Life Dealer Novels & Stories

"F*ck off!" "Don't tell me what to do! Now listen closely, because I don't want to repeat myself. I'm offering you a deal to work with me. You can get your revenge from that slut and that disgusting organization of theirs, and all you have to do is tell me who Caspian De Leon really is." She offered him an infamous and treasonous deal that could cost him his life.

I returned in a murmur, taking a few steps back from him. “So, we’re on our way to a dealers’ meeting,” he announced, finally, “and I want to stick by my side, as my wife.” He paused, observing my now widened eyes. “Just for today, of course.” He added with a small smirk. “What kind of dealers?” I asked moments later, when I’d found my voice. “Car?” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest at my question, and he shook his head at me. “Oh, sweet Elena,” he mumbled seconds later. “Drug dealers, not car dealers.” And my heart dropped.

I thought one more risk could buy us a new beginning. So I swallowed the drug. Five hours later, they gave me a prepaid debit card and sent me home. By the time I reached our basement apartment in Queens, pain was spreading through my lower back, and my mouth tasted like rust. I stopped outside the door, heard enough from Adrian’s phone call to understand everything, then covered my mouth as blood surged up my throat. My parents were alive. Liz was alive. The debt was fake. And the past five years had only been a punishment.

“He’s a high-level distributor who traffics drugs straight to minors. He uses children to run his dirty work, hooking them on lethal doses, and handles illegal arms trades for gangs who use those same kids to pull off his hits.” Scarlet chewed thoughtfully on the side of her bottom lip as her eyes scanned the photo. “A complete piece of trash,” she muttered, a dark anger settling over her features. “He definitely deserves to die.” Then, she placed her palms flat on the table, leaning in close. “But why do you want him dead? Isn't that what all of you are into? Drugs, arms, casinos, underground clubs where horrific shit happens? Name it. So why him?”

Information kept them alive. It was their bread and butter and put them in a position of higher power despite being on the bottom of the ladder when it came to bank balance. "I won't lie to you, I was surprised as hell when I heard you've gotten involved in the flesh trade." He shook his head. "You've always been vocal about not wanting to get involved in that." "Where did you hear this?" I asked him. "The word is on the street, Santiago. They say the Black Smoke syndicate has one of the biggest, most discreet trafficking rings in the United States." Russell informed me.

I rasped. “Maybe in the sky, it is,” the dealer mocked, spitting into the ash. “Here, it's just a souvenir. We use Silver. The Ridge-Standard. Hand it over or move on.” The rejection hit me like a physical strike. I had built a global empire on a ledger, and now I was being bankrupt by a man in a copper mask. I turned to leave, my mind already mapping the next dealer, when a shadow detached itself from a pile of industrial scrap.

The black and gold interior, the muted conversation, the smell of expensive whiskey. How much of Dad’s million dollars had been spent on this whiskey? How much had been spent on the cigars and the roulette tables and cards? A sense of resignation washes over me and I want nothing more than just to end this. If he kills me off, I can handle that. I just need to make sure he stays away from Raine. “Miss Hardings?” I hear a familiar voice say. “Tax Collector?” I blurt out, kicking myself mentally. I hear him chuckle.

I growled. The man clenched his jaws tightly and looked down at the polished oak floor. I noticed he didn't look at me once. He was such a fucking pussy. He eventually spoke quietly, and his voice was rough like gravel. "Gareth Lee," he said. "I take it that you are a drug dealer." I smirked.

And as Drake looked around the room, he knew he was in the company of people who understood the pain of loss and were willing to fight for what was right. Simon was a man of mystery and contrasts. On the surface, he appeared to be a successful car dealer, someone who had mastered the art of buying and selling vehicles with finesse. His business acumen had propelled him to the top of the car dealing world, earning him respect and envy alike. Lay a hidden identity—a gangster who operated in the shadows.

Lester says in addition. I cross my arms in silence. I don't know what to respond to his words with. I’m still quite curious about what Ryle is working on, even though I don't quite have the right to know what it is. To distract myself from the unhealthy overthinking, I turn to Lester who’s just swaying his head to the jazz playing on the stereo. “Why? You must've expected somebody who's somewhat a daughter of a billionaire too,” I say confidently. “Well, no. I’m just an inner-city high schooler with an unfortunate past, yes.” “Damn, Stella. Your words sting.”