Sex Junkie (Cowboy Addiction 1)

“Are you okay?”

Grant stared off in the distance. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t feel any better, do you?”

“I would’ve felt better if you’d let me kill him.”

Chapter Eleven

Morgan cried out in her sleep until Blake shook her awake, hurriedly freeing the cuffs binding her to the bedposts. Trying his best, he brought her out of the hellish entrapment so obviously full of demons and ghosts, soulless creatures, nameless friends.

“Morgan, honey, shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m here.” Blake rocked her as his arms tightened around her middle. He braced Morgan’s body against his.

When the sobbing ceased, she looked up as if to gauge the effect she had on him.

“He was here. Wasn’t he?”

Blake searched her eyes. Immediately, his gaze averted. He stared out the picture window focusing on the clearing near the large red horse barn. What had she seen? What had she heard? If she’d witnessed Kilo’s beating, would she ever forgive Grant? After thoughtful consideration, Blake was also left to wonder—would Grant forgive himself?

She moved aside the handcuffs Blake first removed when he entered the room. “Kilo was here. I know he was.”

“The important thing now is that you’re safe, Morgan.”

“But he came for me.”

“He may have come here looking for you, but he’ll never get to you. You don’t have to worry. You’ll never have a conversation with the man again. This is my promise to you. Grant and I will love and protect you until…”

“Until you decide you don’t want me again?” she asked, bowing her head, studying her clasped hands.

“It was never like that and you know it. We were young. I was stupid. We both had our share of dreams. I wasn’t sure how mine meshed with yours or yours flowed with mine.”

“You left me.”

“I always planned to come back. You know that.”

“You didn’t return soon enough.”

“You…” Blake stopped talking all at once. Oh no, he wasn’t playing this game. This was the addict’s way. He’d known several, read about plenty. Their addiction was always someone else’s fault, someone else’s problem—rarely would they own their mistakes, claim the bad choices they’d made.

“You what?” she pressed.

They also thrived on making those around them feel guilty as well.

Blake cupped her chin, tilting her face toward his. “You had Grant, Morgan. You loved Grant, just as much as you loved me. And you still chose drugs over love.”

“That’s not true.”

“Morgan, it is. You need to start accepting responsibility for what you’ve done. Your brothers fought for you. They tried their best to make you see what you were doing to yourself. You refused their help. You turned your back on your friends and family. They never abandoned you.”

“You act like I asked for this addiction by name!”

“Didn’t you?” he accused. “Did someone hold you down and force you to take pills? Did they shove a pipe between your lips or stick a needle in your arm?”

She glared at him like she hated him then. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “Because while I’m willing to help you because I love you, I will never accept that you progressed from casual use to addiction blindly. You knew what you were doing. You didn’t care. You were too selfish to think about the consequences. Well, we’ve all heard about poor Morgan. Now, let me tell you the rest of the story.”

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