CHAPTER 7
KRAITIVE
This chapter has A BONUS SCENE available: DeathSnack
The Huntsville trip wasn’t a reward or a vacation.
It was more of a recon mission with a splash of wellness check.
Don had been getting reports for months—dues late or missing, meetings skipped, Barry treating the charter like a social club instead of a chapter. Too many shitkickers, too many old cowboys drinking on Krait colors and not pulling their weight.
So Don sent Lane.
Not to ask questions but to remind them what Krait actually was.
Diablo went with him because Huntsville needed more than a warning. It needed teeth.
A few days.
That was all it should take.
Lane hit the edge of Huntsville just before noon.
The air changed first.
It got heavier. Wet. The kind that stuck to skin and didn’t let go. Humidity clung to his throat when he breathed, thick with rot and standing water and something faintly metallic. Insects buzzing loud enough to feel like static under the helmet.
This wasn’t Dryden anymore.
The old Huntsville clubhouse came into view at the end of cracked pavement road forgotten completely by City Planning or whoever was in charge of this shithole.
Lane killed the Hardline’s engine and sat there a moment, helmet still on, scanning.
The building leaned—not dramatically. Not enough to fall. Just enough to lie. Tin roof patched in three different colors. One window boarded, another shattered and never bothered with. Rust bled down the brick in long, vertical streaks like old wounds that never healed.
A hand-painted sign peeled off the wall near the door:
PRIVATE PROPERTY
The red letters had run into the rust.
“Jesus,” Diablo muttered as he swung off his bike. “This place looks like it lost a fistfight and kept going.”
Lane was pissed. He exhaled through his nose and walked in slowly.
Inside, the air was worse. Mold. Old beer. Something rotting, probably a dead animal. The bar had been bolted crooked to the floor. Pool table stripped for parts. Bullet holes in the back wall painted over without bothering to fill them. A Single Krait MC banner hung crooked, sagging in the middle like it had given up.
Just like the charter’s president.
“Where is this fucking asshole?” Lane said and moved through the rest of the building in silence. Back rooms told the same story—sleeping quarters bleeding into storage, storage bleeding into things that never stopped being illegal. No order. No discipline. Just survival stretched thin.
A door at the end of the hall was half open.
Lonesome, On’ry and Mean and laughter leaked out.
A woman’s laugh—thin, cracked, wrong. The clink of glass. A mattress squealing under careless weight.
Lane stopped.
Diablo exhaled slowly through his nose. “Ah. There he is.”
Lane pushed the door open.
Barry was sprawled on the bed naked. A woman was draped across his chest, giggling at nothing—skinny, jittery, track marks like constellations up her arms. An empty bottle lay tipped over beside the mattress, whiskey bleeding into the carpet.
His kutte had been tossed on the floor like dirty laundry.
That bothered Lane more than the rest of it.
Barry squinted, slow and unfocused. “Well I’ll be fucked,” he slurred. “If it ain’t the perfect Krait—”
Lane took one step forward.
The room went cold.
“Get rid of that.”
The woman froze.
Barry blinked. “What?”
“Now. Get the fuck out of here,” Lane said looking at her now. Flat. Unraised. Worse than shouting.
The woman scrambled off the bed, grabbing for her clothes, eyes darting between Lane and Diablo. She didn’t wait for permission. Bare feet slapped against the floor as she bolted past them and down the hall.
The door slammed.
Silence.
Barry tried to sit up and failed, dropping back onto the mattress with a grunt. “Jesus, Kount—”
Lane leaned in just enough that Barry could see his eyes.
“You’re in deep shit, cowboy.”
Barry swallowed.
The air hummed around them. Bugs screaming outside. The building breathing like it knew what was coming.
Lane straightened, calm as ever.
“This,” he said, glancing once around the room, “is done.”
Barry opened his mouth.
Lane cut him off.
“You don’t run Krait colors like a flop house. You don’t bleed the charter dry. And you sure as hell don’t forget what the patch is for.”
Barry stared at him, sober fear finally pushing through the booze.
