Sex Junkie (Cowboy Addiction 1)

She giggled then, and the release of laughter felt good, completely refreshing. In recent weeks, all she’d done was cry.

She’d sobbed over the loss of Kilo, not because she loved him, but because she needed him. She’d cried when she’d left Memphis, fearing she’d never return to the city she’d loved at first sight. Then, she wailed like a baby, throwing tantrums and fits as the detox process brought her to her knees.

Now, if anyone ever told her to go to hell—as Kilo often did—she could tell them she’d seen the glow from its dancing flames, truly experienced its unforgiving fires, met the devil, shaken his hand, and even gotten to know a few of those who’d gone before her.

“What are you thinking?” Blake asked, studying her face.

Unaware she’d zoned out, she said, “I was just reliving a memory or two. It’s nothing.”

“Is it private?” Blake asked.

“Yes, sort of.”

“You can’t have secrets from us,” Blake reminded her.

He was right. In order for them to reconnect on an intimate level, she had to open up and talk to them. If she ever wanted to put the past behind her, she had to let them know what she’d endured.

“I saw weird things during those first few days.”

“Weird how?” Blake asked.

She glanced at Grant. If he had walked down this road of addiction with his brother, he already had a pretty good idea of what she’d endured.

“There were demons after me,” she explained. “The best way to describe the first few hours would be that I slipped into one of the worst horror movies imaginable. I caught the leading role and was both heroine and villain, doomed to die and destined to live on forever.”

“What?” Blake asked, arching a brow.

“Go on,” Grant encouraged her. His eyes held the harrowing truth. Grant had already heard plenty about the devil’s serum. Meth had quite a reputation on the streets, but those who’d experienced the drug through their loved one’s addiction knew the kind of hell “ice” brought down on families and its many users.

“By the time I got to Nashville, I was sick and sweating bullets. The innkeeper at the motel where I checked in didn’t want to give me a room. I had to beg for one and then allow him access whenever he requested. I guess he thought I was making meth because of my outer appearance.

“Anyway, by the time I settled in for the night, I was a mess. The room started spinning, the hallucinations began, and I was in a very bad place. I heard voices. I clutched the devil’s hand and saw those who’d sold their souls, but I fought my way out of hell. I could feel the fires consuming me, the way the flames danced at my back, but I knew I didn’t want to die and go to hell. I realized there were people who loved me.

“I hung on to that. I held tightly to the possibilities that if I made it out of that hotel room alive, I’d never go back and tempt death again.”

“Then why would you take the drug if someone offered it?” Blake asked.

“It’s hard to explain. Even though I swore I’d never go back, I’m not out of the woods yet. Every day for the rest of my life, I will crave meth. I’ll want one taste of something better than the last fix I had. Unfortunately, I was a junkie. I was one of the worst of my kind. An endless supply was at my disposal as long as I did whatever Kilo asked of me. In many ways, I should be grateful to Kilo.”

“What?” Grant asked, nearly coming unglued. “That bastard allowed you to keep injecting nothing but pure poison.”

“Yes, you’re right. Still, if he hadn’t supplied me with fresh needles, I would’ve been one of those druggies out on the streets looking for one to share.”

“Oh, Morgan,” Grant rasped.

“I didn’t. I’d be willing to take a blood test. You know, just to be sure I’m clean.”

“We want you to do that, anyway. You don’t know where Kilo’s been,” Blake pointed out.

“We never had unprotected sex.”

“What about oral?” Grant pried.

She shook her head. “I know that’s hard to believe but truth is, Kilo liked to fuck, and he liked to screw a lot. That’s all he wanted to do. He was more or less a control freak and he liked making sex a dirty deed. Oral would’ve suggested he wanted intimacy and he assured me over and over again, he didn’t want a romantic relationship.”

“Was he a Dom?” Grant asked.

“No, he was just a self-serving bastard who would slip on a condom before he came to bed, grab hold of me, and screw me, generally from behind. He said it was too painful to look into my empty eyes. Then, he’d roll over and go to sleep. Generally, after he got off, he’d tell me where to find my fix. The more we fucked, the more he gave me drugs.”