Swallowing my pride—and let’s face it, I didn’t have any left—With shaky hands, I reached up to pull down his briefs.
“Whoa!” The man sidestepped out of reach and batted my hands away. Bewildered, I pulled my brows together.
“I thought—”
“You thought you owed me one? That I wanted you to suck me off because I gave you a hit?” The revulsion and anger in his deep, rumbling voice flooded me with shame. My face grew hot from his blatant disgust and I dropped my gaze to the floor. Of course he didn’t want me touching him. He was powerful and gorgeous. A man like him didn’t need some junkie slut to suck his dick. He probably had a line of willing, and clean, women waiting in his bedroom to do just that.
The man crouched down and took my chin in his soapy hand, tugging until I met a pair of the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. “That’s not how I work, doll. Here’s what’s going to happen, so listen carefully.” My pulse leapt at the commanding tone, and I wasn’t sure if the increase in my heart rate was from fear or something else entirely. “I’m going to wash the nasty junkie filth off of you and then you’re going to sleep in my guest room. Since you came uninvited onto my property, your stay is not optional. You will not leave this house until I allow it. Until I decide differently, you will remain here and answer to me. The talk we’re going to have tomorrow is also mandatory. Do you understand?”
Water ran down my face and trickled into my eyes as I blinked at him, his expression hard but a touch of kindness in his eyes. Still suspicious of his intentions despite the words indicating otherwise, I nodded. Apprehension had my blood racing in my veins as my heart slammed painfully against my ribcage.
He’s keeping me here? As in, I can’t leave?
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.”
<
br /> 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.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.” This guy was so damn frustrating. He shot me up with H, dumped me in the shower, humiliated me, washed me, but wouldn’t tell me his name. Whatever. I turned my back to him.
Big mistake.
Two large hands wrapped around my shoulders, and I was jerked back against his body once more. Both of us were currently clad only in towels, his slung low around his waist and mine tucked under my armpits. There wasn’t as much skin-on-skin contact as in the shower, but this felt much more intimate. Slowly, Boss spun me around to face him, and I had to muffle a frightened cry. His blue eyes were narrowed to slits, nostrils flaring. The transformation from playful to furious was immediate and absolutely terrifying. For the first time since I’d showed up on his lawn, I was truly, without a doubt, scared shitless.
This man, the one in front of me—so different from the man who laughed in the shower—is what I expected from the drug lord I heard rumors about. Horrible rumors of unspeakable acts of violence. A ruthless man to be respected and feared.
Boss pressed the length of his half-naked body against me, and growled, teeth glinting behind curled lips. “That’s the second time you turned your back on me after mouthing off. I’m only going to say this once more, Miri, so listen carefully.” He lowered his head and his breath ghosted across my neck. I shuddered and a whimper escaped my throat, the result of a horrifying combination of lust and fear. “You are my guest. You snuck onto my property and you’re goddamn lucky I didn’t let Milo shoot you on sight. No, I saved you, took your ass in, gave you your fucking heroin, and washed a couple weeks’ worth of filth and scum off of you using my very expensive body wash that, incidentally, I never share with anyone. I expect you to be grateful for my hospitality and treat me with some goddamn motherfucking respect, got it?” His hands tightened around my arms incrementally as he spoke. His message was quite clear as his touch became more and more painful. I knew his thick fingers would leave bruises on my pale, fragile skin.
Legs shaking, I nearly pissed myself when faced with the lethal side of this man.
“I want to hear you say you understand, Miri.” Boss let go and stepped back until his eyes bored holes into me from beneath heavy brows.
Filled with terror, my heart pounded and my breath caught in my lungs, rendering me speechless. His eyes narrowed, not happy with my silence. Somehow, I managed to choke out two words.
“I-I understand.”
Just like that, the sinister drug lord was gone. As if a switch had been flipped, my capitulation replaced the terrorizing boss with the smiling man who’d gently, and not so gently, bathed me a mere five minutes ago. Boss winked before adding in a thick, Texas drawl, “Glad to hear it, doll.”
