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Cole –Eleven Years Earlier
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THIS WOULD BE THE SECOND and last time I would ever do anything for Ryan. To say I resented the guy would be the understatement of the century. He’d taken everything from me by making me push Gabi away. She hated me now, and I didn’t blame her. Everyone had warned her I was trouble when we’d first gotten together, and it had turned out they were right.
I’d had to make sure Ryan would hear that we’d broken up, and by her seeing me making out with Taylor, I’d known the news would spread and Gabi would hate me. Ryan couldn’t use her if she no longer wanted anything to do with me, and he didn’t know where I was.
As soon as I’d made this drop and got my money, I was getting the hell out of town. I didn’t know where I was going yet—my plans went no further than packing my stuff, taking the money I’d made, and the little extra I had saved up from doing chores over the years, turning up at the bus station, and taking whichever bus was heading out of town next. Everyone would find life better if I wasn’t around.
I collected the parcel from Ryan. I wanted to kill him, but he had Adam and Mike standing around him like his fucking bodyguards, and short of buying a gun and shooting the son-of-a-bitch, nothing was going to get rid of him. I figured I was in enough trouble already without heading down that route.
No, my best option was taking the money I made and leaving as soon as possible. I tried not to think about Gabi, the crack in my heart steadily widening as each hour passed, knowing I would be leaving her for good. She’d never want me back now anyway, not after seeing me kiss Taylor like that. I didn’t think it would make any difference if I told her I’d hated doing it and had been thinking of her every moment of the kiss.
She’d tell me I was sick in the head, and she was probably right.
I drove for a little over an hour. I reached Norburn and pulled into the spot where I was due to meet Ryan’s contact. I was nervous, but not as much as the last time. At least now I knew what to do and how to act. We weren’t friends meeting to hang out. This was business only, and would be quick.
No one was waiting for me when I arrived, so I stayed in the truck, the bag containing the couple of kilos of weed sitting on the passenger seat beside me. I was glad when I’d be rid of it, and heading back to town. I would hand over Ryan’s money and be out of there.
Headlights lit the parking lot behind me, and I turned to see another vehicle pulling in.
Inhaling a steady breath, I opened the driver’s door, grabbed the bag, and climbed from the truck.
“Hey, you Ryan’s friend?” the guy called out.
“That’s right.”
“You got something for me?”
I lifted up the bag, so he could see it in the car’s headlights. He waved an envelope, which I assumed contained a wedge of bills, at me in return.
I handed the bag over at the same time he passed me the envelope.
Sudden sirens blared through the night, making me jump, my heart lurching. My first thought was a storm warning, but then the roar of engines filled the air and a number of vehicles tore into the parking lot, the headlights blinding me. People jumped from the cars, doors slamming like gunshots. I was surrounded in a rush of movement, and noise, and men shouting. Confused, I lifted my arm to cover my eyes, squinting at the new arrivals. Police. I was surrounded by the cops. What the hell was going on?
“Get down on the ground!”
“Hands in the air!”
The whole of my insides plummeted as I realized the men were shouting at me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I had no choice but to do what they asked, letting the envelope I had been clutching drop to the ground. It broke open, and instead of the twenties I had been expecting, hundred dollar bills spilled out onto the asphalt. My mouth dropped. There must have been thousands of dollars scattered across the ground.
The guy I’d met up with copied my movements, dropping the bag to the ground and lowering himself down.
“No one move,” one of the cops told us, and I saw weapons pointed in both our directions.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” said the officer who appeared to be in charge.
He went to the bag I’d brought to the scene and opened it, pulling out the couple of fist sized, tape-wrapped, bundles of marijuana. Taking out a penknife, he cut open the first of the bundles, but instead of dried leaves falling, he pulled out a white powder.
Nausea washed over me and the world spun in a circle.
“What you got, sir?” another cop asked.
“Looks like cocaine, and a lot of it.” He turned to his colleague. “These boys are going to be going down for a very long time.”