Addict by Lexi Blake

my father’s daughter and he hadn’t been typical, either.
    “You haven’t acted like you care about Liv.” Alan pointed his beer bottle at me. There was a lot of accusation in that half-finished malt liquor. “She says you won’t talk to her. She’s been crying about it and shit. I don’t understand chicks.”
    “Obviously.” I didn’t like the thought of Liv crying. The truth was, Liv could easily have been convinced that what she did was best for me. Donovan and Quinn could have told her any number of things that could happen if she didn’t get me to comply. I would rather she had told me what was going on, but there was a real possibility that she thought it was for the best. I shoved aside the thought. “Have you talked to Scott lately?”
    He shrugged and I noticed the way his shirt hung off his thin frame. I hadn’t seen Alan in a couple of months. We weren’t close or anything, but I think I would have noticed if he’d joined a diet group. He used to have a nice beer belly going. Today, he was painfully thin. Like an emaciated supermodel without the pretty face.
    “I see him from time to time.” Alan’s eyes shifted from the bar back to where Trent sat. They moved quickly, as though not wanting to miss anything. “He works a lot.”
    “Yes, I heard he got a job managing the bar at the new club downtown.” I saw now that I had to treat Alan like any other reluctant witness. The trick with witnesses is to stay calm. You have to give them a nonjudgmental place to talk. Deep down, they all want to tell their story. They might give you a sob story about not wanting to get involved. Don’t listen to it. It’s crap. Everyone wants to be the center of attention, and that’s what you have to make them. It also helps if you know something about their nature. “It sounds like a pretty good gig to me.”
    Alan liked to correct people. It gave him a sense of superiority. If I wanted him to talk, I had to give him a reason to. “What the fuck do you know, Atwood?” I didn’t correct him on my new surname. “It’s a piece of shit job exactly like the rest. He thinks he’s hot shit now that he’s working for Julius Winter? That dude’s no better than Quinn, maybe worse. Scott doesn’t go out anymore. He’s always working, and for what? He’s not making good money, and he has to put up with all the…”
    Alan clammed up and fast. His face went white. That look on his face told me Scott was in serious trouble.
    “I can help him.” I kept my voice quiet. I didn’t want to spook him further, but I needed to point a few truths out to him. “Do you know what I am now, Alan?”
    “You’re the Nex Apparatus .” Alan whispered as though he didn’t want to say it too loud.
    “I am the king’s death machine.” It was what Nex Apparatus meant in Latin. “I’m a Hunter. Whatever is hurting Scott, I can kill it. I just need to know what I’m getting into. What kind of creature is this Julius Winter?”
    Alan stood up and started to scratch at his chest as though he couldn’t help himself. His hands moved in paranoid twitches. Sweat ran down his brow despite the fact that Ether was always kept at 70 degrees. “He’s a rat fink bastard is what he is. You know what they do? They give you some and it’s awesome. I mean, it is seriously amazing. Like nothing before.”
    I was still and schooled my face into a passive expression. I got the feeling that whatever they were giving away at Brimstone, it wasn’t coupons for happy hour specials. Someone was dealing and Alan was high. If it was affecting a supe this way, it was some powerful shit. Supernatural creatures metabolize drugs differently. Faeries can handle their liquor, but not hard drugs. Give a werewolf or a shifter a shot of heroin and they’ll just get pissed off you used a needle on them. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a street drug. “Did they give you a little taste and then try to charge you through the roof?”
    Alan’s red-rimmed