knew, each and every last one of them. Still, all pack animals needed a leader, didn’t they? Goddamn right, they did.
Consider the job filled.
The overwhelming scent of marijuana filled Nicholas’s nostrils as Claire Bishop looked up at him and said, ‘You’re pretty cute, you know that? Way cuter than most of the guys around here, at least. What school do you go to?’
‘St Christopher’s,’ Nicholas lied, feeling entirely confident that a public-school slut like this wouldn’t know anybody there. Or at least not enough people to call him out of on his lie.
‘Cool,’ Claire said, buying it hook, line and sinker. ‘You smoke weed? We’ve got some real killer shit here. Got it over on the east side.’
Nicholas lifted his eyebrows. The truth of the matter was that he hadn’t smoked marijuana before – never any interest in it, really. Not only did he not care for the smell, he already had enough drugs coursing through his system on a daily basis to tranquilize a goddamn elephant, and he certainly didn’t need any more to throw off his already-delicate chemical balance. That being said, there was no way in hell he was going to tell Claire that. Not when he was this close to finally becoming a real man. ‘Nah,’ Nicholas said. ‘Not any more, at least. Marijuana’s for kids. I only fuck with hard drugs now.’
Claire Bishop widened her big blue eyes at that, clearly impressed by what he’d just said. Not to mention by the way he’d said it. Mr Cool all the way; that was Nicholas, all right. A regular Marlon Brando.
Claire stuck out her chest again in an obvious attempt to regain control of the situation on the pure strength of her budding feminine wiles. Clueless little thing, wasn’t she? Lifting up her own eyebrows into twin question marks on her smooth forehead, she said, ‘Oh yeah? Is that a fact?’
Nicholas nodded. ‘Yeah. It is.’
‘Like what, tough guy? What kind of hard drugs do you fuck with?’
Nicholas shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Heroin. Speed. A little bit of coke every now and then.’
Another direct hit. From the admiring looks on the girls’ faces, Nicholas could tell he was playing this like a pro. Not too shabby for his first time through the course, if he did say so himself. But right now he had more important things to worry about. More exciting things to worry about. And he needed Claire Bishop to help him along. If only the silly little bitch would hurry the fuck up already so that they could get this aggravating dog-and-pony show on the road.
‘You got any drugs on you now?’ the girl asked. ‘Me and my friends like to party too, you know. Don’t bogart all the good shit for yourself.’
Nicholas looked away from her, over her, past the top of her head and out at the traffic that was whizzing by on Reynolds Street forty yards away. Like he had somewhere more important to be. Somewhere cooler to be. ‘Nah,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t have any good shit on me right now, but I’ve got some close by. I guess I could show you if you want. But you have to promise not to tell anybody. You can never tell.’
Claire Bishop spoke for the entire group without hesitation. Clearly, the role of unquestioned leader was one she was used to occupying. She’d been the alpha dog before Nicholas had arrived on the scene, and from the look of things she wasn’t quite ready to relinquish that lofty position just yet. ‘Hell yeah,’ she said. ‘Let’s go. Where are they? I’m bored and it smells like shit back here anyway. Who in the fuck would ever eat anything from McDonald’s? Fucking gross.’
Nicholas closed his eyes while he pretended to consider her proposition – just long enough to have all the girls practically panting for his answer. Nothing more than a pack of scared little puppies looking for some direction. For a firm hand to guide them. Looking to be told what to do. And, much like dogs, Nicholas had learned, women were laughably easy to train. Except for one, of course. But that was neither here nor there at the moment.
Nicholas opened his eyes again and looked directly at Claire this time, pointedly ignoring the others. ‘We can’t all go,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some drugs close by, but I don’t want to attract any attention. If my parole officer sees me he’ll know something’s up and then I’ll be in