Junkie (Broken Doll #1) (12 page)

I rubbed my cheek and grimaced. Fuck, she got me good. And what did I do after she slammed the door in my face? I jerked off to thoughts of me fingering her in a roomful of criminals and hookers. I was a sick, fucked-up bastard.

With my hands braced on the tile, I hung my head and let the water pound on the back of my neck. What the fuck was I thinking? Doing that to Miri in a roomful of men from one of Mexico’s largest distributors of narcotics? I must be crazy or halfway to losing my goddamn mind.

I told Miri the truth about having her with me tonight. She was at my side specifically so I wouldn’t have to partake in the whores I was expected to have ready for my “guests.” It was common courtesy to provide women at these types of meetings, but I don’t touch whores.

My guests, however, would see me as weak or a pussy if I didn’t join in the party. I used Miri as a shield. My plan had been to simply have Miri sit on my lap and fake some sort of sexual act so the others wouldn’t be suspicious, but when I saw the very real desire in her eyes and felt the heat of her against my hard cock, I couldn’t keep my hands off of her.

My dick began to fill again at the memories of thrusting my fingers into her tight, wet pussy.

“Son of a bitch!”

I turned the water to cold and thought about the cruel words I flung at Miri, and my hard-on disappeared. A ripple of disgust ran through me as I dried off and climbed into bed. I treated Miri no better than one of those whores tonight. I forced her to sit on my lap while I brought her to orgasm in front of a cartel of men who were fucking women I paid for. Even now, all I could think of was going back to her room, throwing her face down on the bed, and shoving my cock deep inside that perfect, hot pussy of hers. Miri was pissed but she couldn’t hide the fact that she wanted me. If I hadn’t been such a douchebag, she would have gladly let me fuck her right into the mattress until we were both screaming our throats raw.

Not now. I went and fucked it all up.

Fragile women like Miri were my weakness, which was exactly why I had to avoid her. I couldn’t afford to have any weaknesses for my enemies to exploit. I couldn’t afford to get close to Miri, despite the intense electricity that sparked and crackled between us whenever we were together. If I gave in to my desires, I would either become so wrapped up in her I would begin to make mistakes, or my rivals would find out about her and gladly hurt Miri to get to me, just like they did with Rose.

I stared at the ceiling all night, unable to rid my mind of the small, fiery, redheaded woman with sadness in her eyes as she slammed the door in my face.

I hung around the first floor of the house all day, waiting for Boss to appear. I wasn’t sure why, exactly. I wanted to ask him exactly what the fuck last night was about, yet I was so embarrassed by his actions and hurt by his words, I never wanted to see him again. I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to kick him in the balls. I should avoid the man. I was more than a little worried he would make good on his promise to kill me if I hit him again.

Boss made my day excruciatingly long. He never showed his stupid, asshole face. Not once. I went to the library to read, but couldn’t focus and ended up replaying last night over and over instead.

My heart hurt from being used and discarded in such a careless way. Boss was a prick,. so why couldn’t I get rid of the memory of those talented fingers working in and out of me? Mason never gave a shit if I came when he fucked me. But then, I knew that to Mason, I was just a convenient hole for him to use whenever it suited him.

Stupidly, I thought Boss was different. Better than just some douchebag who used women and tossed them aside. Boss wasn’t better. He made that crystal clear last night.

I jerked awake at the clamor of loud voices entering the house and the big front door slamming. My neck cracked as I sat up and looked around. I must have fallen asleep in the library while waiting on Boss. The guy had to come back to the house at some point. He might be avoiding me, but I was damn determined to talk to him.

“I want you to coordinate with Six and get them to put more men on it, Milo.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

The men’s voices floated down the huge hall and into the library. I listened to their heavy footsteps cross the tiled kitchen floor. Determined and pissed at being avoided, I strode right into the kitchen, ready to have it out with the frustrating man who had somehow become way more important in my life than he should.

“I also think we—”

Boss stopped short and two sets of eyes landed on mine. Whatever confidence I’d built up while stewing in anger all day vanished in a puff of smoke.

Boss was perfectly dressed as usual, in a crisp dress shirt and dark tie, his jacket carefully hung on the back of a kitchen chair. From across the room, his stony stare and expressionless face made my stomach heave. Nearby, Milo was giving me the same hateful look I had seen many, many times in the handful of weeks since I arrived here. His thoughts were as transparent as if they were stamped across his Neanderthal forehead.

Junkie. Whore. Nasty. Trash.

