I needed to occupy my tireless brain with something. First, I messed with the few items on the desktop, meticulously lining them up in their designated spots, even though they were already as straight as possible. I opened the long, flat drawer and deposited my lucky coin inside, then quickly arranged the contents until everything was perfect. Still twitchy and in urgent need of a diversion, I swiveled to face the seventy-inch wall-mounted TV next to the desk. Using the remote, I pressed several buttons until the screen split into twenty different smaller pictures—ten for the security cameras on this property, most outside, as well as ten at the downtown warehouse that served as base of operations. I had no clue how long I sat behind the desk, eyes unfocused, staring at the miniature pictures, but it was long enough for the buzzer outside the study to go off and scare the shit out of me.
Fuck, I needed to snap the hell out of my shitty mood.
On the monitor, I saw Milo waiting for entrance into the panic room. I cursed myself silently. No one should be able to take me by surprise in my study, especially not with me staring directly at the security feed. One of the cameras was aimed directly at the other side of the door. Like me, I could see Milo had showered and changed—he fucking knew better than to bring his evidence-laden clothes into my house—and waited to be granted entry into my private space.
A button under my desk unlocked the door. The bolts released and my right-hand man stepped inside.
“Boss.” Milo’s calm expression and slight smirk told me all I needed to know without words. The Mason Smith problem was taken care of.
I nodded. “Good.”
Panic room or not, I never discussed business out loud in the house unless it was in code or using ambiguous words. The guy who built the room guaranteed that it was impossible to hear through the thick walls, but the Feds and their fancy equipment should never be underestimated, not to mention rivals ready to cut me down at the first opportunity.
Milo nodded, pouring his own whiskey before taking a seat across from me. I waited while the man took a long sip and grinned. He showed off his pretentious gold tooth, the metal glinting in the lamplight. I glanced at the bar and my heart pounded against my ribcage. It took an enormous amount of willpower to grit my teeth and resist the urge to put the whiskey bottle back in its proper place. Fucking Milo left it sitting uncapped on the middle of the counter.
Milo was… interesting. A cruel prick who thrived on pain and power. A bloodthirsty bastard, he took his job seriously and loved every single minute of it. Especially the status that came with being the city’s most feared enforcer. I might be the boss of this operation, but Milo was the muscle. Not that I didn’t flex mine enough to be feared in my own right, but if Milo entered the room while you were being questioned—aka beaten to a pulp—you pretty much knew your fate.
“Now what?” Milo asked, lazily swirling his drink in his huge hand. Without being specific, I still knew what Milo was asking. Who would replace Mason Smith? Fucking dumbass punk kid. He was one of my best area dealers with more than ten men under his command. Smith could have risen through the ranks and become someone important in my organization. Until a buyer figured out Smith’s bags were light and complained.
“I have someone in place already.” I continued sipping my whiskey. The ice clinked against the glass each time it tilted to my mouth.
Milo nodded. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed and content with the silence. He wasn’t usually a man of many words, which I appreciated. Suddenly, without warning, Milo was on his feet, his shiny .45 caliber in his meaty hand and his hardened gaze fixed on the security feeds. I leapt from my own chair, pulse racing. My eyes bounced from Milo to the screen and back.
“What, Milo? What is it?”
“Nine.” He pointed at the TV with the muzzle of that massive fucking gun.
I pushed a few buttons on the remote and the feed for camera nine filled the screen. Both of us became so quiet, I’d have sworn we stopped breathing. When I saw what concerned Milo, I opened the desk drawer with a steady hand and pulled out my own 9mm. Gun in hand, a wave of focused calm swept over me as I locked eyes with my lieutenant and motioned toward the door.
“Let’s go.”
Miri
“You motherfucking asshole!” I screeched at my missing boyfriend-slash-dealer-slash-dickhead while I yanked open drawers and scattered clothes all over the filthy floor in my desperate search. On the edge of losing my mind, I stopped and looked around the tiny studio apartment I called home. My trembling fingers threaded through my knotted hair. This place was a disaster, more closely resembling the scene of a break-in than a place to live, since I’d completely ransacked it in my futile quest for a dose.
