Junkie (Broken Doll #1) (17 page)

S
OS

T
he three letters
on the screen kicked my pulse up into high gear and had me fully awake and moving in a flash. As quietly as possible, I yanked on last night’s clothes and hurried down the stairs, barefoot and smelling like sex and Miri. Sarge was waiting by the door to my study, hands behind his back, chest out. He looked as tired as I felt, but the man took the time to put on his suit and presented himself perfectly. I was proud of Sarge for understanding the level of respect I demanded from my employees. A stab of guilt hit me when I realized didn’t stop to dress in my own suit before coming downstairs. Fuck it. With an SOS, speed was more important than how I looked.

I unlocked the thick door and motioned for Sarge to follow.

“Milo is on his way, Boss.”

I nodded and sat behind my desk.

“We’ll wait for him then. Sit.” Sarge lowered himself into one of the dark leather chairs. “Drink?” I used my chin to point toward the bar. Yeah, it was early morning, but I had a feeling whatever was going down might require a bit of alcohol.

“No, Boss.”

I tipped my head in acknowledgement. Five minutes later, I buzzed Milo into the study. He didn’t look nearly as put together as Sarge. Still wearing the same suit from last night, my lieutenant’s hair was a mess, his tie crooked, and his mouth red and swollen and turned down in the corners.

“I hope we didn’t interrupt anything important.” Sarcasm dripped from my voice and I smirked at Milo, knowing from the smears of lipstick on his face exactly what we’d interrupted.

“Shit, Boss. My nuts are fucking killing me. Goddamn blue balls.” Milo frowned. “You could have at least waited till I finished.” Milo had no problem making himself a drink before dropping into the chair next to Sarge.

“All right, what do you have?” I turned my attention to my head of security.

“After your meeting with El Cuchillo, George and Three followed his car like you asked.”

“And?”

“He proceeded to another club, this one in San Antonio.”

That in itself wasn’t surprising. San Antonio was his territory, after all.

Milo huffed. “What’s your goddamn point, Sarge?” I shot Milo a dark look warning him to shut the fuck up. I didn’t give a flying fuck if he was in the middle of the best goddamn blowjob of his life. He needed to stop being cranky and suck it up. When he got a call, his job was to show up and do whatever the fuck he was told. I paid plenty for him to be at my beck and call. He could bust a nut later.

Sarge visibly bristled at Milo, but continued. “He had another meeting. With Brick.”

“What the fuck?” Milo stood up, his face suddenly a deep shade of crimson. His eyes darted to mine, the anger in them palpable. “That fucking double-crossing douchebag. I told you we couldn’t trust his skinny ass.”

“Sit down.” On the outside, I appeared calm, but inside, I was as furious as Milo. El Cuchillo left my meeting to go directly to another. This one with the head of heroin distribution in Houston.
Little fucking shit.
Shouting, however, didn’t do anything to change the new development.

Milo snarled and fell back into his chair, but his shoulders were pulled up to his ears and his fists balled in his lap. My lieutenant was ready to blow. His reaction was exactly why he was so useful to my organization. Violent. Reactive. Ruthless.

I turned back to Sarge. “Did our men hear anything that was discussed?”

“No, Boss. The club was too open for them to get close and not get made by Brick or El Cuchillo.”

I took a moment to think, steepling my fingers in front of my mouth before unfolding my hands and reclining in my chair. “So either he’s playing us or Brick, or possibly both of us.”

“Maybe he’s trying to get us to fight each other so he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty?” Milo offered.

Fear prickled the back of my neck. “We’re in between Los Guerreros territory and Brick’s. We couldn’t stay uninvolved if El Cuchillo decided to go to war with Houston. It’s very possible he’s setting us up to fight Brick for him, but it’s more likely he’s offering the same deal to both of us and waiting to see who takes him up on it. Then he’ll combine forces and take out the third.”

“We didn’t accept his terms, Boss,” Milo reminded me, a deep scowl on his face.

“No, we didn’t. That doesn’t mean Brick will either.”

“Brick will,” Milo said confidently.

“What did El Cuchillo offer?” Sarge’s eyes bounced back and forth between a fuming Milo and me.