Milo despised me. My entire body frosted from his icy glare.

“Miri,” Boss said, pulling my attention away from the intimidating hit man who was currently wishing me dead from beneath heavy brows. “It’s late. Milo and I are talking business. I’d appreciate it if you’d excuse yourself to your room for the evening.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, again.

That bastard! Who was he to dismiss me like a child?

Boss waited for me to comply, his face an infuriating empty mask that made me want to scream. Milo, on the other hand, grinned and the kitchen lights hit one of his teeth to reflect the gleaming gold. I barely managed not to cringe at the sight. The man truly terrified me.

“Upstairs.
Now
, Miri.”

Boss’s words struck me like a punch to the gut. My skin prickled and my throat tightened. I swallowed down the urge to scream,
fuck you
and shot daggers at him instead. Daggers that he didn’t respond to or even acknowledge. As I stomped up the stairs, I came to a realization I should have figured out a long time ago.

You can’t count on anyone but yourself. You’ll always be fucked over and disappointed if you rely on anyone for anything.

Fuck Boss and fuck Mason and fuck Cat for leaving me alone.

Depressed, abandoned, and left without any hope, I flopped onto the bed and cried myself to sleep.

B
oss was around less
and less since he’d treated me like shit two weeks ago. The man all but called me a whore after he got me off in a roomful of drug dealers then dismissed me like a child the next day when I wanted to talk like adults. I’d never felt more degraded in my life.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out that Boss was actively avoiding me. The jerk even had one of his lackeys give me my twice-daily injections, not bothering to do it himself anymore. Even when I knew damn well he was somewhere in the house. His childlike behavior was more than a little baffling because honestly, why would a man like Boss hide from me? I was a nobody. A nothing. A piece of property. He proved that by using me at his disgusting dinner party and discarding me afterward. He’s the one who referred to me as property more than once. I was the one who didn’t listen.

Boss had been the only one in the house to speak to me, the others told to keep their distance. Because of this, I had no one and found myself unable to sit still for more than a few minutes. Until now, I hadn’t realized how soothing his presence was, how my nerves calmed simply when I knew Boss was nearby. Our fight combined with not seeing him anymore had me precariously balanced on the edge of sanity all day every day. I was so anxious, I nearly jumped out of my skin at the slightest sound or movement.

Boss’s men patrolled the house and grounds regularly. I didn’t exactly trust them, but I was starved for companionship and would take what I could get, even a quick conversation. Except, none of them would speak to me, let alone make eye contact. If I entered a room, the employees scattered, afraid of Boss and his threats to destroy anyone who dared to touch me.

Those two weeks were isolating and depressing. I was surrounded by people, yet completely and utterly alone. Boss never made a single appearance.

By now, I’d already explored every room in the enormous mansion, home gym, theater, game room, and the library—which became my favorite place to spend time. Stocked with both contemporaries and classics, I’d finished about a dozen books so far.

Except for the locked rooms, there was only one other place I hadn’t seen. This morning, dawn was still an hour away and I was wide-awake. It was the perfect time to satisfy my curiosity and stave off at least a good hour of mind-numbing boredom. I padded through the kitchen and hurried outside to the paved stone path.

When I reached the building, I tested the doorknob. Unlocked. The well-oiled hinge was whisper quiet when I pushed the door open. Boss said I had free reign of the house, but my heart still thumped wildly in my chest as if I were doing something illicit. Knowing his tendency for irrational mood swings, Boss could quite possibly change his mind and lock me back in my room for exploring this part of the property. He never said it was off limits, but it wasn’t technically part of the house so I wasn’t sure.

Before any of the guards came around the corner, I slipped inside. My breaths came fast and short from the excitement of doing something forbidden. The tiny bit of excitement after weeks of tedium sent a thrill through me. When the door clicked shut, I found myself submerged in complete darkness in a windowless building. Groping with sweaty palms, I felt along the wall until my fingers found a switch. One flip and a dozen brilliant fluorescent lights flooded the enormous space.

Blinking, I waited until my eyes adjusted. When they did, my mouth fell open in shock, and I swear, I nearly orgasmed on the spot. I actually had to stop myself from jumping up and down, clapping and squealing like some idiot game show contestant who just won a crappy dinette set.

“Holy shit.”

Was it possible I died and went to heaven?

