I used to need only one pill to get high. Then it was two. Then three.

Now it was four pills until I was experiencing the kind of bliss that easily replaced everyone and everything.

And for a time, even Aubrey.

They were at war against each other, Aubrey and the drugs. Both had a claim on me. I needed both. But they couldn’t coexist.

I had to hide the drugs from Aubrey. I had to be careful. I understood that, given what had happened to her sister, she hated them. She was as straight-edged as they came.

She didn’t understand that it was my choice to use. That I dictated when and how much I took. That being high was the greatest form of control I had in my life.

I wished things could have been as easy as holding Aubrey’s hand and skipping off into the sunset of our happily ever after. I really wanted that.

But I had responsibilities. Landon relied on me. My uncle used me. Gash and the club had me by the nuts if I didn’t do my job. And the drugs . . . they owned me. They were my key out of the prison. And even the promise of Aubrey wasn’t enough for me to throw that key away. My heart wanted to, but my mind wouldn’t let me.

So I kept her.

We all had our secrets, and the pills were mine.

And I was Aubrey’s.

She was terrified we’d be found out. She agonized over the consequences of being with me. Without realizing it, she had turned me into something ugly and shameful. And I couldn’t even blame her for that, because I already felt those things about myself.

But when Aubrey kissed me, when I was inside her, I could pretend I was enough.

She told me I was perfect, that I was smart and worthy. She tirelessly worked on building me up so that I would never have the temptation to fall.

When we were together, I believed it all. But when she left, I doubted, at least until I was with her again.

I’d put the pills between my teeth and smile while I swallowed my self-destruction.

Is there any better feeling than knowing that every pain, every hurt, every disgusting, guilt-ridden thought could be erased . . . just . . . like . . . that?

I wasn’t expecting Aubrey until after her evening class. I had roughly five hours to kill before I had to be sober. So I decided to use the time wisely. I found the bag of oxy in my dresser drawer and shook four pills out onto my palm.

I took a quick inventory of my supply. I’d have to double my price for the remaining pills to make up the difference. I should have been more worried about using the drugs that I was meant to sell.

The beating I’d received from Gash and Vin had been the warning. I wouldn’t be lucky enough to walk away next time. Marco had ripped me a new asshole a few days after I had recovered. He was pissed as hell and feeling paranoid that our other side venture would be discovered because I was being sloppy.

My drugs wouldn’t take only me down, but Marco as well. We had been skimming a cut of the door profits for over three months now. It was not enough to be noticeable, but over time it was a good bit of cash.

I wasn’t alone in my stupidity. Marco was right there with me. Greed was as much a high as the drugs. The adrenaline rush from slipping the money in our pockets was almost as addictive as the pills.

Gash was already onto me since the money from my sales didn’t equal the supply I was given. I should have been smart enough to cover my tracks. It was a moronic move, one that I would eventually pay for.

But now I’d have to toe the line and not give Gash or his trained monkeys any reason to doubt I was doing my job. And that would keep Marco’s nose clean and far away from Gash’s fist.

My head lolled on the back of the couch, my arms heavy and my head thick. I’d worry about selling the rest of the bag over the weekend.

I wondered whether Aubrey would expect some sort of boyfriend crap. I’d been inside her, laid my heart on the ground at her feet, yet I never knew what to do around her. She had me second-guessing everything.

God, when had I become such a chick about this shit?

I still had things I had to do, and as much as I wanted to spend all of my time with Aubrey, that couldn’t happen.

Now that I was thinking about her, I couldn’t stop. Even as fucked-up as I was—unable to move my limbs, my body weighted down, and stoned out of my mind—my heart slammed madly in my chest at the memory of her face. A goofy smile stretched my lips as I thought about how easy it was to be myself around her, the person I had almost forgotten how to be.

“Yo, Maxx, let me in!” a voice yelled from the other side of the door, followed by a pounding that rattled my skull.

There was no way I was getting my ass up off the couch. Fuck whoever wanted in. They needed to take a number.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the persistent knocking.

“I will kick this door down if you don’t open up!” the voice threatened.

Fuck me, chill out already.

I slowly got to my feet and sluggishly made my way to the door.

Marco shoved past me the moment I opened the door. “What the hell, man? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days!” Marco scowled as he made his way into my apartment. He headed straight for my bedroom.

The fucker had serious issues with personal boundaries.

I was having a major problem seeing straight. I knew I should be worried by Marco’s aggressive entrance, but like every time I was doped up, I couldn’t summon the energy to care.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched Marco pull out my bedside drawer, rooting around until he found the baggie of pills I had put there. He held them up to the light and started counting.

“Make yourself at home,” I slurred, swinging my hand out in front of me in a sweeping gesture.

Marco tossed the bag onto the bed and advanced toward me. My mouth was frozen in a lazy smile, which I could tell pissed Marco off.

He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and shook me. I tried to shove him off but with no success.

“What the fuck?” I mumbled, trying to get away from him.

“You’ve been taking them, haven’t you? You’re supposed to be selling them, not eating the shit for breakfast!” he yelled into my face.

Marco was a scary dude to most people. But I remembered him when he wore his pants around his knees, was covered in acne, and had no game whatsoever. He’d been a joke. Now he liked to think of himself as a badass. But a few years of weightlifting and covering his face in metal didn’t erase the fact that he used to be the biggest douche on the planet.

“Don’t start with your goddamned lectures. If I wanted advice, I wouldn’t be asking for it from the guy who let some cracked-out chick pierce his junk with a needle,” I said with a smirk, shoving Marco hard in the chest and sending him stumbling backward.

Even fucked-up out of my mind, I could still take him. I grabbed my dick crudely and flipped him off. I went to the bed and picked up the baggie, shoving it back in the drawer.

“Stay the fuck out of my stuff,” I warned, pointing at him with a wobbly finger.

Marco sneered, stretching his lips in an ugly grin.

“So what’s your great plan, Maxx? How the fuck are you going to make the money back so Gash won’t shove your nose up your own asshole? Come on, tell me your latest stroke of genius! I’m dying here.” Marco flopped down on the bed and put his muddy combat boots up on my sheets. Not that they were clean or anything, but I didn’t appreciate him messing up my shit.

“Get your boots off my bed, man,” I told him, though my voice sounded weak in my ears. Messed up and wanting a nap was not the way to have a confrontation. I could barely keep my eyes open. Marco was seriously screwing with my high. I’d have to kick his ass for that later.

Marco ignored my comment as he continued to regard me. “Look at you, Maxx. You are fucked-up. If Gash saw you like this, you’d be wearing your rib cage as a hat. What the hell is up with you?” he asked, sounding a mixture of angry and concerned.