Diablo leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. “Fuck around and find out.”
Lane turned toward the hall.
“Get dressed,” he said over his shoulder. “We’re taking inventory.”
Barry didn’t move. “I wanna talk to Don. I ain’t having no fucking kid come to my house barking orders.”
Lane paused.
“You got two minutes,” he added. “If you ain’t out here with your kutte on, I’ll bring your head to Don’s table myself.”
Diablo shook his head and followed Lane.
the nest - dryden
Kait killed the engine and stayed mounted longer than necessary. The Kriger ticked beneath her, cooling fast.
Kolton swung off his bike too quickly, already talking. “We should eat,” he said. “I’m starving. You want—”
She was already walking.
Inside, lunch was being set up.
Plates clinked. A radio murmured low from the back. Someone laughed near the pool table, then stopped when they noticed her.
Melanie stood behind the counter.
She didn’t look up right away.
Her movements were precise. Mechanical. She lined plates the way someone does when they’re holding themselves together by muscle memory alone. Hair pulled back too tight. Pale face, puffy eyes.
When she finally glanced up, her eyes flicked past Kait instinctively.
To the empty space.
She froze for half a second.
Then she smiled.
It didn’t reach anywhere important.
“Lunch is almost ready, guys,” Melanie said, voice steady in the way people get when they’ve practiced it. “Chili. Cornbread. I got your toast, though, of course. I know you skipped breakfast,” she said with a smile that took every effort she had left.
Kolton nodded too fast. “Smells good, when was the last time you had chili, babe?”
Kait only blew a raspberry. She heard him but wasn’t listening. She was mesmerized by seeing heartbreak in physical form.
Kait watched her for a moment longer than polite.
Melanie’s hands shook when she thought no one was looking.
Lane had been quiet for weeks.
Now he was gone.
And Melanie knew.
Don emerged from the office, jacket off, sleeves rolled up like it was any other day. Klaus followed, already scanning faces, clocks, exits.
“Eat,” Don said, like it was an order. “We’ve got a lot to cover.”
Chairs scraped. The room came back to life.
Kolton asked for the salt. Melanie reached for it and knocked it over
Loraine was already there. Her hand settled on her back, steady, practiced.
“Careful, it’s bad luck,” she murmured picking up the shaker and passing it to Kolton.
“Sorry, thanks.” Melanie moved down the counter, setting bowls out with quiet efficiency. When she reached the empty spot where Lane usually sat, she hesitated.
Then she skipped it.
Kept moving.
“Melanie,” Kait said, calm. “Can I get my toast?”
Melanie blinked, like she’d been somewhere else entirely.
“Shit, of course. Sorry,” she said, already turning back toward the kitchen.
Kait took her seat at the edge of the table. When the toast came, she broke it in half and spread strawberry jelly with slow, deliberate strokes. No rush. Like it was muscle memory.
Ram watched her.
“…Alright. I gotta ask.”
She looked up. “What?”
Kolton leaned back. “Every morning.”
“Yup,” Mack confirmed.
Blaze snorted. “She carries jelly like it’s ammo.”
“What happened?” Kait said.
Ram ignored him. “No, your road name. Is it ToastSnack?
Kait snorted. “Huh?”
“Your roadname, from Iceland—”
“Denmark.” Corrected Kode.
“That’s what I said, I have a Tío there, anyway…,” continued Ram. He was focused on his mission. “Is that what it is? Is it ToastStuff?”
“It was DeathSnack,” Mack said
“Don’t fucking start that shit again,” said Klaus.
Don shook his head. He heard the story from Klaus on the plane ride there.
“What are you talking about?” said Kait starting to chuckle.
Kode and Mack were cracking up already. Kait looked at them confused.
Ram pointed between them. “Exactly. You two had the worst ones that night,” he said pointing at Kode and Mack.
“Dødsstraf—” said Kait like it wasn’t a big deal.
“No, don’t bother, my dear,” Klaus said immediately. “They just won’t get it.”
Ram tried again. “Yeah, Toast-straff”
Blaze shook his head. “Don’t.”
