The car smelled like stale weed and something sweet that could have been either doughnuts or cookies. Vanna climbed in the front; Dex was behind the wheel. He gave her a toothy smile, which was unusual. Dex was a neo-Goth; he never smiled. His hair was long and stringy, he wore black clothes and even blacker eye shadow, and he claimed to know Dylan Klebold’s little brother. Klebold was one of the jerks who shot up Columbine years earlier, then killed himself. Vanna wasn’t sure Klebold even had a brother, but it didn’t matter. Goths were uncool.
Vanna ignored his smile and looked around. It was dark outside, but a lamppost threw a shadowy light across the car. Still, she couldn’t see much. “So where’s the shit? I gotta be home by ten.”
Dex’s grin widened, showing off uneven teeth. He liked to make her wait, even grovel. She felt her eyes narrow. This was the worst part—making nice to guys to get what she wanted. But if she wanted to get high, and she most definitely did, she had to put up with it. Compared to some, Dex wasn’t so bad. Not like Jason, the creep she’d been scoring from a few months ago. He demanded a BJ even before he’d talk business. Smelly too.
Vanna ran a hand down her long blond hair. Thick, straight, with just the hint of a curl at the ends, it was a rich shade of honey, but in the right light, it sparkled with lemony highlights. She didn’t have to do anything to it—it just was. Her mother told her it was genes, that she’d had hair like that too, although to look at her now—at least when Vanna could bear to—you wouldn’t think so. Her mother’s hair was thin, disheveled, and flyaway. Just like the rest of her. It hadn’t always been that way. When her father was still alive, they’d been a real family. Storybook land, home-cooked meals, happy endings. Vanna shook it off. She couldn’t think about the past.
She turned toward Dex. “You got something to drink?”
“Maybe.” He reached over to the backseat, felt around, and pulled out a bottle. The sweet smell intensified. Sloe gin. He passed it to her, and she took a swig. Tasted like Hawaiian Punch. The hazy memory of a kid’s birthday party washed over her. Paper hats, pink party favors, birthday cake, and red punch, so perversely sweet it made her lips pucker. She held out the bottle. “You want?”
He shook his head. She took another swig and stowed the bottle on the floor. You had to be careful with Sloe gin. The first time she drank it, she’d guzzled half a bottle and puked her guts out.
“So what else ya got, Dex?” She was hoping for some meth. The high would help compensate for fucking him or whatever he wanted as payment.
He dug into a pocket and brought out a tiny, grimy crumple of cellophane. Either meth or blow. She stared at it eagerly, already imagining its bitter taste in the back of her throat. She wanted to grab it, do the lines, feel the rush. But she had to wait. Had to be patient.
She tried to be cool, even blasé, but Dex picked up her vibe. He held the package at eye level just out of reach. “Interested in some nose candy, little girl?”
Her insides grew warm and sticky with anticipation. She swallowed her pride. “You gonna share?”
He dangled the package back and forth like it was on a chain and smirked. “What’s it worth to you, Vanna?”
If she’d had a weapon, she just might have shot him. Or stabbed him, then run away with the dope. But her only weapon was her body, and it took every ounce of self-control to use it to her benefit. “Tell you what, baby,” she purred. “You give me a hit and see what happens.”
His eyes gleamed even in the dim light. They’d parked at the back of a secluded parking lot in Littleton, Colorado, near the North Woods restaurant, although technically the area was called South Woods. Vanna didn’t give a shit what they called it or what direction it went; truth was Littleton had nothing to recommend it. Probably why they called it “Little.” The Denver suburb was just another faceless town her mother had dragged her to. Vanna had no illusions it would be the last. Since her father died, her mother flitted moth-like from town to town, trying to outrun her grief. Houston, Albuquerque, Tucson, now Denver. Always circling the sunbelt, looking for a better life, a better deal, then packing up when everything turned to shit and starting over somewhere else.
Dex took his time opening the package. “It’s crystal,” he said reverently.
Vanna’s heart beat faster, and she ran her tongue over her lips. She couldn’t help it. Another minute. That’s all it would be.
“You got a blade and mirror?” Dex asked.
“A straw, too.” She dug into her purse and produced the required tools. He laid the mirror on the dash, tapped out some crystals. She snapped on the dome light. The stuff looked a little dirty to her, not the white she associated with a better grade.
“What the fuck?” Dex growled. “Turn it off.”
“Sorry. Just had to check.” She turned it off.
Using the razor blade, he chopped the crystals into powder.
She wanted to tell him to hurry. Instead she said, “What’s it cut with?”
He shrugged. “How the fuck do I know?” He pushed the stuff across the mirror, making four fat lines, then reached for the straw. She didn’t mind snorting the stuff, although smoking was a better high. But there wasn’t enough time. She waited as he snorted a line. Then another. He squeezed his eyes shut. An ecstatic smile came over him, and he spread his arms.
Vanna took the straw and inhaled the other two lines. The rush started from a place deep inside, waves of bliss pulsing from her nose to her gut, her ribs, the backs of her knees, her toes. The rush pushed her higher, lifting her up, and she started to float above the car. Within seconds she was flying across a blue sky, cushioned by cottony white clouds. She could do anything. She couldn’t fall. No pain. No darkness. She was looking down on all the sad children of the world. And all the ones she’d babysat. She wanted to scoop them up, cradle them, bury her nose in the folds of their sweet skin. Tickle their cheeks until they giggled. Tell them it would be okay. She would protect them.
Then she glanced over at Dex. His eyes were open now; he was watching her, breathing hard. He grabbed her hand, moved it over his crotch, and pressed down. His dick was rock hard. An itch tickled her groin. With his shiny eyes, slender build, and big cock, he wasn’t so bad. She leaned back against the seat and let the itch climb up through her torso, her breasts, her throat. A motor revved through her body, vibrating, honing the itch. She was a racehorse pawing the ground, anxious to break out of the gate.
She reached over and fumbled with his zipper. When she’d freed his cock from his jeans, it sprang up, an eager soldier reporting for duty. She took it in her mouth. He groaned. She loved this moment, because she knew it was her doing. She sucked him until he started to tremble. He reached down, grasped the sides of her head between his hands, and lifted her off. She knew what he wanted. She lay back across the front seat, spread her legs, and hiked up her skirt. She never wore underwear; it took too long to get it off.
As he entered her, she sighed with pleasure. Everything was fine now. Just fine.