Half the reason Milo was so worked up was because he believed it was a mistake to pass on El Cuchillo’s business venture. Milo thought branching out our operation from heroin was a great idea. My lieutenant had no clue I’d rather die before I ever got involved with what El Cuchillo was offering. Milo blamed my refusal on Miri, thinking she made me too weak and emotional to accept the new business arrangement. He didn’t come right out and say it—he knew I’d kill him if he did—but Milo had dropped enough hints since Miri showed up for me to know exactly how he felt about her and how he perceived her supposed influence over me.

Breathing deep, I tamped down my anger for the second time tonight. Earlier, sitting in a loud, crowded club, it was easier to keep my face neutral as the head of the heroin cartel in San Antonio spewed off his newest venture like he reinvented the goddamn wheel. He expected me to what? Was I supposed to clap with joy and praise the prick for including me in his disgusting endeavor? Fuck him.

I swallowed back the rising bile before answering Sarge. “He’s going to deal in women.”

Sarge’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened. “Women? You mean whores, right?”

“No.” I gripped the arms of my chair until my fingers ached. “Not whores. Cuchillo is going to…” I paused to choke back a scream. “…Traffic kidnapped women and girls to sell into sexual slavery.” I spoke through clenched teeth as I struggled to control my knee-jerk reaction to flip out my knives and fucking kill someone.

“Holy shit.” Sarge paled.

“What?” Milo turned to Sarge, scowling. “It’s a huge fucking moneymaker. There’s a big market for girls, especially the young ones.”

“Milo, shut the fuck up right now.” My fingers itched to pull out my knife and slice him from sternum to groin before remembering I wasn’t wearing any of my blades.
Damn, next time, SOS or not, I’ll get dressed properly.
“I will not
ever
sell human beings. Don’t speak of it in front of me again.”

Milo didn’t know about Rose. No one knew, but it didn’t fucking matter. I didn’t have to explain myself to him or anyone and I wasn’t budging on that point. Milo was clearly displeased, his face red, the muscles in his neck tight.

I turned back to Sarge, ignoring Milo’s ire. “Keep men on him at all times. Make sure they’re careful. El Cuchillo might act like a fucking pinheaded idiot, but he’s not as stupid as he seems. If he catches our men, he’ll have them killed, and it won’t be quick or painless.”

Sarge nodded and stood. “I’ll keep you updated, Boss.”

“Thanks.” I buzzed the door open and Sarge slipped out of the study.

“What now, Boss?”

I ran a hand through my hair, vacillating between complete exhaustion and raging fury. “Now, we prepare for war.”

Done with my project, I put away the tools and washed my hands in the garage sink. Just as I feared, despite desperately wanting to believe Jag was different, I woke to an empty bed. Jag was gone. He wasn’t anywhere in the house, either. Not knowing what else to do, I got dressed and did some maintenance on the Ducati.

The garage I worked for when I lived with Cat wasn’t in the best area of the city, so this was my first time doing maintenance on a motorcycle as flashy or expensive as a Ducati. My lack of experience on the sleek bike slowed me down and it took a little longer than usual to finish the work, but by the time I was done, I had it all figured out and was confident I could handle any bike out there.

Which brought me to my newest concern. I needed a purpose, a life, something of my own. As nice as it was, I needed a job. I couldn’t live here forever, sponging off of Jag. I’d already let myself get way too close to him. It was better to separate myself from him, get back on my own two feet as soon as possible, and get out of here before I fell hard for a man incapable of returning my feelings. The biggest hurdle to cutting loose was the heroin. I was still getting two doses a day from one of Jag’s rotating cast of
Men in Black
. Yet, I swore I felt healthier than I had in months. I was gaining weight, getting stronger, my head was clear and my senses sharp.

Maybe I could just quit cold turkey. Over the last month or so, every horrific side effect of the drug had vanished—the itching, the stomach pain, the pallid complexion, and the anxiety—all gone. Frowning, I decided the next time I was scheduled to get a hit, I’d refuse and see what happened to my body. I had to stop shooting at some point, and I’d rather do it here at Jag’s house than once I was out on my own. If I could get clean, I could work and save money. Maybe I could even save enough to hire someone to find Cat, like a private investigator. Even if my best friend were dead, I’d rather find out than continue to suffer this agonizing limbo of not knowing.

After scrubbing the grease from my hands and putting each tool in its proper place, I spent the rest of the day in the gazebo, rocking on the swing and staring at the lake while a light breeze sifted through my hair.