Kait tried to say it slowly so he could see her mouth and hear the sound. “Dødsstraf.”
“That’s so fucking hot,” said Kolton.
Ram tried again.
Don cut in, flat. “It’s not happening.”
Klaus exhaled, resigned. “It’s Dødsstraf. Death sentence.”
Silence.
Ram stared at Kait taking a bite off her toast stifling her laughter. Then he looked at the rest of the table, then back at Kait.
“Toast.”
“No,” said Klaus.
“Toast,” he repeated. “Cause that’s what everyone can say without soundin’ like a retard,” said Ram. “Besides, come on, it’s perfect. Look at her.”
“What the fuck?” said Kait chewing.
“You’re fucking adorable,” said Kolton and took a bite of her toast.
Blaze barked a laugh. Mack nodded once like it made sense. Kode shrugged.
Kolton opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Don looked at Ram. Then at Kait.
She took another bite of toast.
Ram grinned. “I’m sorry, there’s no other way.”
Don nodded once. “To Toast,” said Don lifting his coffee mug.
“A toast to Toast?” said Kode and they all laughed.
“Really people? From Death Sentence to Toast?” said Klaus disgusted.
“It’s the same thing though, ‘cause when you’re dead, you’re toast,” said Blaze.
“I don’t give a shit,” Kait said shrugging.
The name settled where it landed.
Melanie returned with a fresh pot of coffee, poured without comment, eyes down.
She didn’t react, didn’t even hear the conversation.
HUNTSVILLE
They left Barry standing in the living room, pale and sweating. Lane’s last words had been calm.
“Get your entire crew at the table by 1800,” he’d said.
“So I can tell you what King wants me to do with this piece-of-shit charter.”
Barry hadn’t argued.
He hadn’t moved.
They rode ten minutes before Lane pulled into a truck station just off the highway — cracked asphalt, two pumps working, one dead.
Next to it, there was a diner. A hand-painted sign in the window looked like it promised HOT HOMEMADE FOOD and lied about it.
They killed the engines.
Inside, the air smelled like old coffee and plumbing issues. A couple of truckers sat hunched over plastic tables, eyes locked on the TV bolted high in the corner sometime around 1985. No one looked twice at them.
Lane ordered a cheeseburger. Diablo, the chili dogs. Neither asked what came on them.
They sat down and ate.
The food sucked but it didn’t matter. They ordered a couple beers to get rid of the taste.
“He’s done,” Diablo said resuming the conversation.
Lane took a sip. “He was done before we got there. There’s no more venom in those old veins”
“Just whiskey and cholesterol. You think he gets it?”
Lane glanced out the window. “Doesn’t matter.”
Diablo nodded once. “You think the rest of the crew will show?”
“Yeah,” Lane said. “And if not, we’ll find them anyway. They ain’t walking around with our ink.”
Another sip.
Diablo studied him. “You think Don will shut it down?”
Lane snorted quietly. “Fuck no. Closing two charters in one month? That will make us look like shit. We got enough eyes on us as it is with our new… transfer”
“Right… our new transfer” Diablo said studying Lane’s face. “You get to see her before you left?”
Lane didn’t look at him. He was replaying the night before again in his head.
“Yeah.”
That was it.
“And?”
Lane deflated and looked to the side.
Diablo nodded slowly. “Figured.”
Lane grabbed the glass and finished the rest of his beer in one gulp.
the nest - dryden
Time didn’t stop just because Lane was gone.
It shifted.
Spring was turning into summer fast and even the pool was clean and open for business.
Kait spent her nights in the chapel with Randy, learning the Judge’s rhythms. Not the dangerous parts—she already understood those—but the quiet ones. Feeding. Cleaning. Reading the subtle changes in movement and what they meant.
Randy watched her hands for a long second before he spoke.
“You’re not flinching,” he said.
Kait didn’t look up. “Should I be?”
“Fuck yeah,” he said.
Kait only shrugged and kept paying attention to the deadly black and white creature in front of her.
