Vice (Tortured Heroes Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

back down next to the dumpster. He took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and picked up an empty syringe between his fingers.
    “Jesus,” I said, tearing a hand through my hair. Floyd stood holding the back door open as Kinney brought a listing Bella through.Floyd snorted through his nostrils. I couldn’t tell if he was more pissed off at Bella or Kinney.
    Jase stood at the bottom of the stairs holding the syringe in the handkerchief. I couldn’t read him. He was pissed, that was clear. We all were. This was a hell of an introduction to the job. God knows what ran through his mind. This wasn’t the kind of place I ran. He could do anything. He could call the cops. He could quit on the spot. He looked up at me, then back at the syringe. He worked something out for himself, took a deep breath, and then flicked the syringe into the dumpster, handkerchief and all.
    “You gonna be responsible for her?” he said to Kinney as he took the stairs two at a time and brushed past me heading back into the kitchen.
    Bella leaned against Kinney with her head on his shoulder. She flashed Jase a peace sign and started to giggle. I wanted to fucking strangle her, but my heart thudded with relief that it looked like the crisis was passed.
    “Yeah,” Kinney said, his eyes on me.
    “Take her home,” Jase said. “See if you can get her to throw up. A lot. Then get as much water down her as you can.”
    Kinney nodded. “Sure. Yeah. Thanks, man. Thanks, Devin.”
    I put a hand up. “Don’t start. Do everything Jase said. I’ll cover the bar. And as soon as Bella’s lucid again, tell her she’s fired.”
    Kinney opened his mouth to protest but thought the better of it as I brushed past him and headed back to the bar. I turned at the last second and looked at Jase. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, chest heaving with the same contained rage I felt.
    “Well,” I said. “Welcome to The Dive Bar . You’re hired.”

Chapter Three
    J ase
    Shady Pines Rehabilitation Center It was an odd place for a clandestine meeting, but as I pulled into the parking lot, I kind of got it. Though I didn’t see a pine tree anywhere, there was plenty of shade. Large red maple trees provided a natural canopy over the sidewalk. Round stone tables lined the yard on either side. They were all empty now save for one. I parked as far away from the entrance as I could and walked toward the table closest to the entryway of the red brick building with darkened windows.
    He sat with his back facing me, in a gray suit that stretched tight through the shoulders. His bald head gleamed under the noon sun and he sipped from a Styrofoam travel mug. Not one of the fancy ones you get at Starbucks. One of the shitty paper ones you get at the gas station. He didn’t turn when I approached but he knew I was there. Probably made me the second I turned in from the street.
    I did a quick scan of our surroundings. I know he would have done the same thing before I got here, but it never hurt to have a second pair of eyes. At least fifty yards from the front of the building, I doubted anyone sitting inside would think much of the two of us sitting at that table. No foot traffic. It was just us. Two guys, hanging out on a crisp summer morning drinking shitty coffee.
    He didn’t look up from his mug when I sat on the opposite bench. Stan Lewandowski, Chief of Police, Northpointe PD ran his thumb along the rolled edge of his coffee cup and squinted at me. He looked older than his nearly sixty years. Deep lines ran across his forehead and creased his doughy face. He had a dark mole high on his left cheekbone. His brown tie looked like it probably matched the shitty coffee more than it did his dark gray suit. I’d bet a million dollars the white dress shirt beneath it had short sleeves.
    He leaned across the table and held out his hand to shake mine. We’d done this before, the first time I met him a few weeks ago at some seedy bar ten miles out of town. He’d chosen the