Begging For Mercy by Mataya Tamara

Author:Mataya, Tamara
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Tamara Mataya
Publisher: Tamara Mataya
Published: 2019-03-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Matthew

The urge to vomit hasn’t eased in the five days since the run.

How many people will be harmed by the drugs I delivered? How many lives will be lost to overdoses or people killing each other over the product, or unpaid debts? People stealing from others to pay for their habit? How many kids left alone or hurt by parents tweaking out on the very thing I served up to the dealer?

Sure, if I hadn’t done it, hadn’t delivered the packages, someone else would have. That’s no real comfort. I don’t know for sure what was in the packages, if it was drugs at all, or the whole thing was one giant test from Aaron, checking out how I’d do if I went into business with him. But that seems highly unlikely with the amount of debt he wiped out in exchange for the deliveries.

Maybe this is how everyone feels the first time they stampede way over their ethical boundaries, until their morality dies. I don’t want mine to die, so because I’m not justifying what I did, I’m stuck with this feeling in my gut that gets worse when I look in the mirror. The guilt’s stopped me from replying to Andy’s texts.

Sweet, pure, wild Andy. If she knew what I’ve done she’d never look at me the same way again, wouldn’t let me touch her again. The drug running was a one-time thing to get a larger sum—forty thousand made it an offer I couldn’t refuse. If I wasn’t sure of it before, I know it now: I’ll never do it again. So what the hell am I going to do to get more cash? Aaron’s paid off, but we still owe Santos and the hospital, since Luke had no insurance.

Turning Samson’s offer down was easy, paying this debt down through legally gotten gains, on the other hand... I could put out some resumes, but even if I got a job that paid two grand a month after taxes, it would still take... Christ, years to make enough.

I trace meaningless patterns on the ceiling with my gaze, hoping for a solution or a meteor, which would also be a solution in a way, though wouldn’t make me feel better.

My phone buzzes. My buddy Garth. Apathy has settled over my limbs and mind, making it hard to find a reason to answer the phone, but when he hangs up and tries again, it sparks a little curiosity. What the hell, might as well answer it. “Garth, what’s up?”

“I’m glad you’re there! I’m in a bind, man. I know it’s a longshot and you’re just here on vacation, so you’re probably not looking for work, but...”

The suave wheedling in his voice perks me up a bit, and I play along, faking lightness surprisingly well. “What are you after?”

“My boss is turning sixty, and it’s also his twenty-fifth anniversary of owning the lot, so it’s sort of a big deal.”

“And you’re looking for a date for the party? Listen, I’m flattered, but—”

“Very funny.

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