The Judge shifted in the tank, slow and deliberate. Kait adjusted her angle without being told.
Randy nodded once. Approval, but not praise.
“You know,” he said, casual, like he wasn’t dropping history, “I was the first one to ever handle him.”
Kait glanced over. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He reached for the feed bucket, checked the latch. “Back when he was half that size and twice as pissed.”
She smiled faintly. “Lucky you.”
Randy snorted. “Didn’t feel like it.”
He handed her the tongs instead of using them himself. Watched.
“Lane didn’t know shit about snakes when he came up to prospect,” Randy went on. “Strong. Mean. Thought that was enough.”
Kait kept her focus on the tank. “Sounds familiar.”
The Judge struck. Clean. Kait didn’t jump.
Randy kept talking like nothing happened.
“I taught him what I knew. How to read him. How to slow down.” He paused. “Wasn’t enough for him.”
Kait latched the tank and stepped back. “What do you mean?”
“He wanted to understand him. Not just handle him.” Randy leaned against the wall. “Next thing I know, he’s talking about the Game Wardens. Venom courses. Field certifications.”
Kait frowned slightly. Pieces clicking.
“He joined just for that?” she asked.
“Didn’t give a shit about the badge,” Randy said. “Just wanted access. Training. Knowledge.”
Kait thought of Bear on the beach.
“Figures,” she murmured.
Randy glanced at her. “Yeah. Lane don’t half-ass anything. Either commits or burns it down.”
He looked back at the tank.
Kait wiped her hands on her jeans, quieter now.
“…Makes sense,” she said.
Randy nodded once and continued showing her other tools for cleaning and the antivenom procedure.
NEXT MORNING
Kait, Kode, Ram, and Kolton were at Snake Eyes putting up. They needed to save some money on expensive professional installation. Kait climbed the ladder herself, gloves on, shoulders burning as they wrestled the new pane into place. The old shattered glass had been swept away, but the memory of the drive-by still lived in the brick. They decided not to patch up the bullet holes. Even Loraine said it gave the building more personality.
In the days that followed, she learned more about how the office ran.
Bonds got posted. Phones rang. People came to make payments and sign paperwork…
The world kept moving.
By nighttime, church came around.
The table was full. Not loud but focused.
Blaze and Kode stood side by side at the far end, patched and sober, eyes forward.
Blaze spoke first. “Talamantes have been quiet.”
That got attention.
“Too quiet,” Kode added. “No retaliation. No messages. No movement we can see.”
“Which can mean a lot of things,” Don said.
“They’re probably watching,” Blaze said. “Waiting for us to make the next move.”
Don nodded once. “First Laredo, then we took Loyola Beach from their errand boys. They know we’re not fucking around.”
A few heads nodded.
“We stay put. They’re gonna make a move, a big one probably,” Don continued.
“We’ll be ready,” Said Kait with a ton more confidence to make her voice heard at the table.
“Bet your ass,” said Klaus.
“Mondragón’s still tied up south,” Don continued. “Tamaulipas is hot right now. Federales heat, military pressure.”
Klaus folded his arms. “Which means no jobs for us right now.”
“Fuck…,” said Ram.
“Get a fucking job, Ram,” said Mack and Ram flipped him off.
He looked around the table. “You all know how this goes, one week we get ten grand,” he said pointing at Kait. “Others, we get shit.”
Someone shifted in their chair.
Don glanced down the table. “So, no bitching and like Randy always says, get fucking creative.”
They agreed reluctantly.
“Kraaaitive,” said Kode and the youngest krait chuckled again.
“In some better news… Huntsville’s handled.”
Murmurs. Subtle shifts. Kait couldn’t wait to hear about it.
“Which means Lane’s doing exactly what I sent him to do,” said Don satisfied.
Silence.
“He stripped three members. Idiots. Dead weight. The rest are being retrained on what the mother charter expects. He said there’s two prospects he thinks will be a good addition.”
Don folded his hands. “But, new clubhouse. New structure. New blood…”
Randy capped the water jug and leaned back against the wall, eyes still on the Judge.
