Junkie (Broken Doll #1) (19 page)

“You did?”

Miri stuck out her lower lip and I found it incredibly difficult not to lean over and suck on the shiny pink flesh. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Blinking, I tore my eyes from her mouth to focus back on her blue-green irises. “Not at all. It’s actually… kind of sexy.” I waggled my eyebrows and she laughed, a rare sight that I greedily devoured. “A job, huh? Okay.”

“Really?” Her eyes widened and she looked at me in what could only be described as awe. I stepped close and took that beautiful face in my hands, giving her a chaste kiss.

“Anything you want, doll.”

I wanted to ask Miri how she ended up hooked on H and living with that fuckwit Mason. Apparently, she had a good job and was making a decent living. Why the hell would she leave that to be with such a monumental loser? I held my tongue because I knew if I pushed too hard, Miri would shut down. She hadn’t let me all the way in and still didn’t trust me completely. I was confident, though. Miri would eventually let me see all of her, and when she did, I would slay all her demons and do everything in my power to keep that gorgeous smile on her face.

Anything.

C
lean
.

I was clean for the first time in months and hadn’t even known. Maybe I should have been angry at Jag’s high-handedness, but all I felt was overwhelming gratitude. Jag,
Boss
—a ruthless, violent criminal—was the only person in my entire life, besides Cat, who actually cared about me and my well-being. Every time I learned something new about the enigmatic man, I fell a little bit harder for the drug lord with the hidden heart of gold.

Since our day at the lake a week ago, I hadn’t seen much of Jag. No one would tell me what was going on, not that I would ask, but I wasn’t stupid. Something was off and whatever it was had everyone around the house on edge. The number of
Men in Black
walking the grounds doubled, and Jag’s right-hand man, the super creepy Milo, was a constant presence. He had even taken to sleeping in the bedroom right next to mine. The thought of that scary thug being so close made me shudder, especially the nights Jag didn’t come to my bed.

Being shut out stung. I wanted to comfort Jag, be there for him like he was there for me in my time of need. But there wasn’t a chance in hell that the boss of a huge drug syndicate would confide in some former junkie he was fucking, no matter how much he seemed to care or how tender and loving he appeared in bed. As much as I wanted to believe what I was feeling with Jag was reciprocated, I knew better. Once I was on my feet, I’d leave before Jag had to throw me out. It would be less humiliating that way.

If I’d learned one thing since Cat vanished, it was that no one did anything without expecting something in return, so while I might be in over my head and slowly falling for Jag when in reality I should run far, far away, I had no illusions of what I was to him. He wasn’t going to sweep me off my feet, buy me my dream house, and live happily ever after. I just had to be sure to protect my heart in the meantime.

“We’re here, ma’am.”

Frank’s voice snapped me out of my wandering thoughts.

“Oh, thanks. Ummmm, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” As I reached for the door handle, Frank cleared his throat. I looked at him over my shoulder.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” His dark eyes flicked to the shabby garage. A two story building made with crumbling bricks, the window frames showing signs of rot. The rusty bay doors were rolled up and tough-looking men in coveralls were either half under cars or immersed in conversations with each other while gesturing toward various vehicles. The familiarity of it comforted me.

“I’ll be fine, Frank.”

His concern was kind of sweet, but I knew his behavior was more out of his fear of Boss should anything happen to me on his watch, than actual worry for my safety. Either way, Frank’s help was unnecessary. I’d been in situations much, much worse than this. I gave him a tiny smile and climbed out of the car. When I glanced back, I noticed Frank’s sharp gaze boring into me, tracking my progress as I crossed the dusty lot to a desk wedged into a too small space in the front corner of the garage. Behind it sat a big, heavily muscled man who dwarfed the straining chair that held his bulk, a loud industrial fan blowing humid air at his back.

My cheeks grew warm as I felt every set of eyes land on me the second I set foot in the humid space.

