"Lover At Last" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ward, J.R.)

THREE


The sound of coke getting sniffed up a deviated septum made the man outside the door tighten his grip on his knife.

Fucker. What a fucker.

The first rule of any successful dealer was that you didnтАЩt use. Addicts who funded your business used. Associates you needed to leverage used. Bitches you needed out on the streets used.

Management did not use. Ever.

The logic was so sound, it was fundamental, and nothing different than, say, going to a casino that had a six-million-square-foot facility, enough catered food for a small country, and goddamned gold leaf everywhereтАФand being surprised that you lost all your money. If taking drugs was such a hot frickinтАЩ idea, why did people regularly die from the shit, destroy lives over it, get thrown in prison thanks to it?

Dumb-ass.

The man turned the knob and pushed. Of course the door was unlocked, and as he walked into the squalid room, the stench of baby powder would have overwhelmed himтАФif he hadnтАЩt gotten used to the smell on himself.

That nasty nose-pincher was the only thing he hadnтАЩt liked about the change. Everything elseтАФthe strength, the longevity, the freedomтАФheтАЩd been into. But damn, the smell.

No matter how much cologne he used, he couldnтАЩt get rid of it.

And yeah, he missed being able to have sex.

Other than that, the Lessening Society was his ticket to domination.

The sniffing stopped and the Fore-lesser looked up from the People magazine heтАЩd made the lines on. Beneath the residue, some dude named Channing Tatum was staring at the camera, all hot as fuck. тАЬHey. WhatтАЩre you doing here?тАЭ

As those beady, strung out eyes struggled to focus, the тАЬBossтАЭ looked like heтАЩd given a blow job to a powered doughnut.

тАЬI got something for you.тАЭ

тАЬMore? Oh, my God, how did you know? I only got two ounces left and IтАФтАЭ

Connors, a.k.a. C-Rider, moved fast, taking three steps forward, throwing his arm out wide, and swinging the knife in a fat circleтАФthat terminated in the side of the Fore-lesserтАЩs head. The steel blade went in deep, slicing through the softer bone of the temple, piercing the buzzed-up gray matter.

The Fore-lesser went into a seizureтАФmaybe because of the injuryтАжmore likely because his adrenal glands had just pumped a million ccтАЩs of holy-shit into his bloodstream and the stuff wasnтАЩt mixing well with the cocaine. As the little shit flopped off his chair and shimmied his way down to the floor, the knife stayed with Connors, disengaging from the side of the skull, its blade marked with black blood.

Connors met the shocked stare of his now-former superior and felt really good about this promotion he had going on. The Omega himself had come to him and offered him the job, no doubt recognizing, as they all did, that a sk8tr punk was not who you wanted in charge of any organization bigger than a poker game. Yeah, sure, the guy had been useful in growing the ranks. But quantity was not quality, and it didnтАЩt take the Army, Navy, Air Force or Marines to see that the Lessening Society was being overrun by lawless, ADHD juvies.

Hard to promote any kind of agenda with that kind of rank and fileтАФunless you had a real professional running shit.

Which was why the Omega had put all this in motion.

тАЬWh-wh-whтАФтАЭ

тАЬYou been fired, motherfucker.тАЭ

The final part of the forced retirement came with another stabbing motion, this one taking that blade and driving it right into the center of the chest. With a pop! and a show of smoke, the regime change was complete.

And Connors was the head of everything.