“New expenses. We’re gonna feel it, that’s a ton of fucking money we just shelled out to the Kount,” he said.
Klaus nodded. “I’ll reach out to the Lycan brothers if we need to.”
Kait heard the name but the time to ask who that was passed too fast.
Randy put his hand up. “Hold off for now. That is the very last resort.”
“At least Reyes del Camino are contained,” Don resumed. “For now. They won’t make a move unless Talamantes orders it.”
He looked around the table. “We don’t rush. We don’t chase. We do the work. I may need you down south.” He said to Blaze whose eyes twitched for a split second.
Kait noticed.
Alright. Go make some fucking money. Krait dismissed,” Don said.
He paused, then added, almost casually, “Oh—and Toast, go grab the Dirty Alley collection. These assholes always stay late and end up spending the money there.”
Groans all around.
“Aw, come on—”
“That’s bullshit—”
Kait laughed, already standing. “Sure thing, King. Fuckin’ losers.”
Chairs scraped. Voices stayed low.
Kolton’s hand settled at the small of her back as they stepped out of the chapel.
He was already talking as they came down the stairs. Too fast. Too many words for a normal Tuesday.
“We can grab beer at Mom’s,” he said. “Kyle likes it when you stay the night. We can go to Blockbuster or play some Final Fantasy VIII—”
Kait kept descending.
“I just got Mario Kart for Kyle too, we got four controllers—”
“Prince,” she said, putting a hand on his chest.
“Hm?”
“I’m not going,” she said.
Kolton stopped like she’d slapped him.
“What?”
“I gotta go to the D.A., you heard Don,” she said, like it was just another chore. “Then I gotta feed the Judge.”
His face shifted—confusion first, then offense.
“Babe, that’s—” he started, swallowed it. His smile tried to come back and couldn’t find its way. “You’re serious?”
Kait nodded. A little confused herself, since he’d been sitting at the same table two minutes ago.
Something in him twitched.
That boyish entitlement had been cute when she landed in Dryden. Now it felt like a leash he assumed she’d wear.
“I just want to hang out,” he said, voice too careful.
Kolton’s jaw worked like he was chewing on the wrong thing.
He looked down the hallway, like someone might appear and smooth this over for him.
No one did.
“I got shit to do,” Kait said, stepping back. “Go. Be with your kid.”
Kolton stared at her another second, then nodded too fast.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, fine. I’ll—yeah.”
“Kolton,” said Don appearing on top of the chapel stairs.
Kolton leaned in and kissed her, then turned away. “I’ll see you then.”
His boots hit the floor harder than necessary as he walked off.
Kait watched him go.
Then she exhaled slowly through her nose and turned back toward her room to grab a jacket.
The neon buzzed like a twitchy eyelid.
THE DIRTY ALLEY
LIVE GIRLS – COLD BEER – GOOD TIMES
Kait parked the Kriger where the alley light died and the shadows took over. Smashing Pumpkin’s Ava Adore thudded through brick and steel, bass heavy enough to feel in her teeth.
Inside, the air was sweat, perfume, spilled beer. Glitter clung to everything like evidence. Men peeled bills from wallets with the same dull focus they used to peel skin off knuckles in parking lots.
Kait moved through it like it like she was a regular.
Ernesto Molina was behind the bar, sleeves rolled, elbows resting lazy on the counter.
“Whoa, they sent the pretty one this time,” he said standing straight.
“I won’t tell Ram you said that,” she said without missing a beat.
“Collection’s light tonight,” he said reaching under the counter. “Weeknight crowd.”
He said dropping a stack on the counter, like it wasn’t a big deal.
Kait looked at the money and then back at him.
“Still need it, Ernie.”
“Well, that’s all I got,” he said shrugging.
Faster than he could ever notice, Kait reached across the counter and pulled him by his collar.
Her face an inch from his.
“You think you can stiff Krait, motherfucker?”
“Whoa, wait…”
“You think you’re just gonna send me on my way like that?” she said through her teeth.
