Junkie (Broken Doll #1) (5 page)

“First, don’t ever fucking throw shit at me again.” Chills broke out across my skin at his angry threat. “You will not disrespect me in my own house, especially after I fucking took you in instead of killing you the second you set foot on my property. Got it?” When I didn’t answer, he squeezed my upper arms until I whimpered.

“Y-yes. I get it.” I struggled to keep from screaming out of pure terror. What was I thinking? Mouthing off to a drug lord while naked in his shower and a house full of his goons one floor below. I couldn’t possibly be more vulnerable.

After digging his fingers in on another long moment to prove he was in charge, the boss released me and spun me around as he picked up another bottle. “Your hair is fucking disgusting. It needs to be washed.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste and once more, shame flooded me with heat. This man had a way of making me feel as though I was less than human. He held out the bottle, shaking it in my face. “Either you do it, or I do, doll. But you’re not getting out of here until you’ve cleaned the junkie stench off.”

The backs of my eyes stung and my face caught fire. I couldn’t look at him as I took the bottle and poured some shampoo into a shaky hand. He washed himself quickly then stood with his arms crossed over his wide chest as I lathered my hair and rinsed off under the spray.

“Again,” he demanded. I bit my lip to keep from telling him to fuck off and did as I was told.

When the last suds swirled down the drain, the boss was silent as he reached around me and cut off the water. He carefully folded the washcloth, hung it on a bar, and stepped out of the shower enclosure. He handed me a towel, and picked one up for himself. I tried not to watch as he rubbed the fluffy white cloth over all of those tan muscles, but it was futile. Staring, I was mesmerized by the sight as the boss wrapped the towel around his waist and shucked his wet briefs from underneath. I gulped, knowing he was now naked beneath the soft terrycloth, a mere foot away.

When the silence became uncomfortable, I clutched my own towel to my chest, dug up what little courage I had left, and turned to face him with a huff. “We showered together and I don’t even know your name.”

He quirked that damn eyebrow again and smiled, white teeth gleaming in the middle of his dark designer stubble. If I didn’t know he was a widely feared drug lord and a pushy, high-handed, scary motherfucker, I’d find his expression almost charming.

“Boss.”

“I already figured out you’re
The Boss
, I want to know your name.”

“My name
is
Boss,” he repeated. “Or Boss Man. Either one works.” As if he didn’t have a care in the world, as if forcing unwilling women into a shower were an everyday occurrence, he shrugged and brushed a hand through his wet hair.

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.” This guy was so damn frustrating. He shot me up with H, dumped me in the shower, humiliated me, washed me, but wouldn’t tell me his name.
Whatever
. I turned my back to him.

Big mistake.

Two large hands wrapped around my shoulders, and I was jerked back against his body once more. Both of us were currently clad only in towels, his slung low around his waist and mine tucked under my armpits. There wasn’t as much skin-on-skin contact as in the shower, but this felt much more intimate. Slowly, Boss spun me around to face him, and I had to muffle a frightened cry. His blue eyes were narrowed to slits, nostrils flaring. The transformation from playful to furious was immediate and absolutely terrifying. For the first time since I’d showed up on his lawn, I was truly, without a doubt, scared shitless.

This man, the one in front of me—so different from the man who laughed in the shower—is what I expected from the drug lord I heard rumors about. Horrible rumors of unspeakable acts of violence. A ruthless man to be respected and feared.

Boss pressed the length of his half-naked body against me, and growled, teeth glinting behind curled lips. “That’s the second time you turned your back on me after mouthing off. I’m only going to say this once more, Miri, so listen carefully.” He lowered his head and his breath ghosted across my neck. I shuddered and a whimper escaped my throat, the result of a horrifying combination of lust and fear. “You are
my
guest. You snuck onto
my
property and you’re goddamn lucky I didn’t let Milo shoot you on sight. No, I
saved
you, took your ass in, gave you your fucking heroin, and washed a couple weeks’ worth of filth and scum off of you using my very expensive body wash that, incidentally, I never share with anyone. I expect you to be grateful for my hospitality and treat me with some goddamn motherfucking respect, got it?” His hands tightened around my arms incrementally as he spoke. His message was quite clear as his touch became more and more painful. I knew his thick fingers would leave bruises on my pale, fragile skin.

Legs shaking, I nearly pissed myself when faced with the lethal side of this man.

“I want to hear you say you understand, Miri.” Boss let go and stepped back until his eyes bored holes into me from beneath heavy brows.