My stomach chose that exact moment to cramp. The pain was so great I clutched at my midsection, and collapsed to the floor in a ball. The agony was nothing compared to what I knew came next if I didn’t score some H soon. Just one bag. That would be enough to hold me over until that prick, Mason, came back. Sweating profusely, I used the edge of my shirt to wipe my forehead as anxiety flooded the very veins I wished opiates were flowing through instead. I hardly had the energy to rock back and forth when another fission cracked inside my frail body. While I writhed in distress, reality struck like a hard kick to the ribs.
No Mason, no money, no H, no way to get any.
Where the fuck is he?
I clawed at the filthy carpet with my ragged, broken nails, and screamed in frustration as my body and mind turned against me. Unable to breathe properly, I began arguing with myself as my mind splintered apart.
My body begged, Get some H. Get some H.
I can’t. I need Mason to get it for me.
My mind responded, I don’t need him. I can get my own score
Somehow, this last idea made perfect sense.
Nodding to the voice in my head, I pawed through a pile of fabric and tugged on a thin white tank and black shorts in desperate need of a wash. With a pair of old flip-flops on my feet, I took to the streets, dark and incredibly dangerous at this time of night. No matter—I didn’t notice a single thing about my surroundings. Pink elephants could have marched down the sidewalk, playing “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and I wouldn’t have cared. The only thing my attention was fixated on, all I could envision, was my next dose. I licked my cracked lips as I imagined injecting the hot liquid bliss into my vein and letting the white nothingness of the heroin take me away from this hell.
Mason had guys working around here. I just had to find one. I scratched at my always itchy skin, unconsciously opening old sores and creating new ones. Not that I gave a shit. The stabbing cramps in my stomach stopped me at least five more times as I wandered the rundown east Austin neighborhood. Pain like I never imagined forced me to bend over and groan time and time again. It became so severe, I worried I’d throw up or shit myself right on the sidewalk when I collapsed next to a couple of hookers looking to make a buck. Thankfully, the girls turned their backs to me, uninterested in some junkie chick falling apart on their corner at one in the morning.
Single-minded, I somehow forced my sore feet to continue and ignored the chills wracking my body despite the humid eighty-degree temperature. One more block before I’d most likely crumple to the ground and curl into the fetal position. Soon I would go into full withdrawal and beg for someone to put me out of my misery. My body was about to give up when I spotted a tall, thin man wearing a backwards baseball cap halfway down the street.
Oh my god! Thank you, thank you, thank you.
“Nicky!” I didn’t recognize my own ragged voice. The man watched me with suspicion in his eyes, his hand tucked into a pocket where I was sure he clutched a gun. Undeterred, I staggered toward him, the ground tilting as I walked. “Nicky…” A dry cough interrupted me, stealing my breath as I barked and wheezed and tried to get it under control. Before I could stop, Nicky spoke, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging open.
“Miri? That you?”
“Yeah,” I huffed breathlessl
y, still trying to recover from the hacking fit. “I can’t find Mason and I need some H.”
Nicky’s blue eyes narrowed. “Twenty a bag, Miri. You know there’s no freebies.”
“I don’t have any money, Nicky. Please?” I reached for his shoulders and my legs gave out. Nicky put his hands under my arms and yanked me back to my feet. “Nicky… You know Mason’s good for it.”
He scoffed. “Get real, girl. There’s no free in this game. Go somewhere else.” He turned his back to me, effectively ending the conversation. My stomach chose that moment to twist painfully, and I cried out as I fell to my knees, ignoring the skin that scraped off on the concrete.
“Please, Nicky. I’ll do anything.” I went for his belt, ready to suck his dick if that was what it took to end this agony.
“Fuck off, Miri! I don’t need your skanky mouth on my cock. I got plenty of girls for that.” His face crumpled in disgust as he shoved me back. “Go away, bitch.”
On the ground, my knees skinned, my body battered, my mind and skin squirming as if they were crawling with bugs, I covered my face with my filthy hands and sobbed.
How did this become my life?
