Junkie (Broken Doll #1) (2 page)

Dressed in a pair of Armani track pants and a fitted tee, I padded barefoot down the stairs and headed for my study. With a thumb to the digital keypad, I unlocked the reinforced door. The light flashed green, soundlessly retracting the seven separate two-inch-thick bolts and releasing the airtight seal with a soft hiss. The door also took a key or combination in case of a power outage, but I was the only one with access to either of those. The study was the one room in the house that was designed to be completely impenetrable—a panic room. While every single window in the mansion was specially crafted out of bulletproof glass, the study also boasted lightweight, armored steel plates beneath the drywall and a high-tech air filtration system connected to a generator.

Desperate to free my mind from the obsessive thoughts urging me to do unhealthy things, I crossed the room to an elaborate bar carved out between two large bookcases, poured a healthy portion of whiskey, and downed it in one gulp.

Fuck, that burns so goddamn good.

I poured another, this time adding ice and sipping it slowly as I circled the desk. Mentally and physically exhausted, I dropped into the plush leather chair. My entire body relaxed into the seat. I didn’t want to contemplate tonight’s events. What was done was done. I never had regrets, not with business anyway, yet I felt myself becoming maudlin. My mind kept drifting, bringing me back to my past despite my aversion to doing so.

I needed to occupy my tireless brain with something. First, I messed with the few items on the desktop, meticulously lining them up in their designated spots, even though they were already as straight as possible. I opened the long, flat drawer and deposited my lucky coin inside, then quickly arranged the contents until everything was perfect. Still twitchy and in urgent need of a diversion, I swiveled to face the seventy-inch wall-mounted TV next to the desk. Using the remote, I pressed several buttons until the screen split into twenty different smaller pictures—ten for the security cameras on this property, most outside, as well as ten at the downtown warehouse that served as base of operations. I had no clue how long I sat behind the desk, eyes unfocused, staring at the miniature pictures, but it was long enough for the buzzer outside the study to go off and scare the shit out of me.

Fuck
, I needed to snap the hell out of my shitty mood.

On the monitor, I saw Milo waiting for entrance into the panic room. I cursed myself silently. No one should be able to take me by surprise in my study, especially not with me staring directly at the security feed. One of the cameras was aimed directly at the other side of the door. Like me, I could see Milo had showered and changed—he fucking knew better than to bring his evidence-laden clothes into my house—and waited to be granted entry into my private space.

A button under my desk unlocked the door. The bolts released and my right-hand man stepped inside.

“Boss.” Milo’s calm expression and slight smirk told me all I needed to know without words. The Mason Smith problem was taken care of.

I nodded. “Good.”

Panic room or not, I never discussed business out loud in the house unless it was in code or using ambiguous words. The guy who built the room guaranteed that it was impossible to hear through the thick walls, but the Feds and their fancy equipment should never be underestimated, not to mention rivals ready to cut me down at the first opportunity.

Milo nodded, pouring his own whiskey before taking a seat across from me. I waited while the man took a long sip and grinned. He showed off his pretentious gold tooth, the metal glinting in the lamplight. I glanced at the bar and my heart pounded against my ribcage. It took an enormous amount of willpower to grit my teeth and resist the urge to put the whiskey bottle back in its proper place. Fucking Milo left it sitting uncapped on the middle of the counter.

Milo was… interesting. A cruel prick who thrived on pain and power. A bloodthirsty bastard, he took his job seriously and loved every single minute of it. Especially the status that came with being the city’s most feared enforcer. I might be the boss of this operation, but Milo was the muscle. Not that I didn’t flex mine enough to be feared in my own right, but if Milo entered the room while you were being questioned—aka beaten to a pulp—you pretty much knew your fate.

“Now what?” Milo asked, lazily swirling his drink in his huge hand. Without being specific, I still knew what Milo was asking. Who would replace Mason Smith?
Fucking dumbass punk kid
. He was one of my best area dealers with more than ten men under his command. Smith could have risen through the ranks and become someone important in my organization. Until a buyer figured out Smith’s bags were light and complained.

“I have someone in place already.” I continued sipping my whiskey. The ice clinked against the glass each time it tilted to my mouth.

