Drug Dealer Books Novels & Stories

“This is what he does secretly, while playing the game of a clean mobster. Pills and girls. And he's using your trucks to move product and transport them.” My stomach dropped. There's no fucking way. I know Kielan isn't a saint, and had enough blood on his palms, but there was no way…. He said he didn't deal with drugs. He wouldn't lie to me. “No,” I said out loud, my voice cracking. “He wouldn’t—”

How I yearned for the good old days when I hopped about the bookshop, checking for story books and picking the ones with the most colorful and captivating covers and titles. It was so much fun and It was definitely in my plans for my future kids when I had my own family. I read books to escape reality, to keep myself busy, to keep my mind off overthinking, and to improve my vocabulary and speech. I flipped my fingers over the books, deliberating on which would be my read for the weekend. I had all seven books in the Harry Potter series and I had read only three. With the aid of my thumb and my index fingers, I picked out the book, ‘Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.’

However, if I did not go on, I might never retrieve the money I lost previously. Conflicted feelings gripped me. My mind was a mess. During my hesitation, the result of another game was out. I casually glanced at it and widened my eyes. Book Lover had countless chips on the ranking list as shown on my phone screen. He went all in, placing a bet of 5 million dollars on the banker. The banker gained thirteen points while the player gained ten points. Book Lover won 30 million dollars. I fixed my gaze on the phone screen with fierce envy. 30 million dollars was enough to buy two McLarens.

I say, chugging half of my beer. My gut flips thinking about Hazel riding in a car with drugs. With a loaded gun that isn’t in capable hands. There’s no way Hector knows his way around any real weapons, let alone how to protect her. It’ll only take one junkie who doesn’t know who he is, or they’re too high to care. “There’s this too,” he says, waving at the bartender who brings a newspaper. My gut fully sinks as I take in the headline: “Drug Dealers Robbing Drug Dealers, Five Dead.”

But Mikhail was taking this as an insult to the injury. “I don’t have slick brains, Rhys. I am the muscle. I do what muscles do.” Mikhail killed the head and tail lights, coming in close and parking on the side of the curb, few blocks away from where Evan had been earlier. Behind red brick mortar lay a room full of small-time drug dealers of whom were half junkies themselves. Their idea of selling samples was using on themselves. Mikhail climbed the set of bricks, gripping on to the ones standing out for support and peeked inside. The one in white flannel shirt was the oldest, with a beer and cell phone in his hand. The rest four appeared kids in their early twenties. They were relaxed, play

I gritted. "I do. Because i always got men. On the inside, on the outside. With the fbi and everywhere" He said. "I got my eyes everywhere and before anything is done, i'll know" He boasted whilst i sighed. His ego was very much attractive to me. And his voice had me even questioning my sexuality, i really had no idea how much i was into drugdealers and mafias. I immediately thought of adding that to my book as i typed it in my phone. I was still writing that and it might have been slower than i thought. But afterall, i was just in chapter four. There was some silence between us before he broke it—

The names of all their partners, lawyers, business transactions… “Vincenzo Bellavanti, twelve thousand grams of ketamine…” I whispered to myself as I scaled through the document. With every turning page, it became more clear to me that not only are these people drug barons, they are also gamblers and everything illegal. Seconds dissolved into minutes and a sudden heading, ‘FAMILIES’ flashed my eyes. Oh there’s more? I turned the page, holding onto my breath like an explosive was waiting for me on the next page.

No deliveries were scheduled for Sundays, yet here they were—clear signs of movement. Meekey crouched by a dumpster and waited. Sure enough, thirty minutes later, a beat-up gray van rolled down the alley, paused at the door, and honked twice. The back opened from the inside. Fast hands passed out crates—marked “Equipment” in bold stencil. She wasn’t close enough to see what was really in them, but she knew it wasn’t jump ropes. Drugs. Maybe weapons. Maybe both. Same old Drew. But cleaner and Smarter.

He yelled and stood up. He walked to the window and whined down the blinds. The sun penetrated through, showing his full face. A scar ran down his face, a big faded cut on his cheek. He stood still, watching through the blinds. Who took it? Who had the guts to take my Containers? He yelped. Boss... please calm down, we'll get it back. Spider assured. Those containers were filled with 10 billion drugs readied to be smuggled to Russia. Do a clean job and bring it back, Spider.

'𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞' -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 5:𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