All I’d wanted was to escape the horrors at home. But the horrors I’d seen since running away made the abuse I suffered back then look like a day at the beach. I would give anything to go back and convince the stupid seventeen-year-old girl to stay where she was and endure the beatings until graduation. Or even just to have Cat back. Life wasn’t so bad when we were together. We were making it work. Of course, life never turned out how you thought it would.
Instead of living with my best friend and going to work every day to earn a living, here I was, begging a low-level dealer to give me drugs in exchange for sex.
“Listen…” Nicky lowered his voice, his harsh eyes somewhat softer. “I don’t like to see women crying, Miri, and you are Mason’s girl.” I glanced up at him and licked my lips in the hopes of scoring my hit. “I heard a rumor that Mason was meeting up with Boss earlier. You know where Boss lives?” I nodded, my head bouncing up and down on my skinny neck.
“I went there with Mason once.” Nicky’s eyes shot open at my admission. I quickly backtracked to cover my mistake. “I stayed in the car the whole time, Nicky. I swear. Boss didn’t know I was there. Please don’t say anything. I know Mason wasn’t supposed to take me.”
“I won’t say nothin’. Shit, Miri. You two are a couple of stupid fucks, you know that? Wait here.” Nicky disappeared into the shadows and came back with a man I didn’t recognize. “Miri, this is Jorge. He’ll take you there. He’s doing a drop near Boss’s place.” Jorge was short, fat, and grotesque looking, but he could have a hunchback and a second head and I’d still follow him anywhere if it meant scoring some H.
“Oh my God, thank you, thank you,” I gushed, stumbled to my feet, and threw myself at Nicky. On wobbly legs, I hugged him with my useless spaghetti arms. Nicky pushed me away and scrunched his nose.
“Yeah, yeah. You thank Jorge, not me. And don’t mention my name to Boss, you got it?” The dark, menacing look was back on Nicky’s face.
“You got it, Nicky. Anything.” I would have agreed to sell a kidney at this point.
The man called Jorge pointed at a beat-up Chevy two-door. “That’s me. Let’s go.”
His Mexican accent was thick, but growing up in Texas, you got used to it. Jorge waited for me to climb into the passenger seat before he bent over, his nose mere inches from mine. I flinched at the sight of a large scar that ran from temple to chin on one side of his face.
Jorge slapped my cheek just hard enough to sting and I flinched. “You shit or puke in my car, puta, you’ll wish you didn’t take this ride.”
His foul breath nearly gagged me. I swallowed back the bile and nodded. “I won’t. I promise.”
Hell, I’d promise just about anything to get a fix.
“Good.” Jorge slammed the door shut and climbed in on the other side, his wide body taking up most of the space and his oversize stomach pressing against the wheel. Shivers wracked my frail body. I tucked my heels beneath me on the seat and wrapped my arms around my knees. When the car began to move, I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t get motion sick and suffer a beating from Jorge. Instead, I focused on getting to the boss’s house and sweet relief from the hell I’d landed in.
An eternity later, when the car finally began to slow to a stop, I reached for the handle, desperate for my drugs. It was locked. I fought with the ancient car door, eventually pounding on the window to get out. My skin was crawling and itchy and the coughing was getting worse with each breath.
Oh God, I really need my H.
As I fought with the door, a meaty hand curled around my rail-thin arm and I was yanked toward the center console, up against Jorge’s huge, sweaty gut.
“First, I want my payment, puta.”
“I… didn’t Nicky tell you?” I tried to swallow, but my parched and scratchy throat was too dry. “I don’t have any money.”
Jorge grinned, the scar on his cheek distorting into a hideous, puckered curve. “I don’t want money.” His eyes went dark and Jorge let go. He shuffled around, huffing and puffing until I saw he had his stubby dick out of his shorts, half-hidden by a roll of fat. With one hand, Jorge began to stroke it and I nearly retched.
“You know what to do, coña estúpida.”
Stupid cunt.
I glanced out the window and saw nothing but darkness. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to go, nobody to save a pathetic junkie like me. It was the story of my life. Another cramp hit and reminded me how little time I had before full withdrawal hit.
I really, really need that fucking H.