“No, I’m—”
Kait tightened her grip. “Unlike my brothers, you can’t shut me up with free pussy. So pay up, motherfucker.”
Out of her peripheral, she spotted some idiot near the stage getting handsy. A dancer shoved him back hard enough to make a point.
Kait looked over.
Ernie didn’t.
The customer didn’t take the hint and tried again.
Kait counted the wad of cash where she stood, fast and clean, fingers practiced like she’d been doing this longer than she had, then shoved it inside her jacket.
“Have a vodka shot ready when I come back,” she said and went over to the stage. She realized the girl who was being mistreated was Amber.
Amber shoved him again, harder this time. He laughed. Grabbed her wrist once more.
That’s when Kait moved.
She didn’t hurry.
Didn’t raise her voice.
She crossed the floor at a steady pace, boots quiet on sticky concrete, jacket still on, envelope secure against her ribs. No one noticed her until she was already there.
She stopped just inside his space.
Close enough that he caught leather, iron, and the certainty that this wasn’t a conversation.
“Let go,” Kait said.
He looked up at her, annoyed more than threatened. “Mind your fuckin’—”
She didn’t hit him.
She hooked two fingers into the soft notch just above his collarbone and dropped her weight, twisting as she stepped past him. The move was fast, ugly, surgical. His grip failed instantly.
Amber stumbled back.
The guy didn’t even have time to yelp.
Kait’s elbow came up under his jaw — not a swing, just a lift — snapping his head back into the stage rail with a wet crack. She kept moving, turned him with her shoulder, and pinned him face-first against the stage.
One hand on the back of his neck.
The other pressed flat between his shoulder blades.
Her mouth was close to his ear now.
“Empty your wallet, then get out,” she said calmly.
He tried to nod but made a complying sound instead.
Kait eased off just enough for him to stay upright.
With the little strength he had he struggled to grab his wallet.
Kait didn’t have time for that shit, so she grabbed his wallet, took all his cash.
“You don’t touch the stage, and you don’t touch the girls,” she said shoving the wallet hard onto his chest.
I’m s… I’m sorry. Ma’am,” he said and looked at Kait and raised a shaky hand at Amber to apologize to her as well. “I apologize—”
“Leave,” said raising her eyebrows.
The man left as fast as he could and Kait just shook her head.
Amber got off the stage, and the DJ announced the next dancer at the same time as Stitches by Orgy came on.
She looked worried and her chest was heaving.
Kait met her eyes.
“You good?” she asked.
Amber nodded, swallowing hard.
Kait counted the money she got from the guy and gave Amber half of it. Then, she adjusted her jacket, smooth and unbothered, and turned away like nothing had happened.
Ernie was already watching her from behind the bar.
Didn’t say a word.
Just raised up the shot glass he poured for her and she took it.
She took out both stacks of money and combined them.
Counted the money again.
“Next time my money’s light, I’m gonna go heavy.”
She looked up at him.
“Do you understand me?”
Ernie nodded repeatedly so there was no doubt he understood.
“You want a job?” He said almost out of breath.
“Here?”
Amber nodded frantically behind Ernie.
Kait shrugged.
“Start tomorrow? Eight P.M.?”
“Sure.”
the nest
Inside the chapel, the Judge’s tank glowed faintly, the only steady light in the room.
Randy was already there with the feed tongs, a rag over his shoulder. He didn’t look up when she walked in.
“You ditch him again?” he asked.
Kait paused. “Was it that obvious?”
Randy finally glanced at her. “This place is small. And he’s loud when he throws his tantrums.”
Kait stepped closer to the tank not even wanting to talk about Kolton. The Judge was coiled, still, patient.
Randy tapped the latch with one knuckle. “Alright. You’re up.”
She took the tongs. Slow hands. No shadow on the glass. No sudden movement.
The Judge didn’t care about drama. Didn’t care about Lane leaving. Didn’t care about Kolton’s feelings.
The strike was clean. Fast. Final.
Kait latched the tank and stepped back.
Randy nodded once. “Good.”
She grabbed the towel from Randy and wiped her hands
“How did it go at the Alley?”
