Acres, Natalie - Sex Junkie [Cowboy Addiction 1](Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (3 page)

“This junkie does,” Morgan said, slamming the door as she strolled across the porch.

Blake gulped. “Morgan, I…”

She held up her hand. “Don’t, Blake. Let me talk, please.” With tears in her eyes, she sat down on the swing directly across from them. Rubbing her small hands against her thin thighs, she shifted her gaze from one man to the next. Finally, she looked at Grant directly and said, “I’ve been clean for five days. They’ve been the worst days of my life.

“Today is the first day I can remember waking up with a fresh outlook on life. Still, I’d take that needle over my next cup of coffee if you have one there in your pocket. I know you don’t, but I don’t care to fantasize about possibilities all the same.”

“What’d I tell you?” Grant asked, shooting Blake a sideways glance.

A sudden shift in Morgan’s expression led Blake to believe Grant was pushing Morgan’s buttons. A few minutes of this and she might flee. That’s what Morgan had always done, and her brothers let her get away with it. She ran when things didn’t suit her. In recent years, she seemingly developed a disappearing act better than many magicians.

Private investigators hadn’t been able to locate her after she left the last time. Kit and Kemper spent thousands of dollars just trying to find out where Morgan ended up. Blake didn’t want her to run away once more, fearing if she left East Tennessee, they’d never see her again.

“Grant, let Morgan speak,” Blake said, tilting his head toward her. “I want to hear what you have to say. We both do.”

Morgan took a deep breath and hurriedly said, “Let’s see, I have a three-hundred-dollar-a-day habit, ran through my inheritance from Mother and Daddy, and sold all my jewelry at a pawn shop in Arkansas about six months ago. To put things in perspective there, I unloaded about ten thousand dollars worth of gold and diamonds for around six. That’s hundred, not thousand.

“Last year, I hooked up with my dealer, who generously provided a daily fix until he ditched me for a chick without a substance problem. He stuck me with what he called a drug tab and calculated that to mean I owed him over a hundred grand, which he wants paid in full immediately. He probably assumes I can get that much here.”

“Kit and Kemper don’t have that kind of money lying around,” Grant deadpanned.

“You never know,” Morgan said flippantly, taking a real attitude with Grant. “Never hurts to ask the family to bail you out after you’ve made a mess of your life, right?”

Blake wondered then if Morgan was home for that very reason. Was she down on her luck, looking to score the kind of money needed to pay off her dealer-slash-boyfriend, or had she come home hoping to start a new life on a straight and narrow path?

Grant kept a straight face. How he managed to hold it together then, Blake would never know. Morgan was all over the place, something to be expected, all things considered.

“Well? What do you think?” she asked, shoving her splayed fingers through her brown hair. “Should I ask Kit and Kemper for help this time, or play Russian roulette with my life? If you were in my brothers’ shoes, would you help, Grant?”

Fuck. Now, she’d gone too far. “Careful, Morgan,” Blake warned. “You’re treading on dangerous ground.”

“Quicksand is more like it,” Grant spat, the fury superseding his fair attempt at keeping a poker face.

Her eyes flickered with malice. “May I finish my story?”

“We’re listening,” Grant replied. “But know this, Morgan. We might hang on your every word, but we’re not your brothers. We won’t buy everything you sell.”

She shrugged, took a big intake of air, and continued. “So anyway, I asked for a few days to pull the cash together, he granted them, kicked me to the curb anyhow, and I went back and robbed him a few hours later, stealing enough money to get out of town.”

Blake leaned forward and listened to her story, refusing to go to her. He could easily promise to fix everything, to make everything all right again, but Morgan didn’t need that. Oh no, she needed to own her mistakes and figure out how to overcome them without their assistance.

They would help her. But they couldn’t beat this thing for her.

As he watched her, Blake noticed everything about her. The dark circles encased her pretty green eyes, and thanks to the bags under them, Morgan looked older than her twenty-four years. Her thin lips trembled as she spoke, right along with her tiny fingers, entwined and positioned on her lap.

From a wealthy family, Morgan once held her head high and shoulders back. Now, the self-assurance she once possessed didn’t exist. She slumped in her chair, the air of confidence not at all obvious in the way she presented herself.

“Where did you go after you left the dopehead?” Grant asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You said you’ve been clean a few days. You haven’t been here. Kit and Kemper just left yesterday. Obviously, you didn’t know that. Where did you stay?”

“Kilo would’ve found me if I’d headed straight home, so I caught a bus to
Nashville
.”

“Kilo is who?” Grant asked.

“He was my boyfriend, dealer, whatever you want to call him.”

“At least he had a name befitting of the business he represents,” Blake grumbled.

“Anyway, we lived in
Memphis
—right outside of South Haven. I knew how important it was to get out of town as quickly as possible, so I went to the bus station. By the time I arrived there, he was blowing up my phone, sending text messages and leaving voice mails. By then, I was jonesing bad. I needed a fix, but the evil tone in Kilo’s voice alerted me to the obvious. If I went back there, he planned to kill me.

“You have no idea how close I came to returning to him anyway. At one point, I wanted to die, or I wanted that fix. There was no in-between and I was certain if I returned to
Memphis
, I’d get both. He’d supply a syringe full of the drug I wanted, and the dose would send me to my grave.”

“So then what?” Grant asked, moving the story along.

“I went to
Nashville
and checked in at a rundown motel and started detox on my own, determined to ride out the storm until I could walk out of that room by myself.”

“You could’ve died,” Blake pointed out.

“She was too proud to call home.”

“You’re right. I wanted to. God help me, I did. Still, I wasn’t sure Kit and Kemper would come for me if I had asked them.”

