Junkie (Broken Doll 1)

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.

Miri

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?”