Milo nodded. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed and content with the silence. He wasn’t usually a man of many words, which I appreciated. Suddenly, without warning, Milo was on his feet, his shiny .45 caliber in his meaty hand and his hardened gaze fixed on the security feeds. I leapt from my own chair, pulse racing. My eyes bounced from Milo to the screen and back.

“What, Milo? What is it?”

“Nine.” He pointed at the TV with the muzzle of that massive fucking gun.

I pushed a few buttons on the remote and the feed for camera nine filled the screen. Both of us became so quiet, I’d have sworn we stopped breathing. When I saw what concerned Milo, I opened the desk drawer with a steady hand and pulled out my own 9mm. Gun in hand, a wave of focused calm swept over me as I locked eyes with my lieutenant and motioned toward the door.

“Let’s go.”

“You motherfucking asshole!” I screeched at my missing boyfriend-slash-dealer-slash-dickhead while I yanked open drawers and scattered clothes all over the filthy floor in my desperate search. On the edge of losing my mind, I stopped and looked around the tiny studio apartment I called home. My trembling fingers threaded through my knotted hair. This place was a disaster, more closely resembling the scene of a break-in than a place to live, since I’d completely ransacked it in my futile quest for a dose.

My stomach chose that exact moment to cramp. The pain was so great I clutched at my midsection, and collapsed to the floor in a ball. The agony was nothing compared to what I knew came next if I didn’t score some H soon. Just one bag. That would be enough to hold me over until that prick, Mason, came back. Sweating profusely, I used the edge of my shirt to wipe my forehead as anxiety flooded the very veins I wished opiates were flowing through instead. I hardly had the energy to rock back and forth when another fission cracked inside my frail body. While I writhed in distress, reality struck like a hard kick to the ribs.

No Mason, no money, no H, no way to get any.

Where the fuck is he?

I clawed at the filthy carpet with my ragged, broken nails, and screamed in frustration as my body and mind turned against me. Unable to breathe properly, I began arguing with myself as my mind splintered apart.

My body begged,
Get some H. Get some H.

I can’t. I need Mason to get it for me.

My mind responded,
I don’t need him. I can get my own score

Somehow, this last idea made perfect sense.

Nodding to the voice in my head, I pawed through a pile of fabric and tugged on a thin white tank and black shorts in desperate need of a wash. With a pair of old flip-flops on my feet, I took to the streets, dark and incredibly dangerous at this time of night. No matter—I didn’t notice a single thing about my surroundings. Pink elephants could have marched down the sidewalk, playing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and I wouldn’t have cared. The only thing my attention was fixated on, all I could envision, was my next dose. I licked my cracked lips as I imagined injecting the hot liquid bliss into my vein and letting the white nothingness of the heroin take me away from this hell.

Mason had guys working around here. I just had to find one. I scratched at my always itchy skin, unconsciously opening old sores and creating new ones. Not that I gave a shit. The stabbing cramps in my stomach stopped me at least five more times as I wandered the rundown east Austin neighborhood. Pain like I never imagined forced me to bend over and groan time and time again. It became so severe, I worried I’d throw up or shit myself right on the sidewalk when I collapsed next to a couple of hookers looking to make a buck. Thankfully, the girls turned their backs to me, uninterested in some junkie chick falling apart on their corner at one in the morning.

Single-minded, I somehow forced my sore feet to continue and ignored the chills wracking my body despite the humid eighty-degree temperature. One more block before I’d most likely crumple to the ground and curl into the fetal position. Soon I would go into full withdrawal and beg for someone to put me out of my misery. My body was about to give up when I spotted a tall, thin man wearing a backwards baseball cap halfway down the street.

Oh my god! Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Nicky!” I didn’t recognize my own ragged voice. The man watched me with suspicion in his eyes, his hand tucked into a pocket where I was sure he clutched a gun. Undeterred, I staggered toward him, the ground tilting as I walked. “Nicky…” A dry cough interrupted me, stealing my breath as I barked and wheezed and tried to get it under control. Before I could stop, Nicky spoke, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging open.

“Miri? That you?”

“Yeah,” I huffed breathlessly, still trying to recover from the hacking fit. “I can’t find Mason and I need some H.”

