Life Dealer 소설 & 이야기

“But Ari I can’t leave you here. I cannot, you are like a sister to me. I can’t…’” “You don’t have a choice, Laura. I am not Leigh-Ari you used to know. That little girl who got drunk over one shot vodka is long gone. I am no longer just a mere surgeon. I am a drug dealer; I am involved with all kinds of bad stuff. I smuggle cocaine and all kinds of drugs you could think of. I sit on the throne as I watch people die from overdose because I don’t give a fuckin’ damn about their low-ass lives anymore. As long as I am alive and breathing, with money surrounding me, then I am fuckin’ okay. You cannot stay here.” I screamed, hoping she would understand. She got up and wiped her tears angrily, the

He found him. "My oh my, if it's not my big brother Lukan." He muttered with a one sided smile creeping on his lips. His eyes found the other faces, he knows them. And definitely would not forget those faces. Baxter's family that brought his silent and enjoyable life into something far greater than being just a boy of the Harmonica fall. He's now a big time drug dealer, smuggler and a killer. "What a great time you're having, let me stain that for you." He mumbled while tapping his thumb on his wheel. Green light came and the van took off than him. "This is why you should not keep your tits calm, people. Death is chasing you."

He sweetly smiled. "Please, have mercy." "You know me too well, Burg. Should've thought of that before agreeing to work for me and breaking your part of the deal." Sean was a retailer in the drug distribution hierarchy and Deathstroke a wholesaler he—Sean—hoped someday will introduce him to the prime sources. And because he hated doing the 'dirty belittling' job as he crowned it, he built his very own hierarchy where he was the leader, where he recruited, and people worked for him. And so he named them Auxiliary dealers. Had it not been for circumstances spiced with sheer jealousy, Sean deemed himself to have been a gasconading Drug Lord.

He grumbled with both eyes shut. Luka was my little brother, whose biggest dream has always been of him becoming an artist which my father has clearly been against. Instead he always wanted him to be part of the business just like me. “Get Mike and the others, we have goods coming in tonight. I wouldn’t want the eyes of the police department on those goods in particular,” “Why is that father?” I asked, knowing he was at it again. Probably into smuggling like old times, and that angered me to the veins.

Those amateurs were not assassins and should not even be classified as such. "Assassinations," he said with a lazy grin at the pause, and I beckoned him to go on. "But after some digging, I discovered that Mr. Dain Saints deals with drug dealers from Russia. He also sells young girls aged twenty to twenty-five from time to time." He looked disgusted as he said the words, and I was too. I had been too lax in my control of this city, it would seem. "That's disgusting," I mumbled as I brought the glass of wine to my lips. That's when I smelled it.

“You thought I was a small loan shark?” Clicking my tongue, I hold his gaze a bit before saying, “Dealer.” He laughs out loud and even without looking at Dario or the others, I could swear that they are sweating sweat and tears. Maybe they are worried about the fact that they would have to work extra hours as they would have to dispose of my body. “Why a dealer?” He asks, watching me intently as I take a sip of my glass. “Well, because of the club. The ones that manage a club are mostly into dealing or trafficking… As I was hoping you weren’t a human trafficker and weren’t acquiring me through some sort of Lover-Boy-tactic… I figured that you must be a dealer.”

One time he was threatening us with dying, and now he was letting us go. "I'm sorry, sir," he begged as tears rolled down my face. "I never meant to hurt you. The orders were given." The CEO looked confusedly at him, not knowing what to make of the abrupt change in behavior. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What's going on here?” He was a tragic figure, this man, one now clad in deep yearning: "I'm just a pawn," he said, "in a larger game. And I don't want to play anymore."

He paused for a minute then sighed. “Dillion was going through the files we brought from Mendoza’s compound and found out who his dealer is.” I waited for him to tell me. “Well, who the fuck is it?” He took a deep breath. “It is Joseph King, the leader of the Suicide Kings.” I inhaled deeply and then let it out slowly. The Suicide Kings were the only gang in New York that was bigger than ours. Joseph King was a badass and I realized that I may have just made a deal with the devil.

If I was going to hell anyway, might as well get paid for it. "When?" I asked. "Tonight." The dealer was easy to find. Holed up in a motel room on the edge of town, high on his own supply. No family. No friends. No one who'd miss him. That's what I told myself as I put the gun to his head. That's what I told myself as I pulled the trigger. That's what I told myself as I walked out with twenty thousand dollars in blood money. It didn't help. The Devils paid me. Word spread to other clubs. The calls started coming.

A fifty-year-old lean brat who uses his prosecutor wife to cover up his track of skin trades. He has a gang that drugs homeless people, stealing their organs and selling them. "Wealth?" Carlos chuckled. "Wealth is never enough for a gentleman. We all at this table would agree with that fact." Another tear of laughter from them. Bastards. They are all dying tonight.