Lie, Baby, Lie ✔️

chapter three- wade

Chapter Three

In another lifetime, a girl like Mia Critt would be the goddamn American Dream.

Big, dark eyes, a soft, pretty face, and long legs to match. She's gorgeous, but even if she wasn't, the men in Purgatory would drool after her anyway. It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but she affected me in more ways than are acceptable by touching my face like that.

There's something about her that's dangerous. She's a temptation. A temptation that will waltz right up to you, touch your skin gently with hands that are shockingly small, and be so close to you that you can see the tag of her shirt poking out from the collar.

I've only caught glimpses of her before. She's always like a ghost, wandering around in the background. I'd be willing to bet Thomas is the one who doesn't let her wear makeup. Not that she needs it.

She's the kind of girl I need to stay the hell away from.

I take a breath after the door closes, allowing myself to finally scream in pain. My whole body hurts something fierce. I'm pretty sure my mouth is bleeding again. I can feel the warm stream of it running down along my tongue, reminding me that I am weak. That I am human.

Mia.

Shit, I need to get her off my mind.

Thomas texts me not five minutes later, and my whole body goes rigid with paranoia. If he knows I was anywhere near Mia, I'm a dead man walking. And it's not like I would get very far if I tried to run.

Thankfully, it's nothing but information for a drug run he wants me to make tomorrow. I've got a couple hours to drink myself to sleep.

I collapse on my ratty couch with the bottle, praying I'll get wasted enough to pass out soon. My head is throbbing, possibly concussed, but I've reached a point of not caring what happens to me. I mean, my most recent encounter with Mia is easily the most suicidal thing I've ever done.

I feel inclined to pray Thomas never finds out, but if God wants to strike me down, he's probably got enough of a reason to.

You don't belong here, she told me.

She doesn't know me. She's putting her faith in a man on the fast track to hell.

The tequila doesn't taste like anything after I've chugged enough of it down. I'm so drunk my mouth feels numb and there's blood probably caked and dried on the front of my teeth. If my mother was here to see me, she'd probably kill me before God could.

It's a good thing she's not, I suppose.

Normally, I'd feel ashamed for thinking anything that horrible about my own mother, but I don't have the sobriety to feel shame. Within a few seconds, I'm a passed-out, miserable bastard.

***

I dreamed of Marco last night, and it rattles me to the point I'm walking on broken glass around Thomas the next morning. He eyes me suspiciously as he loads the trunk of one of his many cars full of contraband. All I've got to do is deliver it to one of his "dispensaries" in a rough part of town. It's the kind of run I've done enough times to know the route by heart, but I'm reluctant.

I stagger forward to get into the driver's side, but Thomas stops me.

"Wade," he calls.

"Yeah?" I say as I turn around.

"Think you'll be back in the ring anytime soon?" he asks, a mocking expression on his face.

My fist wants to curl, but I don't want him to take it as a threat and pull his gun on me. He's fucking with me, and he doesn't care one bit if I want to knock his teeth out for it. I'll be back to fight in a matter of days, even if I have to limp my way there.