The Sasquatch at the desk didn’t seem to notice the sudden silence or my presence in front of him. Head down, he had a phone to his ear and an invoice on his desk. He was clearly upset, arguing with whoever was on the other end about receiving the wrong part. When he hung up, he let out a long sigh and dragged his grease-stained hands down his face. He spotted me and his hands stopped halfway.

The big guy looked me up and down and his mouth fell open. He dropped his hands to his desk and cocked his head to the side while squinting. “Howdy.”

The prickle of a full-body blush made the sweaty garage even hotter. Being under the intense scrutiny of so many men at once was embarrassing. Memories of how hard I’d had to work to prove myself to the men at my old garage flooded my mind. I was as good a mechanic, or better, than more than half of them. Once my coworkers saw my work, they grudgingly accepted me as one of their own, girl or not. Winning over a whole new group would suck, but I would do whatever it took to get my life back.

You can do this, Miri.

“Hi. I’m Miriam Murphy… Miri,” I said, extending a hand across the desk.

The loud scrape of the metal chair on concrete rattled my teeth as the man stood. I swallowed, forcing myself to breathe as he towered over me, a good three inches taller than Jag, who wasn’t a short man by any means. I reminded myself that Frank was only a few yards away in the car and gathered my wits, forcing out a smile.

The man blinked in shock before his calloused hand wrapped around mine. “Beau Clayton.” After a hearty shake, he let go and gave me another once-over, one eyebrow raised. “So, what can I do fer ya, young lady?”

I curled my fingers into my palm, digging my short nails into the soft flesh to keep from chickening out. “I wanted to apply for the motorcycle mechanic job you have posted.”

This time, Beau didn’t even try to hide his surprise. His eyes widened comically and his mouth curved into a crooked grin. He was a good-looking guy, kind of like a bulky blond cowboy in coveralls instead of chaps and a backwards ball cap instead of a Stetson.

“A mechanic, huh? Little thing like you? Aren’t you afraid of breakin’ a nail or somethin’, darlin’?”

I held up my hands, making sure Beau got a good look at my short, chipped nails, dark half-moons of grease beneath each one.

“Does it look like I care about my nails?” It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

Beau chuckled and gestured toward a mud-splattered, but fairly new, Honda dirt bike. “Show me what you can do. Hank here was just fixin’ to check the transmission and see what’s causin’ the owner a ton of headaches. Impress me, sweetheart, and you got yerself a job.”

S
everal hours later
, Jag still wasn’t home. In fact, once I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t seen him since yesterday, and that was only a fleeting glance when he breezed into the house to lock himself in his study with a half dozen of his men. We didn’t have a chance to make eye contact or speak a single word before Jag vanished, surrounded by Milo and the
Men in Black
, deep, menacing scowls on each and every one of their faces.

They looked so angry and intimidating, chills broke out over my skin when they marched by. The way they surrounded Jag as they swooped down the hall kind of reminded me of a battalion of Stormtroopers following Darth Vader around the Death Star.

I must have conked out while waiting, because a loud bang startled me out of a deep sleep. Heart racing, it took me a minute to regain my bearings and remember I was in the front sitting room, waiting for Jag to pull into the circular drive so I could tell him the good news about my new job. Outside was pitch black and the room was bathed in shadows. It was later than I thought.

I began to lift myself off the couch when the front door slammed open and several angry voices echoed in the foyer. My stomach dropped and I hesitated at the threshold of the sitting room.

Do I go out there? Do I stay hidden in here?

One of the voices definitely belonged to Jag, and one to Milo, but the others could have been any one of the rotating
Men in Black
. There was only one way out of this room, and it led straight into the hall off the foyer where the commotion was ensuing. Unnerved, I was about to curl back up on the couch and wait until everyone calmed down or disappeared when Jag let out a loud, primal roar that made my pulse spike and my blood run cold. The shout was immediately followed by an ear-splitting crash.

Well, that made my decision easy.

