“No. No goddamn way. I don’t do needles,” I snapped, running a hand through my hair. “I’m not a fucking junkie.” “You don’t have to,” he was quick to explain. “You’re watching too much television. That’s brown sugar. What I’m offering you is pure. The good stuff. You can smoke it or snort it. Whatever you like, lad. It’ll make everything else feel like Smarties, kid. Take my word for it.” “I can’t,” I choked out, staring down at the temptation in my hands. “It’s too fucking risky.” “Not when it’s used safely,” he encouraged. “Come on, kid. Do you think I’d fuck you over like that? We’re from
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