This was Boss’s garage, and his personality showed. It was huge, brightly lit and sparkling clean, without a single speck of grease on the gray-flecked epoxy floor. I couldn’t help but notice the man was a little obsessed with cleanliness and appearances. Professional-grade tools lined the far wall, each impeccably maintained implement hanging on a labeled hook. Next to those were several massive, incredibly expensive, rolling metal tool chests, all of the highest possible quality.

The tools were great, but those weren’t what had me frozen in place, unable to breathe and weak at the knees with pleasure. No, it was the perfectly straight row of luxury vehicles, each either a rare collectible or a top of the line, brand new model, parked one after the other. The exterior of every car was showroom shiny and spotless. Not a speck of dust in sight.

I walked the length of the garage, ignoring my fluttering pulse to study each vehicle. I was desperate to touch the stunning curves, to worship the gleaming chrome, and feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips, but I had too much respect for their sheer magnificence to mark the glossy surfaces with greasy fingerprints, so I curled my itchy fingers into my palms. When I reached the end of the row and saw what was parked at the end, I actually bit my lip to choke back a whimper. Three of the most stunning motorcycles I had ever laid eyes on were spaced out evenly, parked perpendicular to the eight gleaming cars.

“Oh my god. No way.”

My biggest weakness beside H was bikes, especially ones built for speed. I may have managed some sort of self-control with the cars, but I was unable to stop myself with the motorcycles. Giddy to the point of lightheaded, I ran my greedy hands down the sleek body of a flawless 1986 Suzuki RG500 Gamma. Lightweight and perfectly balanced, the RG was only in production for three years. Less than ten thousand of them were ever made. I never, ever thought I’d see one in person, let alone touch one. I wanted to strip off my clothes and rub my body all over the smooth steel. Next to the Suzuki, I spotted a Ducati Pangione Superbike, and beyond that, a late model Kawasaki Ninja H2. Wow. Three of the fastest, most badass bikes on the road all at my greedy little fingertips.

I smiled and let out a huff. Finally, after almost two months, I learned something personal about Boss. The man loved expensive cars and fast bikes. I blinked back my disbelief. This was a passion we shared. Wow. The junkie and the drug lord had something in common.

Big ol’ scary Boss Man was a complete and total gear head.

A smile split my face when I thought of huge, intimidating Boss, crouched down next to his bike, grease smeared on his large hands and an array of tools spread out on the floor as he worked. In my imagination, Boss was wearing loose, faded jeans that hung too low on his waist and had holes in the knees, topped by a worn T-shirt. A strip of skin would show when he bent over, exposing the curve at the top of his ass, and his body would be slick with sweat while defined muscles bulged and…

Damn
. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. Despite the temperature and humidity-controlled air in the garage, my lungs struggled to fill, my breath stolen by the fantasy I created in my head.
No
. Boss was a total prick. I refused to think about him as anything but dangerous and cruel, and focused my attention back on the bikes.

Tempted beyond any ability to stop myself from indulging, I crept back to the door, opened it a crack, and peeked out to make sure no one was nearby. The dark yard was empty, for now. Not a single one of Boss’s
Men in Black
was in sight—that was what I’d taken to calling the men who patrolled Boss’s property because they all wore the same black suit, white shirt, and black tie, with matching dark shades, of course. It was easy to figure out Boss was obsessed with appearances, both his own and that of his men. The man almost always wore a suit, even when he didn’t leave the house.

Satisfied I was alone, I closed the door, quickly found what I needed, and brought the items over to the Suzuki. Small squares of carpet were stacked in a pile in a corner. I grabbed one and placed it next to the bike. The floor was epoxied, so it wasn’t as hard as concrete, but I wished I had worn jeans or sweats to protect my knees. Didn’t matter, no way was I leaving this heaven to change clothes. In my short, pastel sundress, I kneeled on the carpet, grinned, and got to work.

“Our guys spotted an uptick in unusual activity going down at several known Los Guerreros hangouts.” Milo towered over my immaculate desk as he gave his report. Information gathered by sending my men down to San Antonio to watch our rivals.

“What kind of activity?” I threaded my coin over my knuckles to quell the urge to get up and find Miri.

It had been two weeks since I’d used her in front of Guzman and his posse, then tossed her aside like garbage and insulted her on top of it. So far, I’d been successful in denying my overwhelming need to find her, be close to her, take her, own her, and most important of all, apologize for my shitty behavior at that stupid fucking party.

I’m a selfish asshole, but despite the loud voice inside compelling me to make Miri mine, I resisted the pull. Right now, the only thing to stop me from going after Miri was my pride. That and the fact that I was quite possibly the absolute worst choice in men for a girl fighting an addiction. Especially one who was finally getting her feet back under her after falling so low.