No way could I sit idly by and listen to Jag tear up the house or get hurt in a fight. If Jag was in that much pain, I wanted to be there to help in any way I could. He had been there for me when I was at my lowest; now it was my turn to return the favor.

Without thinking, I darted into the hall, barefoot, and skidded to a stop, nearly knocking over one of the
Men in Black
. My heart broke at the sight of Jag, his beautiful face purple with rage, his chest and cheek pressed brutally against the wall. Milo and another man were using all of their combined strength to keep Jag pinned. Milo had Jag’s arm twisted cruelly behind his back as Jag struggled to get free. I glanced around and saw a beautiful antique curio cabinet upended, the decorative glass panels scattered across the marble floor in thousands of glittering pieces.

“Ma’am, be careful.” One of the men thrust an arm out to keep me from walking on the glass shards with my bare feet.

Jag was in such a state, he didn’t notice me step into the hall only a few yards away. Unfortunately, Milo noticed. His dark, hostile gaze landed on me and icy fear penetrated my skin, terror penetrating all the way to my bones. Even while using all his strength to subdue a thrashing and cursing Jag, Milo’s intimidating stare never left my face. Milo’s expression could only be described as absolute, raw hatred. Directed solely at
me
. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as the big man’s lips curled into a nasty sneer.

“Get the fuck out of here, bitch!” Milo snapped. Spit flew from his mouth.

I flinched, dizzy from the lack of blood flow, all of it having rushed out of my head and into my feet, and I shivered from the sudden cold. Milo’s venomous words wrapped around my throat, squeezing tight and rendering me speechless. Silence fell like a thick curtain throughout the foyer and Jag stopped struggling. He went completely still for the first time since storming through the front door. It was so quiet I could hear the loud whooshing of my heartbeat thudding behind my ears.

“Let go of me,” Jag rasped, breaking the silence. His voice was a low growl, his words a sharp staccato as he took shallow breaths, rapidly exhaling against the unforgiving wall.

The
Man in Black
immediately removed his hands from his boss and stepped away. Milo, however, remained in place, pushing against Jag’s back, wrenching Jag’s arm further up between his shoulder blades at a painful angle. Milo’s furious gaze never left mine, despite his boss’s orders. His focus on me was so singular, I wondered if he even heard Jag speak.

Shaken to the core, my mouth and throat went dry. I licked my chapped lips and there was no moisture to wet them. If looks could kill, I’d be dead a thousand times from Milo’s loathing glare.

“If you don’t get your fucking hands off of me this second, you won’t live to see tomorrow.” It was Jag’s pointed threat that finally snapped Milo out of his trance. Milo sneered and released me from his predatory stare. I gasped as I inhaled, not aware I had been holding my breath throughout the standoff.

The second Milo let go of Jag’s arm Jag spun in a blur of motion and slammed his lieutenant to the opposite wall, pressing a thick forearm against Milo’s throat. Jag magically produced the biggest, scariest knife I’d ever laid eyes on, and held the black serrated blade to Milo’s cheek, eyes blazing and teeth bared.

Holy shit…

T
onight was
a clusterfuck of epic proportions. Los Guerreros caught the men Milo assigned to follow their boss, El Cuchillo, and executed them without contacting me or giving me a heads-up. It was an unspoken code to notify another boss if you intended on killing his men—deals were put together, lives spared, compromises made. Not that fucking piece of shit bastard. He sliced through Seven and Jimmy’s throats right outside his compound, in full view of our other team. I had no doubt he did it on purpose to antagonize me into a war. I obviously underestimated how insulted El Cuchillo was when I turned down his offer to enter the sex trade.

If that motherfucker wanted a goddamn war, that was exactly what he’d fucking get.

I was at my base of operations when we got word of the executions. George went ballistic, with Jimmy being a childhood friend. The two of them joined up under the old boss and were as close as brothers. I was pissed, not only because my men were brutally murdered, but also because I honestly didn’t think Cuchillo had the balls to start a war with me. The fact that he did, and did it so brutally, only meant one thing. Brick in Houston had accepted his deal and the two of them had joined forces. They were going to try to overthrow my operation and take Austin for themselves.