She reached for the cash. Randy counted it.
“You got a full fee from Ernie?”
“Got lucky, I guess. So, how bad are financials right now?” she asked quietly.
Randy sighed.
He leaned back against the wall, eyes still on the tank. “Huntsville’s a money pit right now, plus the Snake Eyes cleanup was a good chunk.”
Kait nodded.
“Mondragón’s quiet because Tamaulipas is on fire. We don’t know how long that’s gonna last.”
Kait’s stomach tightened. Not fear—calculation. “I’ll see what I can do in the meantime. Get kraitive, right?”
“Oh, not you too.”
Kait smiled. “Okay. I’m gonna call it. Goodnight, Kowman.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
LORAINE AND DON’S HOUSE
The house was dark except for the kitchen light.
Kolton sat alone at the table, boots kicked off, a beer sweating untouched beside him, ringed the wood like it had been there too long. The TV murmured low in the living room—some late-night rerun, laugh track canned and hollow.
Kyle was asleep down the hall.
Loraine was asleep upstairs.
Kolton told himself that like it mattered.
He rubbed his face with both hands, dragged them down hard, then sat there staring at nothing. The silence pressed in on him. Not peaceful. Accusing.
He reached into his jacket.
Paused.
Pulled his hand back out.
Stood up instead, paced once, twice, like the floor plan might change if he stayed still. He checked the hallway. Listened. Nothing.
He went back to the table and reached into the jacket again.
This time he didn’t hesitate.
The baggie was small. Careful. Folded like it was supposed to be invisible. White powder sharp against the dim light when he set it on the table.
Kolton stared at it.
He moved automatically after that. Too practiced for someone who swore he was past this. He tore a receipt from his pocket, folded it, poured a thin line—too thin to matter, too thick to lie to himself about.
He bent down.
Sniffed.
Hard.
The sound cut through the house like a gunshot.
Kolton froze mid-breath.
Footsteps creaked overhead.
“Kolt?” Loraine’s voice, soft but awake.
Fuck.
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smeared it worse, panicked. He swept at the table too fast—powder dusting the wood, the receipt slipping from his fingers.
“Yeah,” he called, voice tight. “Just—couldn’t sleep.”
Silence.
Then the stairs.
Slow. Careful. Each step deliberate.
Kolton stood there, heart slamming, eyes locked on the table like it might betray him again.
Loraine appeared at the bottom of the stairs in her robe, hair loose, face tired in a way that came from years, not hours. She took one look at him—then at the table.
She didn’t yell.
That was worse.
Her eyes landed on the baggie.
Then the receipt.
Then the faint white smear he’d missed near the edge of the table.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
Kolton opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “It’s not—”
“Don’t,” Loraine said.
One word. Flat. Final.
She stepped closer, picked up the baggie between two fingers like it was something dead.
“You promised,” she said. Not angry. Just tired. “You promised me. You promised him.”
Kolton ran a hand through his hair, pacing now, frantic. “I’m under a lot of pressure, okay? Dad’s on a power trip, Lane’s gone, Kait’s acting like she doesn’t give a shit—”
“Don’t you dare,” Loraine snapped, voice cracking for the first time. “Don’t do that blaming shit again.”
He stopped.
“You can’t do this in my house,” she said. “Especially with Kyle here.”
Kolton’s chest tightened. “I wasn’t going to—”
“You already did,” she cut in.
Kolton swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. Here, I’ll get rid of it. I’ll flush it down and go to bed. Don’t make a thing about it. Just whatever.”
Loraine gave the baggie back to him. “Promise you’ll get rid of it.”
“I said I would, just go back to bed,” he said and gave his mom a hug.
“Okay, goodnight, baby.”
Kolton stood alone in the kitchen, the TV laughing somewhere behind him, his back against the fridge.
He wiped his nose again.
Shook.
Went over to the living room, turned on the N64 and sat on the couch.
Mario Kart’s intro kicked, he grabbed the controller and he sat on the couch.
It was gonna be a long night.
Read all about that night here:
