Page 10 of Savage in the Streets
“I can’t imagine a guy like you would buy drugs from my low-classy brother. So what the fuck is going on?”
His face tightens, and if I’m not mistaken, seething hatred flashes in his eyes.
It looks like we do have something in common.
“I’ll take you to your room now.”
I follow Ashton into a bedroom that could very well fit my entire studio apartment inside it. The furniture is all modern, and no doubt, pricy.
I look down at my tank top and frayed jeans.
“I need to go back to my apartment to pick up some things. My clothes. My—”
“I’ll give you a few tee-shirts until we can have your stuff brought over.”
“Oh…about that,” I say sheepishly.
“What?”
“The police have an old address of mine.”
“You didn’t bother to correct them?”
“No. About a year ago, the apartment above my shop opened up, and I moved in. I didn’t bother to update my information.”
“So whose place did they search?”
“I had been renting a room from an old lady. As far as I know, she never filled it after I left. I still collect mail from her. She’s friendly. She probably didn’t tell them I had moved because I do things like bring her meals and grocery shop for her.”
“This could actually be a good thing,” Ashton says. “We can get rid of any evidence before we tell the cops your updated address, which we will have to eventually do.”
“Oh! My cat!”
“Jesus Christ, you have a cat?”
“Princess Petunia. She’s probably terrified right now.”
“I’ll look at having her boarded tomorrow.”
“Like hell!”
“I’m not going to have Princess Petunia take dainty little shits all over my Laureno, hand-knotted area rugs.”
“She’s literally all I have. The only thing that hasn’t let me down. If I go away…I don’t even know what will happen to her.”
“Then maybe you should have kept your hands out of other people’s retirement funds,” Ashton says sharply, and for the dozenth time, I’m reminded why I hate him.
“Does it make you feel good to be a prick?” I shoot back. “When have you ever had to worry about anything in your comfy, cozy life with your Harvard law degree? Am I supposed to believe that you’ve earned everything in your privileged little existence? Bet your parents sent you to the best private schools, while mine could barely get me dressed in the morning. They were too strung out.”
His face softens. Maybe there is a shred of humanity lurking in the monster standing before me.
“You’re in luck because, for once, my privilege is going to work to your advantage as I leverage my Harvard law degree to try and get you off without doing hard time.”
I swallow and do my best to hide how scared I am.
“Do you think you’ll succeed?”
His jaw shifts, like he’s not sure whether or not to deliver bad news.