And they might actually succeed.

By the time we pacified George and gathered our men for an emergency meeting at my house, I was agitated to the point of losing my shit and it was my turn being the one who had to be calmed.

We rode in three big SUVs back to the house. The second mine stopped, I flung open the door and stormed into the house, my body exploding in a torrent of rage and my vision tinged with red.

“Goddamn fucking motherfucking shithole cuntfaced bastard! I’m going to rip him into tiny pieces with my bare hands!”

“Get your shit together, Boss!”

I whirled around at Milo’s reprimand, ready for a fight.
Needing
a fight. Anything to let out the anger and frustration caused by the overwhelming feeling of failure. Two of my men would never come back, and it weighed heavy on my mind.

“Shut the fuck up, Milo!” I strode up to him and bumped his chest with mine. I could see Milo attempting to hold back. His jaw pulsed and his eyes blazed with fire. Stupid prick wanted to hit me. Badly.

“We can’t win this thing if we can’t sit down and make a goddamn plan because you’re too busy having a hissy fit,” Milo threw back.

“Fuck you!” I put my palms on the big man’s chest and shoved. Milo stumbled back, his eyes wide. He recovered quickly, red-faced and seething. Milo straightened his suit jacket and lifted a single cocky eyebrow.

“Like I said before, maybe having pussy living in your house is rubbing off on you, making you all emotional and shit. Hell, it made you turn down the deal Cuchillo offered. A good deal that would make us a lot of fucking money. What’s the problem, you got PMS or something, Boss?”

At the mention of Miri, I fucking snapped. With a roar, I lowered my head and charged Milo. I smashed into him and his back collided with a glass cabinet filled with little pieces of expensive bullshit. Milo grunted when I knocked the wind out of him. The cabinet went crashing to the tile floor, exploding with a loud bang followed by the sound of shattering glass.

“Don’t fucking go there with me, Milo!”

My lieutenant stood and pushed me back. Pissed and desperate to unleash my rage, to cause pain, I cocked my fist to take a swing. Someone behind me grabbed my arm, holding me back from killing my right-hand man.

“Boss, calm down.”

The low whisper in my ear did nothing to lessen my fury. In fact, I only fought harder. Milo jumped in and took hold of my other arm, using it to maneuver me into submission. The two men pinned me against the wall while I kicked and demanded to be released. In all my years of working in this business, this was only the second time I had ever lost control. The first was when I found out my little sister was dead. I remembered how that moment felt as if it happened yesterday.

Out of control. Unable to change anything. Helpless. A failure.

“Get the fuck out of here, bitch!” Milo’s snarling words made me freeze, my struggle stopping abruptly. There was only one woman in the mansion he could possibly be speaking to. The housekeeper and cook wouldn’t be here this late at night. Just like that, my red-tinged fury iced over, morphing into a cloak of lethal blackness.

“Let go of me.” My voice was so low and even, it surprised even me. Feyo, the man who helped hold me down, immediately released my arm and stepped back in line with the other men. I inhaled through my nose, willing myself to stay calm enough to speak. “If you don’t get your fucking hands off of me this second, you won’t live to see tomorrow.”

I heard Miri gasp. She was close. Too fucking close. Too many dangerously explosive men nearby. Myself included. Finally, Milo came to his senses and let go of my arm. With a quick, well-practiced move, I snatched my KA-BAR from my leg and whirled around, pinning Milo to the opposite wall with my forearm while brandishing the long blade. I let the razor-sharp edge graze his skin where it made a pinpoint slice. Blood welled up and a single drop ran down his cheek. Furious, I dug my forearm into his thick neck, watching gleefully as his face turned red and his dark eyes flared with rage. Our noses bumped as I threw down the gauntlet once and for all.