“Ma’am…”

My arms flailed and I yelped in surprise. One of the
Men in Black
was standing on the steps, staring. My stomach clenched and my heart fluttered. It didn’t take a genius to know why he was here.

Here goes nothing.

Calm and collected, I leveled my eyes at the man named Jase. With a deep, fortifying breath, I spoke. “I know why you’re here and I’m not going with you.” The guy couldn’t hide his shock. After blinking several times, he stammered and stumbled over his words, his expression almost panicked.

“But… I have to… I mean, the boss said… Ma’am, you really need to come and get your dose.”

“No, I don’t. I’m not taking it anymore.”

Hands limp at his sides, Jase gaped, clearly not knowing what to do with a disobedient junkie.

“Boss said—”

“Fuck him,” I said and the young man’s face turned ghostly white at the insult I casually flung at a man most people, including this guy, deemed too frightening to badmouth, even when he was nowhere in sight. Well, screw that and screw both of them. I wasn’t afraid of Jag and I wasn’t giving in. Not on this. My body, my choice.

“I can’t—”

I stood and braced my hands on the wood railing of the gazebo, using the height advantage to lean over the man. All of my frustration with Jag, with my life, with my shitty fucking existence, erupted in a loud torrent of curses. “I’m not fucking going with you and you’re not sticking me with a goddamn needle. So go the fuck away! I don’t give a shit if you tell your precious Boss I’m refusing! He can shove his opinion right up his own ass!”

Jase visibly flinched, tripping on his own feet to put distance between himself and my angry tirade. His jaw twitched and I knew he was fighting the urge to just pick me up and throw me over his shoulder. But Jag’s orders were clear. No one could lay a finger on me and I knew it and Jase knew I knew it. With my chin jutting out and a false air of confidence, I spun around and sat back down on the swing, arms crossed as I shot daggers at the
Man in Black
, daring him to make a move while my heart raced. Mumbling a few choice obscenities, Jase stalked off, probably back to the house to tattle.

Freaking out, I inhaled deep to calm down, my hands trembling. Fuck them all. I owned my body. If I didn’t want drugs, they couldn’t make me take them, and I would fight tooth and nail to stop it from happening.

Hours later, I was still stewing in anger, rocking back and forth, my eyes unfocused as I planned my side of the eventual argument with Jag. In fact, I was so pissed off, I didn’t hear Jag approach until his boots made contact with the wooden steps of the gazebo.

“Go away,” I snapped, not moving to make eye contact.

Of course, in his usual, irritating, domineering manner, Jag ignored me and sat on the swing despite my obvious annoyance. The wooden structure swayed under his added weight. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him studying me, his brows pulled together. Eventually, Jag gave up trying to figure me out and just asked.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Go away,” I repeated, hating that I sounded like a whiney brat.

“No. So let’s try again. Why are you angry, Miri? Did I hurt you last night?”

His voice was so sincere, so filled with apprehension, in my fury over the drugs, I forgot how Jag tenderly made love to me while looking into my eyes as if I meant something to him. But no, he sure fooled me. Jag got up and left as soon as I served my purpose. A fuck, a quick lay, a good time, then gone. Disposable. Garbage. Junkie.

“No.” I fiddled with my hair, twisting a long red curl around a finger over and over only to let it slide free so I could twist it up again.

“Miri…”

His low growl pissed me off. For the first time since he sat, I turned to face him. All of the anger, the cutting words I had prepared, got stuck in my throat. Suddenly nervous, I pulled a foot up onto the bench to hug my leg to my chest, resting my chin on my knee.

“You can’t make me take drugs anymore. I don’t want them.” The slamming of my pulse in my ears made it difficult to organize my thoughts. “I’m not doing it.”

Jag stared at me with blue eyes so intense, so focused, I squirmed on the bench under his scrutiny. I was about to argue my case further when the corners of Jag’s eyes crinkled and his solemn expression cracked, slowly morphing into a wide grin.

What the—?

I tilted my head.
Was I seeing things?
I blinked a few times and checked again. No, Jag was definitely smiling.

I huffed loudly and snapped. “What?”

For some reason, Jag’s response had me more on edge than if he were angry. Angry I could work with. Angry I could argue, pitch a fit, let out the hurt I felt from him fucking and ditching me last night.
Happy?
I had no clue what to do with happy.