Page 65 of Lone Star

Eric folded his arms tight across his chest and looked down at his feet.

Jesse said, “Yeah.” The scanner wasn’t working, apparently; he wagged the Butterfinger back and forth in front of it to no avail.

“All these people getting murdered,” she continued. “It’s like there’s a serial killer out there or something.”

The scanner finally beeped. Despite the smoke-clouded glass of the door, enough sunlight filtered in to highlight the beads of sweat developing at Jesse’s temples. “Uh-huh,” he said, reaching for her money.

She didn’t hand it over. Waited instead for him to meet her gaze. He kept his chin tucked, looking at her up through lashes that trembled as he fought not to blink. He was terrified.

“Jesse,” she said, letting a bit of steel slip into her voice. “What do you know?”

He gulped audibly. “Nothing.”

Eric leaned forward, face screwed up to vicious angles. “We don’t know shit!” he hissed. “You should know, biker bitch. It’s your man’s fault.”

“Eric!” Jesse turned and thumped him hard in the chest, eyes wild. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Candy’s not doing this,” Michelle said, and both of them looked at her, Jesse still with terror, Eric with terrified fury. “But if he knew who was doing it, he could put a stop to it.”

“Bullshit,” Eric said.

Jesse hit him again, harder this time. He was shaking.

“Boys,” Eden drawled. She materialized at Michelle’s side; she hadn’t even made a sound. The clerks whipped their heads around, and Eden unrolled a Ziploc bag with a flourish, holding it between two fingers. Michelle guessed the amount of weed it held was worth more than they made in three months’ time working here.

Eric’s face went red. He made a move to lunge over the counter, and Jesse grabbed the back of his shirt. “Dude, fucking think,” he hissed in his ear. “She’s his old lady!”

“She’s not.” Gaze trained on Eden.

“But I’m a friend of his old lady,” Eden said coolly. “And an old lady in my own right. We’re not here to cause any trouble. I only have questions. Answer them honestly, and we’ll leave.” She still wore her shades, and lifted her brows above the rims. With her free hand, she adjusted her jacket, just enough to flash the butt of the gun she carried at her hip. “Sound fair?”

Eric didn’t agree, but he stopped struggling.

Jesse took a deep breath and said, “Yeah.”

“Who did you buy this from?” Michelle asked.

“I didn’t buy it.”

“A sample, then,” Michelle said. “To sway you over. Or are you now a distributor, perhaps?”

He swallowed.

“What did I say before?” Eden pressed.

“It’s a sample,” Jesse said, voice quavering. “We’re supposed to sell it.”

“Have you?”

“Some.”

“Who gave it to you?” Michelle asked. “Actually, let me rephrase that: who are you working for now?”

He fidgeted.

“It didn’t bloody fall out of the sky into that warzone you call an office. Someone put it in your hand,” Eden said sharply. “Who was it?”

Sweat glazed his entire forehead now, the skin beneath flushed.

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