Filled with terror, my heart pounded and my breath caught in my lungs, rendering me speechless. His eyes narrowed, not happy with my silence. Somehow, I managed to choke out two words.

“I-I understand.”

Just like that, the sinister drug lord was gone. As if a switch had been flipped, my capitulation replaced the terrorizing boss with the smiling man who’d gently, and not so gently, bathed me a mere five minutes ago. Boss winked before adding in a thick, Texas drawl, “Glad to hear it, doll.”

Still wrapped in a towel, he pushed me down the hall and opened a door to expose a nicely appointed bedroom. Boss motioned me inside.

“This is your room. You will stay in here, you will not leave, and you will not pull any bullshit unless you want a bullet in your head, and believe me, nothing pisses me off more than having a mess made all over my floor.” I bit my lips to silence a gasp and he continued as if he didn’t just threaten to kill me. Again. “There are clothes on the bed and an attached bath. You will keep this room clean and neat. I’ll have someone retrieve you tomorrow.”

I opened my mouth to ask a question, but he was gone. I heard a lock click on the outside of the door. Oh my God, I was trapped in a bizarre, luxurious prison, completely at the mercy of Austin’s fiercest drug lord, and from what I knew, that title was earned deep in the trenches of brutality and death. I sat on the edge of the bed, the damp towel against my clammy skin, and shivered with fear.

Holy fuck. What have I gotten myself into?

I
entered
my study and caught the scent of the whiskey I’d abandoned on my desk two hours ago when Milo and I rushed outside to find a tiny, zombie-eyed junkie on my front lawn. The pull of the alcohol, combined with the inexplicable surge of lust from my encounter in the bathroom with Miri, had me downing the entire glass in one swift motion. I spotted the bottle Milo left uncapped and scowled, screwing it shut and putting it back in its designated spot, nudging a few other bottles and glasses until they stood in perfect rows.

What a goddamn clusterfuck of a night.

I collapsed into my chair and dragged my nails through the short hairs on my face while going back over the events of the past few hours. The more I thought, the more I scratched, the itchier the stubble became.

I should just shave this goddamn thing off. Fuck looking older.

In the dark room, the only light glowing from a single bulb over the bar, I sat at my desk and relived every single interaction I had with Miri, every word, every facial expression, every touch. The defiance in her fiery eyes when she stood up to me made me chuckle. This tiny little redhead, weak and without a doubt no match for my brute strength, shocked the hell out of me when she peeled off her soaking wet clothes and threw them down like a gauntlet at a duel. I was blown away by her steady gaze, practically daring me to say something.

Despite her issues, her addiction, her obvious lack of food and medical care, Miri was…
alive
. She looked like hell but had this presence about her, a spark, a strength inside that made me believe she still had a chance. A chance to escape this life when so many others before her failed and succumbed to the lure of the poisonous drugs and dark lifestyle.

Others like Rose. Fuck. I can’t go there right now.

I shoved that shit right out of my head and turned my thoughts to my former dealer, Mason Smith. That thieving son of a bitch had a girl at home, the girl currently locked in one of my guest rooms, strung out on heroin. How considerate of him to not give a single fuck as to what would happen to Miri if he were to disappear, and make no mistake, when Mason spotted Milo in that warehouse, he damn well knew he would never be going home again.

My hand clenched around the empty whiskey glass. I was furious with the man who stole from me, but more furious that he left Miri to die, forgotten, like a piece of trash to be discarded. I knew from experience what bastards like Mason Smith did to girls like Miri. Miri’s total lack of interest in Mason’s whereabouts once she got her hit spoke volumes. She didn’t care about Mason. They weren’t in love. Hell, they probably weren’t even a couple. I knew how situations like theirs worked in the seedy, dark shadows of the worst neighborhoods in the city.

Dealers like Mason would find desperate girls like Miri and get them hooked on drugs. The girls would become compliant, dependent on the dealer for everything. Next, they became unable to leave their captors because of their desperate need to fuel their addiction. Mason likely made Miri his prisoner by feeding her drugs in exchange for sex. Sometimes, those bastards even pimped the women out to other men for extra cash.

Memories of my sister, and a past I would never have a chance to make right, sent an onslaught of red-hot fury throbbing in my veins, the fire pulsing like lava until I was burning with rage from the inside out. Without warning, the glass in my hand shattered, crystal splintering into pieces to send sharp shards deep into the soft flesh of my palm.

Son of a bitch!