“Don’t ever talk about Miri again. Don’t speak to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t even fucking think about her. She has absolutely nothing to do with me turning down that prick’s shitty deal.” Even with his air cut off, Milo managed to scowl. “I don’t deal in whores and I sure as fuck don’t deal in human slavery. Got it?” I dragged the blade down and the cut opened to half an inch. A steady flow of dark blood welled from the gash, dripping down Milo’s chin and onto his suit. I had to hold back a sneer.

Fucking disgusting.

Reluctantly, Milo gave a sharp nod of understanding. I stepped back, carefully wiping the knife on his jacket before returning it to its sheath. His suit was already ruined—no sense in trashing mine as well. My eyes flicked over to Miri. She looked as if she just woke up, no makeup, dressed in teeny tiny sleep shorts and a matching tank, her fiery hair piled on her head, and her mouth hanging open in shock. I met frightened green eyes and tipped my chin to let her know everything was okay. There was still work to be done, so I spun on my heel, told one of them to call someone to clean up the mess, and beckoned the rest of my men to follow me to the office.

As much as I’d have loved to throw Miri over my shoulder, take her to bed, and bury myself between her thighs all night long, I had a war to plan.

F
uck
, I was tired.

Two of my men were dead—a clear signal of my rival’s intent to take me out—I had another fucking fight with Milo when we needed more than ever to work together to demolish our enemy, and I was frustrated from not getting a single moment with Miri in over a week, alone or otherwise.

When I passed the closed door of her room, I paused. She’d looked devastated earlier when she saw me lose my shit in the foyer. I winced at the thought of Miri seeing me like that, completely out of control, but she looked as if she understood. It was a camaraderie of sorts. Miri knew what it meant to be out of control. She knew pain.

It went against my nature to seek comfort from another person. Influenced by years of being on my own, I’m sure. Yet I wanted it, badly. Moving as quietly as possible, I slipped into her room and undressed. Miri was lying on her side, her back to the door. The sweet scent of her skin filled the room and drew me in like a moth to a flame. I couldn’t leave now if I wanted to.

I didn’t want to.

I should have gone to my own room, slept in my own bed, and left Miri alone so she wouldn’t get caught up in my shit any more than she already was. But I was too selfish, in too deep. I needed her like I needed air to breathe. I slid between the cool sheets and pressed my body to Miri’s back, letting her warmth seep into my cold skin and icy heart. She made a small sound, a contented little moan, and I knew, as I wrapped my arms around her waist and curled around her small body, I knew I was in love with this girl. The one who’d stumbled into my life and transformed it forever.

As my eyelids grew heavy, sleep pulling me under, my subconscious reminded me that I would likely have to make a choice soon. Miri or my job. I refused to trap her in this life when she deserved so much more. But I was certain I didn’t have the strength to make the right decision. I was selfish. Greedy. Hungry for more.

Tomorrow. I would worry about it tomorrow. Living for the moment, I buried my nose in Miri’s hair and breathed in her scent, allowing dreams of a future I would never have to fill my mind as I drifted off.

The skin around my eyes was puffy and heavy as I blinked back the morning light streaming into the room. My lids were so swollen, I could hardly see through the thin slits. I began to roll over to cover my head with the pillow when I remembered last night.
Jag and Milo, fighting—the snarls and curses I heard them shout at each other. Milo staring with those terrifying eyes as if he wanted to kill me with his bare hands. Going to bed and crying myself to sleep with the knowledge that a real relationship with Jag would never be possible.
My throat constricted and my eyes burned. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry. I mean, my God, it just wasn’t possible to have any more tears after shedding so many last night.

A soft snuffle made me bolt upright in fear. I glanced over and blinked multiple times to be certain of what I saw. To my surprise, Jag was laying next to me in the bed, sprawled on his back, long arms outstretched. His gorgeous face was slack with sleep, and I frowned at the large purple bruise discoloring one cheek.

He came to me last night?

