Page 4 of Black Waters

One: This guy’s attitude rubbed me wrong—as did everything else that evening.

Two: He spoke of Timothy—my girl’s dead brother—and was smiling about it. Not sitting well with me.

Three: He was talking about my Whit, and his tone told me it was in a disrespectful way.

I glared at Terry and growled. “You have three seconds to clarify yourself.”

“Easy, Reeth,” Harlan attempted, putting down his water bottle on a nearby table.

Terry quickly realized he was stepping on raw toes. “Whoa, Reether, I didn’t know you’d let Whit do drugs.” He gestured me. “I thought that protective vibe you had going with her would be all over that shit. Didn’t mean to offend. To each her own.”

My head tilted as my irritation grew. “Drugs?”

The punk had the nerve to smirk again. “Lay with dogs, ya get fleas. Am I right?”

I inhaled deeply, trying not to punch first. “Are you referring to Whit as a dog?”

Terry rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’re touchy tonight. No. It’s a metaphor. Hang with a dope dealer, you get drugs. Comprende?”

After Harlan pulled me off the asshole—who was now bent over, holding his bleeding nose, Terry yelled Crash’s real name. “Harold fucking Thompson? Crash’s father? Drug trafficker extraordinaire? Ring any bells, you dickwad?”

“What?” I numbly said, thinking that was the last thing I expected to hear.

There was a known source, who had been said to be a local sizeable dealer, but I didn’t do drugs. No one I hung with did drugs, so I hadn’t put the two names together. I had no reason to. “H-How do you know?” I was worried my Whit was alone with a possible danger, and I had advised her to go.

“Because I see him selling at MP all the time.” Holding a napkin to his gushing nose, his eyes involuntarily closed and watered. “God, this hurts! Your dad is getting this doctor bill…”

Mug and Pourwas a shady bar that lacked everything except for disturbing clientele.

“You don’t have to be twenty-one to get into MP. That’s who I buy my weed from, Link. Where do you think his nickname comes from? When a druggy crashes from their high they go to…” He waited for me to make the connection.

“Crash,” I mumbled in complete disbelief.

Whitney Summers was falling for the son of the man who’d killed her brother.