I sent up a quick prayer that I wouldn’t gag and puke all over his crotch, then I closed my eyes, bent over and paid Jorge’s fee.
If I ever saw Mason again, I was going to kill him.
2
Boss
“Someone is in the yard, Boss.”
“I can see that, Milo.”
I was snapping at Milo, but my anger was meant for my security team. My missing security team. No one, and I mean no one, entered my property without a goddamn invitation and a thorough pat down. So who the fuck was stupid enough to sneak in? And why the fuck didn’t any of my men know about the intruder before Milo saw it on the monitor? Whoever the hell was prowling around could have waltzed right up to my fucking house if I hadn’t turned on the video feed in my study and my lieutenant hadn’t seen the movement on the screen.
Milo and I stalked down the wide hall, guns in hand, and exited through the front door. “Where the fuck is Burke?” I scanned the large expanse of green lawn, lit by floodlights strategically spaced around the house. They shone on the grass until the lawn faded to black at the perimeter.
“Don’t know, Boss. He should be here, or at least one of his guys. Someone was here when I arrived.” Milo shrugged, apologizing for something that wasn’t his fault. Burke was head of security for the house. The place where I goddamn ate and slept. The one location that should be one hundred percent safe. It was Burke’s job to know every single thing that happened on my property and either deal with it or come to me immediately. Now, because we couldn’t find Burke, this became my problem. To say I was pissed was an understatement.
Milo and I quietly descended the stone steps and crept along the side of the house toward camera nine. Whoever this motherfucker was that thought they could get to me was as good as dead. On that thought, I motioned to Milo, who came closer.
Voice low, I leaned toward my lieutenant. “Don’t use that fucking hand-cannon out here.” With the muzzle of my smaller gun, I tapped his .45. “Too goddamn loud. I don’t want neighbors calling the cops.” The nearest residence might be almost a half-mile away, but still, that fucking gun sounded like a sonic boom when it went off.
Milo sighed, made a big fucking deal about holstering his precious baby, and pulled out his secondary weapon, a .22 he kept strapped to his ankle. He
widened his eyes with a look that asked, Happy now?
I threw back a, Don’t fucking start with me or I’ll pistol-whip your ass.
With my gun, I motioned for Milo to go first and followed him around to the side yard. Milo held up a hand and stopped in his tracks. He cupped his ear to indicate he heard something. I froze in place to listen and caught the faint rustling of someone walking through the grass and a clicking sound that reminded me of… of the sounds made by flip-flops? The two of us were skirting the building so as not to set off the motion-activated lights. The intruder, however, was too goddamn stupid, and tripped them a second later.
Four blinding spotlights flooded the area, sending spots across my vision as my eyes tried to adjust. A warm gust of night air blew past me. I heard a high-pitched squeal and a low grunt followed by a thud. It took a good twenty seconds of squinting until I finally acclimated my vision. Once my sight was restored, I found Milo in front of me with our trespasser in one hand, her wrists behind her back, and his gun pressed against a pale, utterly filthy redheaded girl’s temple.
“She’s got no weapons on her, Boss.”
I blinked several times in disbelief at the physical appearance of our interloper before letting out a pained sigh. I tucked my 9 mil into the waistband of my track pants and shook my head. “Put your gun away, Milo.”
“No fuckin’ way,” he growled, glaring.
“If you can’t handle this…” I waved a hand over the slight, frail, and very sickly-looking female in Milo’s grasp. “…this ninety-pound girl without your gun, I need to rethink your position in my organization.”
Milo huffed, but eventually slid his gun back into its ankle holster, albeit reluctantly. “I can handle her, Boss.” He must have squeezed her wrists because she let out a pitiful cry.
“Let’s go inside. Bring her.” I gave the shivering girl one last bewildered examination and shook my head. Unexpected bullshit like this pissed me off to no end. Now, instead of having a few drinks and crashing for the night, I’d be stuck dealing with whoever the fuck this girl was that managed to slip past my security. Then I’d have to crack some heads, starting with Burke, because this dumb shit girl managed to get past my highly trained, very well paid guards who were either taking a shit or jerking off somewhere while a trespasser entered my property.
Junkie (Broken Doll #1) Page 2