Besides, as
The Boss,
I didn’t apologize. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, to whom I wanted. Groveling at the feet of a woman would make my men lose respect for me. In this business, respect came before everything, even what I wanted for myself.

Either way, none of it mattered. Miri was better off getting clean and staying far away from me. My mother and sister both being dead and buried due to heroin proved my point.

It was barely sunrise, but Milo called and woke me an hour ago to say he had information. As Boss, it was my job to work whenever necessary. I got out of bed and was showered, dressed, and halfway done with a cup of coffee by the time Milo arrived. In this business, shit went down at inconvenient times. I wore a suit because I never knew when I’d end up at an unexpected face-to-face with someone important. Power and intimidation were an important facade to maintain and one of my favorite weapons to wield, even if it sometimes meant, to my disgust, ruining one of my suits.

“Seven and a couple of his guys saw a noticeable increase in the number of deliveries to Los Guerreros’ main warehouse,” Milo said, snapping me out of my Miri-obsessed thoughts.

I tossed the coin, snatched it out of the air, and fisted it tight. “Did they find out what was in the deliveries?” Irritated by my infatuation with Miri, I opened the desk drawer and dropped the coin inside, determined to get my shit together and focus on business.

“Guns. Most of the stuff he took inside was transported in unmarked boxes, but El Cuchillo is one cocky son of a bitch. Came right out in plain sight, and opened one. Fucking dumbass was smiling as he lifted a massive grenade launcher out of a box and put it on his shoulder.” Milo let out a sarcastic laugh. “Motherfucker is getting lax. His enormous ego has him making big mistakes. We should move on him soon, Boss. He’s planning something and he won’t see us coming if we strike now.”

“I agree he’s making mistakes, but El Cuchillo isn’t what I would consider to be a stupid man. Reckless, yes, but not stupid.” I stood, straightened my cuffs, and walked over to the window.

Milo stepped behind me and spoke. “So, do you want to call a meeting with our guys? Figure out how to approach the situation with this bastard and his thugs?”

I turned from the window, unable to miss the eagerness on Milo’s face or the excited gleam in his dark eyes. The brutal motherfucker would love nothing more than an all-out war with our neighbors in San Antonio. Shit, if I told him to execute every last one of them, Milo would grab three guys, head to Los Guerreros headquarters, and go all Scarface on their asses, no questions asked.
And
he would come out without a single scratch and a smile on his face.

It was tempting, but I preferred to take a diplomatic approach. For now.

“Set up a meeting at our northern warehouse and make sure all of our highest-ranked men are there. I know you’re itching for a fight, Milo, but my goal is to avoid confrontation with Cuchillo. We’ll discuss our options and how to best deal with the information we have. If at all possible, I want to avoid a war with our neighbors.”

My lieutenant frowned, obviously disappointed he wouldn’t get to play Rambo today. Thankfully, Milo nodded and left to carry out my orders.

Alone, I paced the steel-reinforced room, my legs restless and hands itching for something to do. The tailored suit and tie began to shrink, tightening around my limbs and neck, restricting my movements.
Fuck
. I needed to change and get the hell out of here for a while. New scenery would help me focus on tonight’s meeting and not a certain sexy redhead.

After swapping out my lightweight wool for denim, a long-sleeved Henley to hide my wrist sheaths, and a leather jacket to cover my holster, I headed for the garage, agitated and eager to take a long fucking ride to clear my head of all the bullshit. On top of my nonstop fantasies of bending Miri over, tearing off her panties, and claiming her sweet pussy, now I had to deal with El-fucking-Cuchillo.

Goddamn bastard. What the fuck are you planning, you sneaky little piece of shit?

“Boss.”

I nodded at the man patrolling the backyard and continued toward the garage that housed my most prized possessions. I couldn’t give two shits about anything in the house, but my cars and bikes? They were housed in a humidity and temperature-controlled, fireproof steel structure. I pulled open the side door and the space that should have been dark was lit up like the Fourth of July. A flick of my wrists and I had a blade in each hand. Yes, it could just be Frank in here doing regular maintenance on my cars, but the prickle on the back of my neck had me thinking whoever it was, wasn’t Frank.

The clang of a tool hitting the ground was followed by a loud, but distinctly feminine curse.
Christ
. Definitely not Frank. With a sigh, I re-sheathed my knives, tugged down my sleeves to cover them, and followed the sound to the far end of the building.