“You could’ve called me or Grant.”

“And both of you would’ve been willing to travel five to six hours for a drug addict who would’ve refused a rehab facility at that time?”

“You know I would’ve gone to the end of the earth for you,” Grant told her. “At least I would’ve at one time.”

Eyes as pretty as deep green emeralds filled with sadness. As quickly as they flashed with sorrow, they turned as cold as ice. Straightening her shoulders, she said, “Lucky for you, I didn’t need you to meet me halfway, right?”

“Morgan, he didn’t mean—”

“Yes I did,” Grant interrupted him. “Let me tell you what I think, Morgan. I believe you’re here because you’re broke, desperate, and running from a thug who plans to bury you. That is after he gets his money. I’m a betting man. I’m gonna jump out here and place a nice wager on the possibility he believes you’ll come home, pitch this spiel to Kit and Kemper, and go back to Memphis with the money you owe him.”

“That’s not true.”

“I think it is.”

“That’s enough, Grant.”

“The hell it is. She told me her story. Now she can listen to mine.”

* * * *

Grant lost a brother to drugs. He wasn’t about to let Kit and Kemper lose a sister. He thought too much of the friends he’d known since the first grade. Now that they had a chance to help her, he planned to save her, and he wouldn’t dance around his intentions. He wanted Morgan to know precisely how things would play out.

Morgan should’ve anticipated an intervention from the moment they walked into the Keesling kitchen.

“You know, my brother Scott died.”

“I heard,” Morgan said. “I’m sorry, Grant.”

“Who told you?”

“I saw Mary Margaret down at the corner market when I first got into town.”

“He’s been in the grave three years. It’s been hard, unbearable at times. I could’ve saved him, but I expected him to save himself.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Morgan said regretfully.

“Sure it is,” Grant agreed. “And that’s why Blake and I will help you. You’ll lean on us, but we’re only offering our assistance with conditions. You’ll agree to do things on our terms.”

She didn’t interrupt him, but she acted like she was going to say something before she settled against the wooden back of the large swing. She started swaying with the furniture, gliding forward, drifting back.

“We’re gonna love you into sobriety,” Grant explained.

“What?”

“Love you into sobriety. And Morgan, you really don’t have a choice in the matter now. You’ve been clean five days? So what? If this Kilo character comes here and sees you doing well, he’ll hand you the needle and give you your final dose. Is that what you want?”

“I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need it.”

“Well, you happen to be at our mercy. Scott lost his battle with drugs. I don’t want you to do the same, Morgan. Maybe you didn’t ask me to help you but I don’t need your consent. I’d like to have it, of course, but the only reason you’ll have options here is because Blake has this notion that your compliance is necessary. Then again, Blake hasn’t lost a brother to drugs. I could care less if you give us your permission or not.”

“But by the time this is over, I’ll need yours, right? Is that where this is going?”

“That’s exactly where this is headed,” Blake answered for Grant. “And we’ll try to make your recovery as painless as possible.”

“By switching one addiction for another?” she asked, arching her brow. “No thank you. I’ve been there and done you.” A beat later, she looked at Grant, too. “And you.”

“Glad you mentioned that,” Grant said as smugly as possible. “Because since you have a nasty track record of returning to previous habits, you shouldn’t have a problem readjusting to the environments you know best.”

“Which is what exactly?” she asked, a spark of interest settling in her eyes.

“Our beds.”

Chapter Three

Morgan would’ve been mad as hell if she hadn’t been somewhat intrigued. Before she returned to
Blountville
,
Tennessee
, she thought of countless scenarios. She’d imagined her brothers turning her away at the door. She’d envisioned Kemper dragging her off to rehab. She’d thought they might call the police, or ask Blake to talk to her, especially since he’d always been the one who could somewhat control her.

She’d never contemplated something like this.

“What are you suggesting?” she finally asked, almost afraid to hear their reply.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Grant said. “Don’t you think?”

“We’ll take care of you, Morgan,” Blake assured her.

“And you’ll take care of us,” Grant told her.

“You mean sexually,” she said quietly.

“Exactly,” Grant quickly responded, his lips thinning as if he were negotiating a done deal.

“Why would you do this?”

“Because we both happen to love you,” Blake replied. “I never stopped.”

Her heart soared with his beautiful confession. She could’ve cried then, only she was still processing, coming to terms with their offer.

“It’s a one-time deal,” Grant explained. “Blake and I have discussed this many times in the past. We know what we want, and both of us are willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy and see you well. We’re both still in love with you, Morgan. There hasn’t been anyone else for either of us since you left.”

“I’m not the same person you once knew.”

“We aren’t either,” Grant stated flatly.

That much was obvious. She could see the notable changes, especially in Grant. While he still looked the same with his pretty-boy appeal, worry had obviously aged him. His forehead was strained with tight wrinkles. His bow-shaped mouth was lined with the signs of burdensome times. Premature crow’s feet encased those unique blue eyes Morgan had always adored. Grant was hardened, and that no-nonsense approach he possessed, the one she once found appealing, now came across tougher, jagged, and raw.

There wasn’t any question. Grant Fowler wouldn’t put up with a drug addict’s self-centered shit.

Grant would bend her over his knee and wear her ass out if she crossed him. Then, he’d fuck her silly, leave her to play with a few toys, and dare her to put a drug in her vein again.

“What if I can’t do it?” she asked, fully aware of just how strenuous their rehabilitation regime would potentially become.

“You won’t have a choice,” Blake replied. “You will, however, have one chance to accept or decline our offer. Once you agree to do things our way, you belong to us. Whatever we tell you to do, you do. No questions, no whining, just obedience.”