Page 6 of Deceit & Destruction

“You got twenty-four hours, Baller. Don’t fucking disappoint me.”

My mother’s face flashes before my eyes. Disappointing Primo will get me in all kinds of trouble but disappointingherwill break my cold fucking heart. I stare him straight in the eye.

“I got you, Primo.”

Then I take the bag from him and sling it over my shoulder.

Twenty-four hours.

It’s not a lot of time.

But it’s enough to make or break this dreamer.

* * *

Joggingup the stairs of my apartment building, I reach into my back pocket for my keys. I got an hour to change and sort Primo’s stash before my shift at Dizzy’s begins. In that time, I also need to get in touch with my regulars, let them know The Baller is back in business.

What I do not have time for is what greets me when I swing open the apartment door. Actually it’s not what, it’swho. After the way I stormed off this afternoon, I didn’t expect to find Webber sporting a cocky grin. If anything, I figured he’d rip me a new asshole.

But here he is.

Happy as a fucking clam.

I close the door behind me, my grip tightening around the strap of my duffel bag as I narrow my eyes at him.

Something is up.

Webber has two moods, jerkoff and supreme jerkoff. This happy, smiling shit falls into foreign territory.

“What’s wrong with your face?”

“Manners, Robinson,” he chastises, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “We have company.” He turns us, guiding me to the living room where a pretty little red head sits on our couch clutching a wastepaper basket—mywastepaper basket, as in the one I keep under my desk in my room. My gaze slides from the basket to her pale face. Every feature ordinary except her wide, blue eyes. They’re the color of the ocean and if I wasn’t so pressed for time, I might be inclined to stare at them some more. Maybe count the freckles that dust her nose and cheeks too. There’s something about freckles…they’re like a galaxy of stars on a person’s skin, just waiting for the right person to come and explore them.

Whoa.

Back up Robinson.

She’s not even my type. I prefer a busty brunette over a ginger any day. Curves are a plus too and if she’s got a nice round ass, well, then,jackpot! Ginger Spice might have all those things, but it’s hard to tell from the way she’s sitting and the smock she’s wearing.

Webber gives my shoulder a squeeze.

“Robinson, meet Cassie Phillips.”

Fuck.

I should’ve expected this kind of sneak attack from him, the kid can’t mind his business to save his life. Before I can react, and by react I mean kill Webber, Ginger—er, Cassie moans or maybe she whimpers—whatever it is it’s brief because she lurches forward and vomits right in my trash can.

Double fuck.

“Shit,” Webber hisses as he steps around me and rushes to the girl. Trying to process whatever the fuck is going on I watch my roommate gather the strange girl’s hair away from her face. “I thought you said you wouldn’t do that anymore if I gave you crackers.”

The girl responds with a heave.

“What the fuck is going on?” I growl, roughly pushing my fingers through my hair. “Why is she here and why in God’s name is she throwing up in my trash can?”

I really am stuck on the trash can thing for some reason.

Webber lifts his chin, his eyes meeting mine.

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