“Excellent,” he says. “Now, if I were you, I would throw that body over that embankment. Let it roll down into the forest below. Should take quite a while for it to be discovered.”
I look at him, horrified. The last thing I want to do is touch the corpse. But, when I look at Trujillo, it's clear that this is part of the lesson he's trying to teach me. Reinforcing what happened tonight in my mind. He gives me another nod and walks back to the SUV, allowing the driver to open the door for him.
I watch as the car drives off, leaving me standing there alone in the darkness. Well, not entirely. Not if you count the corpse at my feet. Not knowing I had anything left in me, I double over and puke all over the body of the dead man again. Apparently, I needed to add more insult to his injury.
“Sorry, kid,” I say.
As I struggle to drag the body over to the hill at the edge of the rest stop, adrenaline is coursing through me and my heart is thundering in my chest. If Trujillo can do this to his nephew, the thought of what he'll do to me leaves me breathless, my stomach tied in knots.
I look at the face of the dead man a moment before pushing him over the edge, listening as he rolls noisily through the undergrowth, not knowing how in the fuck I'm going to come up with the money I owe Trujillo.
Chapter Two
Brayden
“Look, man,” I say, “in the long run, you're going to be better off. She wasn't good for you, Trey.”
My best friend looks at me and downs the shot of bourbon in his glass. His eyes are red and rheumy, a look of misery etched upon his face. Trey sniffs loudly and slams his glass down on the bar, drawing the attention of a few of the people sitting around us.
“I loved her, man,” he says.
I nod and pat him on the shoulder. “I know you did, man.”
We're sitting at the bar in the Yellow Rose Lounge, a quiet place where people can go to have a drink and conversation. Furnished in dark woods, with soft, dim lighting, it's more peaceful than your average watering hole. The music is kept low enough that you don't have to shout to be heard, and the flat panel televisions showing highlights from various games are kept on mute.
The Yellow Rose is a lounge that caters to business professionals and people who want to have a quiet drink, a mellow conversation, or be alone with their thoughts. There are plenty of bars in Austin that cater to the hellraisers and I've been known to patronize those places now and then.
But, it's also nice to have a place like the Yellow Rose for times when I need some quiet solitude. Or, when I need help nursing a friend through a bad, bitter breakup. The bartender pours Trey another shot – which he immediately downs.
“Might as well leave the bottle,” I say.
The bartender pauses and gives me a considering look, knowing he shouldn't leave a bottle with customers. I think it's a law or something. Reaching into my pocket, I drop a couple of hundreds down on the bar, which seems to relieve him of his inner-conflict. He quickly scoops up the cash, sets the bottle down, and strolls down to the other end of the bar.
I pour Trey another shot, which he downs almost instantly and then holds his glass up for another. Not wanting to see him pass out or die from alcohol poisoning, I know I need to pace him. I set the bottle back down on the bar in front of me and turn to my friend.
“I know you can't see it now, but this is a good thing, man,” I say. “You have your freedom back. You're young, good looking, have a great job – just think about how much pussy you're going to get.”
“I don't want pussy,” he moans. “I want Stephanie back.”
I groan inwardly. Stephanie is a terrible human being. I haven't liked her since they first started dating back when we were all going to Stanford together. She was always too pretentious and condescending for my liking. Always looked down on people and seemed to think that she was better than everyone else.
No, Stephanie and I never got on well at all. I know that it’s always bugged Trey, but some people just don't click. I never went out of my way to be an asshole to her – at least, not usually. But, I was never overly-friendly to her either. I have a hard time making nice with somebody I despise.
Truthfully, I want to do fucking cartwheels and throw a party now that she's out of Trey's life. I genuinely think he'll be better off without her. And that he'll find a much better woman. I pour out another shot – a smaller amount this time – and Trey pounds it down, slamming his shot glass onto the bar again.
“I really thought she was the one, man,” he says, sniffing loudly.
“Yeah, well, I don't want to be an asshole,” I say, “but you usually aren't going to find the ‘one’ down on her knees sucking some other guy off in your house.”
I feel bad for slapping Trey with such a hard dose of reality, but he needs it. Stephanie is about as close to the one for him as I am. I tried telling him that back in college. I've always suspected she had a side piece, but I couldn't ever prove it. And mentioning it to Trey was as useful as talking to a brick wall about it. All he ever saw in Stephanie was the good. Or at least, what he perceived to be good. But really, there is not much that's good about that woman.
Personally, I'm glad that he went home early that day to surprise her. I’m glad he walked in on her with that guy's dick in her mouth. Seeing that firsthand, as much as I’m sure it was painful, was about the only thing that could pull off the rose-colored glasses he's always seen Stephanie through. Receiving that cold slap of visual proof of what a conniving, backstabbing bitch she truly was – is the only thing that could pry him away from her.
At last, he got to see her for the selfish, gold-digger I've always known her to be. I just hate that Trey is hurting so badly because of it. Because of her.
“I still can't believe she'd do this to me,” he says, shaking his head.
I can. I've believed it for years, and maybe this is just me being a bit of an asshole, but I feel slightly vindicated by it.
“I know, Trey,” I say. “I know you can't.”
“You tried to tell me,” he says, tapping his glass against the bottle. “You tried to tell me years ago. Don't think I forgot about that. I was a fucking jerk to not listen to you. You were right about her. All along, you were fucking right.”
I wouldn't go so far as to call him a fucking jerk, but a lovesick idiot, yeah. I pour him another shot and watch him power it down, his eyes growing glassy, and starting to sway on his barstool.
“You're not a jerk, man,” I say. “I get it. You were in love –”
“I was a fucking idiot,” he slurs.
“Don't worry about it,” I say. “We all do stupid shit, man. Especially when it comes to people we love – no matter how unworthy they are.”
Trey nods and slides off his barstool. He stands there on unsteady legs for a minute, looking at me through eyes shimmering with tears. He pats me on the shoulder and gives me a shaky nod.
“Gotta take a piss,” he slurs.
I watch him as he walks to the rear of the bar toward the bathrooms, swaying and staggering a bit as he goes. I shake my head. Trey is in bad shape and I don't know how to snap him out of it. I'm not very good when it comes to touchy-feely shit. Not really my area of expertise. It's also probably one of the reasons I've never been in a long-term relationship like Trey.
I down a shot and pour myself another. Looking at my watch, I curse under my breath. It's getting late and I've got a big meeting in the morning. I'm trying to close a deal on a big redevelopment project in Dallas and I need to be sharp. This project is potentially worth millions and I can't afford to drop the ball because I'm exhausted and hungover. I need to go over a few notes and get some shut-eye. I can't really afford to hold Trey's hand all night.