Nicky’s blue eyes narrowed. “Twenty a bag, Miri. You know there’s no freebies.”

“I don’t have any money, Nicky. Please?” I reached for his shoulders and my legs gave out. Nicky put his hands under my arms and yanked me back to my feet. “Nicky… You know Mason’s good for it.”

He scoffed. “Get real, girl. There’s no free in this game. Go somewhere else.” He turned his back to me, effectively ending the conversation. My stomach chose that moment to twist painfully, and I cried out as I fell to my knees, ignoring the skin that scraped off on the concrete.

“Please, Nicky. I’ll do anything.” I went for his belt, ready to suck his dick if that was what it took to end this agony.

“Fuck off, Miri! I don’t need your skanky mouth on my cock. I got plenty of girls for that.” His face crumpled in disgust as he shoved me back. “Go away, bitch.”

On the ground, my knees skinned, my body battered, my mind and skin squirming as if they were crawling with bugs, I covered my face with my filthy hands and sobbed.

How did this become my life?

All I’d wanted was to escape the horrors at home. But the horrors I’d seen since running away made the abuse I suffered back then look like a day at the beach. I would give anything to go back and convince the stupid seventeen-year-old girl to stay where she was and endure the beatings until graduation. Or even just to have Cat back. Life wasn’t so bad when we were together. We were making it work. Of course, life never turned out how you thought it would.

Instead of living with my best friend and going to work every day to earn a living, here I was, begging a low-level dealer to give me drugs in exchange for sex.

“Listen…” Nicky lowered his voice, his harsh eyes somewhat softer. “I don’t like to see women crying, Miri, and you
are
Mason’s girl.” I glanced up at him and licked my lips in the hopes of scoring my hit. “I heard a rumor that Mason was meeting up with Boss earlier. You know where Boss lives?” I nodded, my head bouncing up and down on my skinny neck.

“I went there with Mason once.” Nicky’s eyes shot open at my admission. I quickly backtracked to cover my mistake. “I stayed in the car the whole time, Nicky. I swear. Boss didn’t know I was there. Please don’t say anything. I know Mason wasn’t supposed to take me.”

“I won’t say nothin’. Shit, Miri. You two are a couple of stupid fucks, you know that? Wait here.” Nicky disappeared into the shadows and came back with a man I didn’t recognize. “Miri, this is Jorge. He’ll take you there. He’s doing a drop near Boss’s place.” Jorge was short, fat, and grotesque looking, but he could have a hunchback and a second head and I’d still follow him anywhere if it meant scoring some H.

“Oh my God, thank you, thank you,” I gushed, stumbled to my feet, and threw myself at Nicky. On wobbly legs, I hugged him with my useless spaghetti arms. Nicky pushed me away and scrunched his nose.

“Yeah, yeah. You thank Jorge, not me. And don’t mention my name to Boss, you got it?” The dark, menacing look was back on Nicky’s face.

“You got it, Nicky. Anything.” I would have agreed to sell a kidney at this point.

The man called Jorge pointed at a beat-up Chevy two-door. “That’s me. Let’s go.”

His Mexican accent was thick, but growing up in Texas, you got used to it. Jorge waited for me to climb into the passenger seat before he bent over, his nose mere inches from mine. I flinched at the sight of a large scar that ran from temple to chin on one side of his face.

Jorge slapped my cheek just hard enough to sting and I flinched. “You shit or puke in my car,
puta
, you’ll wish you didn’t take this ride.”

His foul breath nearly gagged me. I swallowed back the bile and nodded. “I won’t. I promise.”

Hell, I’d promise just about anything to get a fix.

“Good.” Jorge slammed the door shut and climbed in on the other side, his wide body taking up most of the space and his oversize stomach pressing against the wheel. Shivers wracked my frail body. I tucked my heels beneath me on the seat and wrapped my arms around my knees. When the car began to move, I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t get motion sick and suffer a beating from Jorge. Instead, I focused on getting to the boss’s house and sweet relief from the hell I’d landed in.

An eternity later, when the car finally began to slow to a stop, I reached for the handle, desperate for my drugs. It was locked. I fought with the ancient car door, eventually pounding on the window to get out. My skin was crawling and itchy and the coughing was getting worse with each breath.