Page 36 of Soul Redeemed

Another thing Zayne appreciated about the kid—always had the clean stuff. From the glovebox, Zayne nabbed a stack of bills and passed it through the window. “I don’t think so. Good luck with school.”

Flipping through the bills, Bodhi smirked. “You gave extra.”

“Didn’t feel like counting twenty grand. ‘Sides that, you’ll put it to good use, right?”

“Tuition. Housing. More product. Yeah, I got a place for it.”

“You make that shit yourself?” Zayne asked, watching the kid stuff the cash into his coat pocket.

“Yeah, gotta keep it clean. Lotta dirty shit on the streets right now. Some succubus mix going around. Fucking with peoples’ heads.”

“Heard about that.” Zayne could almost feel the vial of succubus blood burning a hole in his pocket.

“Stay away from that shit, man. There ain’t no coming back.”

“How so?”

“I know a guy. Overdosed on it, and now he’s locked in a trance. Like a walking zombie. Or a schizo. The comedown is supposed to be easy—no shakes, no pain. But then you don’t want to come down. The visuals are so vivid, you don’t want to come back to reality.” He glanced around and shook his head, directing his attention on Zayne again. “Those fantasies are great in the beginning, but you open that door, you open a whole lot of wounds. Wounds that have the power to drive you straight into madness.”

“Any idea who makes the shit?”

“Nah. Whoever it is, is asking for trouble. The world runs on supply and demand. With Abyzz, you get a nice steady stream of highs and lows. Majority of my business is regulars, like you, who like a nice, temporary buzz. That shit?” His brows winged, and he scratched at his jaw. “I know some bastards whose houses have been raided by crazy junkies looking for more.”

“Sounds like a dangerous way to live.”

“’Swhy I keep making my own shit. Some of these breeds who get hooked are crazy without the drug. I don’t need to wind up in a ditch because some asshole wants to fuck his dead ex.”

That comment punched Zayne right in the heart, but he kept his face stoic to keep from showing any emotion. Whoever was producing the drug obviously had a well-thought-out financial plan, if the demand was so high. But if they were using the succubi to produce it—and using succubi for anything was punishable by Orcosian law. Was it worth the risk of imprisonment?

Even if the females willingly donated their blood for it, nothing was worth having the Orcosian Lords summoning a bastard for crimes against the succubi.

“Got a name for it?” Zayne rolled the new vial around in his fingers, anxious to break into the seal at the top.

“It’s been called Rapture. On the streets, it’s known as Red Queen. But do yourself a favor and stay away from that shit.”

“Will do, man. Thanks. Take care of yourself.” Zayne gave a sharp nod, rolling up the window as the kid walked off. He tugged his sleeve up to his elbow, and the tracks of his addiction damn near glowed in the dark. Tiny silver scars, almost invisible, from the needles trailed up his forearm. Since most metal couldn’t penetrate a demon’s flesh, the syringes he used had to be laced with a small bit of Diablis steel. The unfortunate side effect of injecting it was that it burned like a bitch and left traces of the metal beneath his skin.

His black leather sheath sat inside the glove box, and with it’s retrieval, another round of tremors rushed through his body.

Fuck!

His bones stiffened, muscles twitching with the pulses of sheer agony that claimed his hand. He dropped both the vial and the sheath into the glovebox, waiting for the painful quakes to unlock his tight muscles. Like a horrible cramp, the agony twisted around his bones, holding him still, eyes squinted, until it slowly subsided.

He had to hurry. The intervals between the trembles and pain seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. Meaning he’d be in full-blown withdrawals soon.

Zayne scrambled for the needle, unzipping the leather satchel in time for a small nauseating shudder to threaten another round of cramping. He’d seen pictures of bastards who’d gone through withdrawals, looking like tetanus patients of centuries past, their bodies twisted and contorted into painful arches. Uncapping the vial, he tipped the syringe into the fluid, squinting his eyes so hard he saw stars behind his lids, while his stomach warned of eruption.

Zayne pumped his fist to pop his veins and opened his eyes, jabbing the needle into the largest in the branching map of vessels.

Cool waves of bliss stamped out the flames that threatened to pull him into another bout of pain. Instead, they fizzled into a warm, fuzzy sensation that left goosebumps across his skin. Relief was immediate. More immediate than he’d ever felt before. A smile stretched his lips as he sank back into the leather seat.

Two minutes, he’d give the drug to work its magic, before heading into the club to look for the female.

Two blissful minutes of euphoria.

Goddamn, he’d never been so relaxed before, so calm and sated. Bodhi had whipped up his best shit that time. Had Zayne known it would be that good, he’d have given the kid his car and his left nut. Last time Zayne had ever been so right was after a marathon night of sex with Shey. He could damn near smell her scent. Could taste her juices on his tongue. Zayne licked his lips as the memories of that night pulled him deeper. Deeper.

He reached down to grab hold of his straining dick and felt the tangle of silk wrap around his fingers.