Junkie (Broken Doll 1)

I remembered Nicky’s words from earlier.

“Get real, girl. There’s no free in this game.”

Nicky was right. I mean, Jorge proved Nicky’s point a few minutes later in his car when he made me suck his disgusting little dick. At the memory of swallowing Jorge’s thick, foul cum as he held my head down, nearly suffocating me as he came in my mouth, my stomach heaved, and I began to retch. The boss gently turned my head toward the drain and held my hair. He waited patiently while I heaved, the aftershocks going on and on. Nothing came up but bile and saliva. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate, so my empty stomach wasn’t shocking. A large hand gently caressed my back until the spasms passed.

“You good?”

Humiliated, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, so I merely whispered, “Yes.”

“Let’s get you clean then.” With strong, sure arms, the boss pulled me to my feet and propped me against the tiled wall. “Can you stand on your own?”

Now that I was upright, I realized this man was very, very tall. Tall enough that at five foot four I had to tilt my head back to meet those intense blue eyes. The top of my head barely came to his chin.

“I’m good.” I coughed, my throat raw and sore.

The boss nodded and began to work the scented, soapy cloth over my body. Starting at my feet, he scrubbed each one thoroughly, lifting them to clean the bottoms. When he picked up the first foot, I swayed, nearly slipping on the slick foam. “Hold on to my shoulder,” he instructed, his large body crouched in front of me. Hesitantly, I placed one hand on the wet skin of his wide, rippling back. With a wicked grin on his face, he tilted his head up. “You can hold on tighter than that, doll. I won’t bite.” The gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

Fighting the intense, gut-clenching fear, I tightened my grip, using his strong muscles to keep me upright as he washed my feet. The cloth skimmed up my legs one at a time, his hands scrubbing over and over as the foam rinsed away days of dirt and grime. The boss skipped my clothed midsection, straightened to his full height, and repeated the process with my arms, spending extra time on my dirt-caked hands and nails, and the track marks on my arms, only moving on when my skin glowed pink.

Next, he lifted my long red hair off my neck and slid the cloth across the top of my back and shoulders, then around the front to wash the exposed part of my chest where my tank top dipped low. I glanced down as his enormous, bruised and scabbed hands worked over my skin, only then realizing my white tank was completely transparent and I wasn’t wearing a bra. Instinctively, my hands flew up to cover my breasts. He chuckled, a smooth, deep sound so seductive it could easily charm a roomful of people and melt every pair of panties in a five-mile radius.

“A little too late for that, doll. Seein’ as I’ve already got a good look at everything.”

Something about his cocky drawl, the crooked smirk on his face, and that single raised eyebrow felt like a challenge. My courage, boosted by the decadent lull of the heroin, had me meeting his gaze head-on. Determined to show him I wasn’t a cowering scaredy-cat, I fingered the hem, tugged the wet tank over my head, and tossed it to the floor with a loud splat. The man’s eyes widened, which only fueled my desire to make him eat his words. Still staring right into those sapphire eyes, I stuck my thumbs in the waistband of my shorts and shoved them down, stepped out, and kicked them aside. Completely naked, I stood my ground and raised my own brow in return, hands on my hips.

Our eyes were locked a few more seconds before he threw his head back and burst out laughing. The action made him look years younger than I originally believed. “You are somethin’ else, you know that, doll?”

Instead of answering, I snatched the soapy washcloth from his hand and quickly finished washing my newly exposed skin.

“Here.”

Jerk.

The boss scrambled to catch the cloth I whipped at his chest and I turned to storm out of the shower. I yelped when he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me toward him. The blazing heat of his chest pressed against the bare skin of my back and I trembled from head to toe. The boss held tight and lowered his mouth to my ear.

“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.