Dark red welled from my closed fist and began dripping down my arm as I hurried over to the sink and stuck my hand under the tap. I hissed as I plucked out the larger bits of glass. Blood mixed with water swirled together in the sink, the inky red liquid turning pink as it spiraled to disappear down the drain. On closer inspection, I discovered the cuts were still bleeding quite a bit, several of them possibly deep enough to require stitches.

Fuck it. I was too tired to give a shit.

A towel hung nearby, so I wrapped it around the wounds and leaned over the sink, hands braced on either side, head hanging down. My body vibrated as I seethed with fury.

Don’t let the anger take over.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pictured Miri, healthy and thirty pounds heavier, with glossy red hair and flawless white skin with a spunky shine in those emerald green eyes.

Abruptly, the red hair morphed into dark, brunette waves, the green eyes to a brilliant blue. A blue I saw every day when I looked in the mirror.
Rose
. Regret pierced my heart, cutting a thousand times deeper than the gashes on my hand. Rage and remorse fought for dominance, racing up my spine to prick at the back of my neck as if a ghost were breathing across the sensitive skin. I clenched my jaw and steadied myself against the sink.

It’s too late to save her. I needed to move the fuck on.

Who was I kidding?

I’d likely never move on from completely failing the only person in my life who ever meant anything to me.

I raised my head and stared at the man in the mirror over the bar with loathing, careful to avoid the familiar cobalt blue eyes. I fully expected to look like shit, but was literally shocked at how gruesome my face appeared—bloodshot eyes, purple shadows encircling them, dark hair slicked back from the shower, and the specks of gray in my scruff seemingly doubled over the course of a single day.

Drained and raw, I rubbed my good hand down my face and my heart rate kicked up, panicked, as I checked to make sure no blood had dripped onto the floor or my clothing. Satisfied everything was clean, I walked over to my desk and pulled my coin out of the top drawer. I clutched it in my fist for a moment, closing my eyes and clearing my mind. Methodically, I began flipping it over my bruised knuckles—back and forth, back and forth—until my breathing slowed and my hammering heart slowed to a normal rhythm. Done with my brief lapse in control, I shoved the coin back in the drawer and sighed.

Now to deal with security, or rather, lack of. The thought of someone so easily breaching my perimeter had me grinding my teeth. I tapped out a quick text to Burke for him to meet me in the garage and wiped all emotion off my face.

No more reminiscing. No more feelings. It was time to be Boss again.

When I woke in a big, soft, clean bed and took in my surroundings, the events from last night flooded back at once. Gasping, I sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. With a groan, I fell back on the plush pillow, closed my eyes, and pressed my hands to my throbbing temples, swallowing down a flood of nausea.

Did I really come to Mason’s boss’s house to beg for a hit of H? The house of the most feared and ruthless drug lord in Austin? One who threatened my life more than once, then locked me up like a criminal, with the Boss being the judge, jury, and if he so desired, my executioner?

Yes. Yes I did.

I threw off the covers and sat up slower this time. Because I still didn’t believe last night wasn’t a dream, I inspected my left foot. The evidence was right there, in the form of a small red pinprick where the H was injected. So many questions assailed my mind at once. Why would Boss help me? Why did he wash me instead of delegating it to some flunky? Why didn’t he demand sex like every other asshole I’ve met?

With no answers forthcoming anytime soon, I took a deep breath and got up to use the attached bath. Just like every day over the last several months, I purposefully avoided the mirror, afraid to see what I’d become. It was easier to remember how I looked before I ran away from home and even during the two and a half years before Cat vanished. I had been beautiful once, with a bright smile and healthy skin, my copper colored hair clean and well kept. I had no desire to see the pathetic, strung-out junkie I’d become.

That line of thinking always brought me to Cat. It had been six months since my best friend went missing. Six months since I last heard her laugh or saw her smile. Three years ago, it was my idea for the two of us to run away, though I only suggested it because I knew how much Cat was suffering at the hands of her stepfather. When she confided in me how he raped her nearly every night, her mother doing absolutely nothing to stop it from happening, I had to get her out of there.

Small and petite, like Cat, her Mexican mother was a tiny thing, just over five feet tall, very traditional with regards to a woman’s place in the home, and no match physically for Cat’s enormous brute of a stepfather. After years of beatings from my own mother, when Cat began to hint around at taking drastic measures like suicide, I decided it was better for both of us to get the hell out of our rural Texas town.