I didn’t remember Jag entering the room, let alone climbing into my bed. Jesus, I must have been out cold. For as long as I’d been at Jag’s house, this was the first time we’d shared a bed for anything other than sex or crashing afterward. My heart was heavy with emotion. I longed to etch this moment into my brain so I could recall it years from now when Jag was a mere blip on the radar of my life.

Biting my lip, I stared at the gorgeous man, studying every single detail. Just as I did the first time I saw him sleep, I noticed that without the constant demands of his job, Jag looked much, much younger than the gruff boss I saw every day. His tense, always on the defensive attitude was gone, replaced by a relaxed, beautiful and haunted man. Dark stubble grew overnight to cover his angled cheeks and chin, lending a rugged edge to his classically handsome good looks.

My eyes scrutinized the intricate tattoo on the skin of his left pectoral muscle. The dark, blood red rose was beautifully shaded. A few deep green leaves grew from a thorn-covered stem, and a single drop of blood hung ominously from the tip of one of the thorns. I’d never really looked at the tattoo before. When Jag wasn’t wearing T-shirts, he wore crisp, long-sleeved button-downs, neither of which displayed his art. Every time I saw Jag shirtless, we had been lost in each other, the unquenchable fire burning between us. This was the first time I had a chance to study the design.

Needing to touch him, I gently traced the curved line of the stem with a fingertip.

Jag’s hand darted out from his side, snatching my own in a painfully tight grip.

“Ow!” I fought to pull from his crushing hold.

“Miri?” When Jag realized what he was doing, a frown tugged at his mouth and he released my hand. Jag sat and rubbed his hands down his cheeks, the scrape of fingers across his stubble practically begging me to lean in and swipe my tongue across the rough surface. “I’m sorry, Miri. I was sleeping, I think. I don’t usually… I mean… I never sleep with anyone so I’m not used to…” Jag’s hands dropped to his lap and he sagged against the headboard. “Are you okay?” Tired blue eyes met mine. The dark circles beneath underlined the extent of his exhaustion.

“I’m fine. I didn’t mean to startle you.” I glanced away, unsure what to say about last night’s vicious and frightening display. Or about finding him in my bed this morning. In the end, I decided on honesty. “Why are you here, Jag?”

His sigh was long and weary, one of a man tired of fighting. “I don’t know, Miri. I just wanted to feel normal for one minute of my life.” He twisted his head to trap me with those mesmerizing eyes. “And I missed you.”

My heart did a flip and I sucked in a loud breath. “I missed you too.”

With a small smile, the big bad drug lord did something I never, ever thought I’d see. Jag lifted his arm—an invite for me to curl up into the space next to him—for us to cuddle. I didn’t have to think twice to take him up on the offer and scrambled to close the distance. Once I was settled at his side, Jag wrapped his strong arm around me, holding me close. My eyes closed when he pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“I got a job.” I traced the ridges of his taut stomach.

“Congratulations.” The smile was evident in his voice even though I couldn’t see it.

“Thanks. I start Monday.”

“Motorcycles?”

“Yes. I can’t wait to work again.” I melted into Jag’s side, basking in his praise and the rare comfort offered in this peaceful moment. No other men watching, no shouting, no one bothering Jag for his time, no ugly looks shot my way—it was both refreshing and relaxing and… normal, just like Jag said he wanted.

“I’m happy for you, doll. Actually… I’ve been fixin’ to make a career change myself.”

What?

As comfortable as I was encased in his arms, I leaned back so I could see his face. “Are you serious?”

Jag’s mouth curved into a lopsided grin and my heart skipped a beat. “Yeah, I am, doll. I never meant to do this for so long. It was never my plan.” Those beautiful lips pulled down at the corners.

“But you kept doing it.”

He nodded. “I did. Once I…” Jag swallowed, his throat rippling before he continued. “…took over all this.” He gestured randomly with a sweep of his arm to indicate everything around us. “I had nothin’ else. Nowhere to go, no other options. This is all I knew.”