Junkie (Broken Doll 1)

I stopped halfway to the office door and fought back the darkness that threatened to erupt at my lieutenant’s insubordination. “Milo, don’t fucking start with this shit again.”

His near-daily nagging, encouraging me to start a war and/or throw Miri out on her ass, had gotten old to the point of driving me to violence. On top of that, lately Milo had constantly challenged my orders, which made me more furious than I’d been since one of my guards attacked Miri in the garden. Now, Milo’s defiance, combined with the fact he interrupted my jerk-off fantasy right as it was getting good, had me feeling downright violent. I turned to glare at my lieutenant and met his dark eyes.

Disapproval radiated off Milo as he opened his big mouth to say something, then wisely snapped it shut. I knew him well enough to know he was struggling against the urge to lecture me about Miri again, and how becoming attached to her made me weak and unable to do what needed to be done and take out El Cuchillo and his men before he could do the same to us. Milo pressed his lips tight and I thought he made the right decision by shutting the fuck up. Hope left the fucking building when the asshole began speaking.

“I just think—”

Before Milo could finish his sentence or react, I had my KA-BAR out of its calf sheath and pressed to Milo’s throat as I slammed him bodily against the thick, soundproof door.

“Don’t. Fucking. Think.” An animalistic snarl erupted from my chest. Milo dared to open that goddamn mouth of his again despite my warnings. I pushed the tip of the weapon into his flesh. Just enough to draw a thin line of blood around the black carbon blade to prove to the idiot that I was dead serious. “I’ve told you not to fucking think. That means I don’t want to hear another goddamn word questioning my decisions. You are paid to do what I fucking tell you to do, got it?”

Sweat beaded along my hairline and threatened to drip down my temples. My heart hammered in my chest and my body pulled taut, craving the raw savagery of a good fight. I didn’t even give a shit if I ended up covered head to toe with blood at this point. No matter my somewhat noble reasons for becoming the boss of this operation, when it came down to it, I was a violent motherfucker. Milo was giving me the perfect excuse to unleash weeks of pent-up anger and a layer of extreme sexual frustration on top of it.

“I got it. I’m good, Boss.”

His expression didn’t look sorry, but Milo had his hands up by his head, palms out. He knew if he so much as flinched, I wouldn’t think twice about slicing his throat open and disposing of his corpse somewhere it would never be found.

For a long moment, I waited and simply stared at my lieutenant. “No more chances, Milo. This is your final warning.” With that, I stepped back and removed the knife from his throat but made sure to keep it clenched in my fist. Every muscle in my body was tight and my pulse roared behind my ears. I was more than ready to kill my lieutenant if it came down to it.

Milo put two thick fingers to his neck and pulled them back. He scowled at the sight of blood. “Fuck, Boss. I’m bleeding.”

“Out.” I pointed at the door with the huge knife, my ability to control my temper shredded to bits. When Milo got a good look at me, my chest heaving and my knuckles turning white around the weapon, he paled. Without another word, Milo turned and left

the study.

Once the door hissed shut and locked, I let out a long breath. “Fucking son of a bitch.” Still furious, I rinsed the knife in the sink and dried it before returning it to its sheath, then scrubbed my hands for a full five minutes.

Goddamn Milo!

My entire body vibrated with adrenaline, the chemicals surging through my veins. I ached to do something, craved some sort of outlet—violence, sex—I didn’t care what the outlet was as long as it was physical. I immediately went back to my fantasy of Miri and in half a second had a full, aching erection again. Sex with Miri would take care of my agitation and no one would have to get hurt.

Closing my eyes, I growled in frustration.

I couldn’t do that to Miri. Right now, sex with me would be fast, hard, and brutally detached, not something Miri could handle. Besides, even if she could handle me at my worst, I wouldn’t stoop to using her like that. I’d already disregarded her feelings once and the memory of the sadness on her face after getting her off, only to dismiss her like a common whore, almost had me cringing. Almost. I might have felt shitty about it, but I was still a bastard at heart.

Either way, I needed a goddamn outlet. Now. Every tendon in my body contracted, every muscle taut and ready to spring into action. Instead of hunting down Miri and ruining her with a cruel, heartless fuck, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to a girl I knew. Easy, no strings, and consensual, plus, this one was a kinky bitch. I could fuck her mouth, her pussy, her ass, and she’d ask for nothing in return. She was no more than a hot, willing hole. Exactly what I needed to let off steam. When the response came up on the screen, I sent a text to Frank telling him to get the car ready ASAP.

After a quick change of clothes, I climbed in the car. As Frank pulled the car away from the house, I spotted Miri in the front window, watching me leave. For a brief second, there was a sharp ache in my gut. Fucking another woman while Miri was living in my house, under my protection, and quite obviously wanting me in her bed, was a shitty thing to do, but I needed this. It was for her own good.

Fuck it.

I shook any concern for Miri out of my head. Miri and I weren’t lovers and I didn’t owe her any explanations. Besides, it was better for her this way. She didn’t need someone like me screwing up her life any more than it already was by brutally fucking her. Because right now, that was all I could offer. Hard, angry, brutal fucking.

“Frank, take me to Karina’s.”

9

Miri

“Ow! Shit!”

I sucked my finger into my mouth and the metallic tang of blood hit my tongue. It was my third minor injury in as many days. I’d been away from my job less than a year and was already out of practice working on bikes.

As I washed my hands and put a bandage on my finger, I remembered the time Jag patched me up in this very spot before turning my world upside-down. Jag’s offer shocked me to the core, but I managed to push past my fear, climbed on the back of the wicked Kawasaki, and he took me on a ride I would never forget. A ride that literally brought my dead soul back to life.

The past three days, I’d spent all of my time in Jag’s garage, from sunup to sundown, and hadn’t seen a single glimpse of the man since he took me on that ride. A ride that thrilled me to my core, excited me for the first time in months, gave me a reason not to give up, and woke me from the foggy, stumbling haze my existence had become. I was finally able to feel all the wonderful things my dark prince, heroin, had smothered under its cruel thumb. For those few precious minutes on the back of Jag’s bike, I was the girl I used to be, the one before the drugs, before Mason, before I lost Cat and myself along with her.

I leaned against the sink, stared at my bandaged finger, and closed my eyes. My pulse fluttered and senses heightened as I recalled the exact scent of Jag’s leather jacket as I nestled against his back, the heat of his skin seeping through his clothes while my hands pressed into his hard abs. I remembered the biting sting of the wind on my bare legs as we flew across the road, and the thrill of my heart leaping into my throat with each tight, electrifying turn the Ninja took. I remembered every single second, because after sinking so low and losing every bit of hope, those spine-tingling moments on that motorcycle with Jag meant I was capable of living again.