How wrong and stupid I was. We did okay for a couple years. Both of us had jobs that paid for food and a place of our own, but the fond memories weren’t enough to soothe the hollow ache in my heart from the loss of my best friend.

I wrapped my too skinny arms around my waist and clutched the oversized T-shirt I found on the bed tight around my body. After that bizarre shower with one of the most feared men in Austin, I was shaken to the core. Boss didn’t seem very scary all wet and soapy and smiling, but when his voice went low and he held me in his tight grip while scolding me for mouthing off, yeah, I saw exactly how downright fucking terrifying he could be. The man was intimidating. And intriguing. And gorgeous.

Ugh
. I rubbed my bleary eyes with the heels of my hands. I needed to stop thinking about Boss as attractive. He was a controlling, vicious asshole. Besides, my skin was beginning to itch and I could feel the agitation creeping up. Time for another hit, if he’d give me one. I searched the room for something to wear besides the huge black tee and baggy plaid boxer shorts left on the bed and came up empty. The boxers were so big, I had to fold them over three times to keep them from falling down. It wasn’t as though I particularly cared what I wore or how I looked. Hell, Boss saw me completely naked last night. But whereas last night I had no problem standing up to the jerk, for some reason, this morning I felt vulnerable.

The desperation for a fix obviously made me beyond reckless last night, and the bright light of morning had me regretting my actions big-time. I padded to the bedroom door and remembered how it shut behind me with a loud click. Locked up in a gilded cage.
Was it still locked?

I sucked in a deep breath and pushed on the bedroom door. Yep. Locked. I exhaled and sat on a small armchair tucked in the corner of the room. While I wondered what would happen next and how long I could go before withdrawals hit, I heard voices getting closer.

Male voices.

“What’s your plan then, Boss? Continue to shoot up some junkie chick while she treats your house like a hooker crash pad?” I didn’t recognize the deep, angry growl, but it vibrated to my marrow and sent chills across my skin.
Not
the good kind of chills.

“Milo, butt out of my business and do your goddamn job, which, by the way, is to do whatever the fuck I say.”

That
voice I recognized. The man from the shower. The one with no name who they called Boss. Or as Mason used to say, Boss Man. Clearly, the men were arguing over me. I knew I was the “junkie” being referenced. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it, but this was the first time the slur actually hurt. Boss spoke again and this time, he was truly pissed.

“Make sure my bathroom is sterilized again, then get your ass over to security and find a replacement for Burke. Whichever of his men you feel is best suited.” There was a pause before Boss continued. “The girl is not to leave the premises under any circumstances, and I don’t want a repeat of last night. Make it known what the consequences will be if security fails again. Use Burke as an example, got it, Milo?”

“Yeah, Boss. Got it.” I heard the angry man’s heavy footfalls fade then come to an abrupt stop. “You sure you don’t want me here when you deal with—”

“Goddammit, Milo. Get the fuck out of here before you regret it and I have to get all fucking dirty, which you know irritates the fuck out of me.” Boss snarled at the other man.

His angry threat should have frightened me, especially when combined with Boss’s clear intent on keeping me locked up like a prisoner—and now the sound was coming from right outside the bedroom door. But instead of being alarmed, the smooth sound of his voice sent another chill across my skin. This time, it was the
good
kind of chill, the kind that pulled a shudder from deep down while simultaneously heating my insides. What, exactly, did that say about me?

Who gets turned on by threats of violence and unlawful imprisonment at the hands of a criminal who treats me as something less than human?

“Okay, Boss.” Boots thumped down the hall and I heard a door open and close.

The only warning I had was the click of a lock before the knob turned. I shut my eyes, bracing myself to come face-to-face with Boss for the first time since that humiliating shower, subsequent captivity, and multiple threats on my life. Despite the oppressive fear and my irrational attraction to the man, I forced my body to remain unmoving on the chair while waiting to find out my fate.

The door swung open, and my eyes opened, immediately landing on
him
. Boss had yet to notice me, so I took a moment to really study the man. His strong, commanding presence was undeniable, the sharp angles of his profile intimidating. Faced with him again, I remembered how tall, how large Boss was. At least a few inches over six feet, maybe more.

I felt more than saw his gaze land on me. My skin pricked and my stomach twisted with nerves.

“Come with me.” He turned and left, confident I would follow. And I did.

We descended a grand staircase to a marble foyer. Barefoot, I hurried down a wide hall lined with expensive artwork and decorations, struggling to keep up with Boss’s long strides. The hall ended in the enormous kitchen.

Shaking, I stood and fidgeted, waiting.