of there, needing to get those thoughts out of my head.

But, seriously, I still have just as many connections as I used to.

It'd be so fucking easy.

I could see it clearly.

I could get Bella and me out of that shit neighborhood—get us a house someplace nice, get her away from all the garbage.

We could move closer to her school . . .

And maybe if it was just us, she'd want—

I had to get those thoughts out of my head, too.

All those thoughts never left my mind, though.

I knew what I had to do. A part of me has always known, knowing I'd get back in the game sooner or later.

Money needed to be made, so I could make a few moves.

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