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“Get up.” The voice startles me out of my reading fantasy.
It’s Friday night, and I’m enjoying some time alone—apparently not anymore. “What are you doing, Ezra?” I flip to my side so I can see her.
She’s dressed in light washed-out shorts, her signature fishnet stockings, and boots. Pairing it with a short black halter top that ties around her neck, her gold belly ring flashing in the light. “I came to get you. Get up, get dressed, we're going out.” She throws herself down in my chair and stares at me.
Ezra is… different, for lack of a better word. Barely any emotion is ever shown, few words spoken. I’ve never judged her. If we switched lives, I know for a fact that I would crumble under the pressure.
Should I go out? No. Definitely not. “I don’t think—” I begin.
“I didn’t ask. Up, Jasmine. Time to live a little.”
Sighing, I rise to my feet, going to my closet. Ezra follows, light on her feet, boots making zero sound. “This won’t work. I knew you’d have nothing to wear so I brought you something.” She walks over to a bag and pulls a small, very small, tight black dress out. It’s strapless. A gifted woman’s worst nightmare. Big breasts are not all that they are hyped up to be. They’re heavy and honestly, get in the way. Not to mention the back problems and how every shirt somehow looks provocative unless it’s baggy.
“Umm…” She sighs, getting up and trying to undress me. No boundaries, apparently. “Jesus! Okay, okay!”
I pull the pajamas off and remove my bra, opting for a strapless one. Then I slip the dress on. A little tight around my boobs, but that is expected. My hair and makeup are still done, thank God for that because I don’t think she’s in a time-wasting mood. I put on some more red lipstick, painting a heart-shaped pout. I go for flats, stopping when Ezra shakes her head like I’m a child, throwing thigh-high boots at me. Which are defiantly not mine, or hers for that matter. Where did these even come from?
I slip them on, looking like every Instagram trend come to life. I take one final look in the mirror, not feeling the least bit empowering like everyone tends to feel when they’re all dressed up.
“So, where are we going?” I ask, buckling my seat belt.
She smirks, putting the car into drive. “To get you a life.” She takes off, flooring her Bugatti down the street, drifting around curves. As if we are in one of her illegal street races.
* * *
The music is loud as the bass shakes the windows, silhouettes flashing in the flickering lights. Bodies dancing, smoke permeating the air, leaving a light layer of fog in my vision. I take in my first party. Kind of sad for being eighteen, but I’m here now. I’m not stupid enough to drink, though. You drink in a safe environment for your first time, to make sure you are taken care of. Either that or I’m a square. Not sure yet.
I’m up against a wall when leather brushes my shoulder. I look over to see Axel. His hair has grown out a bit, five-o’clock shadow covering his strong jaw. “Fancy seeing you here, nerdy girl.”
“What are doing on my side of the tracks?” I ask.
He smirks, looking out at the crowd, his eyes tracking Ezra. “Just watching. Selling. You know, the usual.”
I nod like I get it, but I don’t because I’ve always sold my drugs to one person, Axel. The Rebel MC are the only ones we’ve ever sold to. I’ve never been a legit dealer. I get why we do it. To control the flow of drugs, to make sure the product doesn’t get tainted, but I also don’t get it. Drugs kill, ruin the lives of more than just the addicts. Poisons the mind, soul, and body. My dad explained it to me once. He said by monopolizing it we can make sure things are not laced with fentanyl, that bad batches don’t reach our people. That we offer a free clinic to help addicts get cleaned. That the money goes back into the town. If we didn’t sell it then someone else would, and they wouldn’t care about our people and town like we do.
If you ask me, it’s all bullshit. Acceptable, but still bullshit.
A song I love comes on and I look to my feet. “So,” I begin, feeling nervous. Axel King is a god. Literally. “Do you dance?”
He chuckles. “I do. Do you?”
I shrug. “Not really, but I’m feeling like I might.”
He grabs my hand and leads me to the dance floor. I try and fail. Like a newborn calf trying to walk. “You need to loosen up!” he shouts over the music before coming in close. He wraps his hands around my hips, which makes me tense more. “Do you do any party drugs?” he asks into my ear.
I shake my head.
“You’re telling me you sell every kind of drug but never do any?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He looks at me, eyes narrowed in accusation. But then he pulls something out of a baggie. “What’s that?”
He smirks, shaking the baggie. “Oh, this? This is me helping you remove that stick from your ass.” He puts the pill on his tongue, grinning before grabbing me by the back of my neck and plunging his tongue into my mouth. His velvet tongue rubs with mine before the pill slips from him and down my throat.
I pull back, dazed from the encounter. “Don’t drink anything but water, got it?” He looks at me sternly.
“Yes, sir.”
He smiles. “Good. Now wrap your arms around my neck so I can teach you some moves.”