Still wrapped in a towel, he pushed me down the hall and opened a door to expose a nicely appointed bedroom. Boss motioned me inside.
“This is your room. You will stay in here, you will not leave, and you will not pull any bullshit unless you want a bullet in your head, and believe me, nothing pisses me off more than having a mess made all over my floor.” I bit my lips to silence a gasp and he continued as if he didn’t just threaten to kill me. Again. “There are clothes on the bed and an attached bath. You will keep this room clean and neat. I’ll have someone retrieve you tomorrow.”
I opened my mouth to ask a question, but he was gone. I heard a lock click on the outside of the door. Oh my God, I was trapped in a bizarre, luxurious prison, completely at the mercy of Austin’s fiercest drug lord, and from what I knew, that title was earned deep in the trenches of brutality and death. I sat on the edge of the bed, the damp towel against my clammy skin, and shivered with fear.
Holy fuck. What have I gotten myself into?
3
Boss
I entered my study and caught the scent of the whiskey I’d abandoned on my desk two hours ago when Milo and I rushed outside to find a tiny, zombie-eyed junkie on my front lawn. The pull of the alcohol, combined with the inexplicable surge of lust from my encounter in the bathroom with Miri, had me downing the entire glass in one swift motion. I spotted the bottle Milo left uncapped and scowled, screwing it shut and putting it back in its designated spot, nudging a few other bottles and glasses until they stood in perfect rows.
What a goddamn clusterfuck of a night.
I collapsed into my chair and dragged my nails through the short hairs on my face while going back over the events of the past few hours. The more I thought, the more I scratched, the itchier the stubble became.
I should just shave this goddamn thing off. Fuck looking older.
In the dark room, the only light glowing from a single bulb over the bar, I sat at my desk and relived every single interaction I had with Miri, every word, every facial expression, every touch. The defiance in her fiery eyes when she stood up to me made me chuckle. This tiny little redhead, weak and without a doubt no match for my brute strength, shocked the hell out of me when she peeled off her soaking wet clothes and threw them down like a gauntlet at a duel. I was blown away by her steady gaze, practically daring me to say something.
Despite her issues, her addiction, her obvious lack of food and medical care, Miri was… alive. She looked like hell but had this presence about her, a spark, a strength inside that made me believe she still had a chance. A chance to escape this life when so many others before her failed and succumbed to the lure of the poisonous drugs and dark lifestyle.
Others like Rose. Fuck. I can’t go there right now.
I shoved that shit right out of my head and turned my thoughts to my former dealer, Mason Smith. That thieving son of a bitch had a girl at home, the girl currently locked in one of my guest rooms, strung out on heroin. How considerate of him to not give a single fuck as to what would happen to Miri if he were to disappear, and make no mistake, when Mason spotted Milo in that warehouse, he damn well knew he would never be going home again.
My hand clenched around the empty whiskey glass. I was furious with the man who stole from me, but more furious that he left Miri to die, forgotten, like a piece of trash to be discarded. I knew from experience what bastards like Mason Smith did to girls like Miri. Miri’s total lack of interest in Mason’s whereabouts once she got her hit spoke volumes. She didn’t care about Mason. They weren’t in love. Hell, they probably weren’t even a couple. I knew how situations like theirs worked in the seedy, dark shadows of the worst neighborhoods in the city.
Dealers like Mason would find desperate girls like Miri and get them hooked on drugs. The girls would become compliant, dependent on the dealer for everything. Next, they became unable to leave their captors because of their desperate need to fuel their addiction. Mason likely made Miri his prisoner by feeding her drugs in exchange for sex. Sometimes, those bastards even pimped the women out to other men for extra cash.
Memories of my sister, and a past I would never have a chance to make right, sent an onslaught of red-hot fury throbbing in my veins, the fire pulsing like lava until I was burning with rage from the inside out. Without warning, the glass in my hand shattered, crystal splintering into pieces to send sharp shards deep into the soft flesh of my palm.
Son of a bitch!
Dark red welled from my closed fist and began dripping down my arm as I hurried over to the sink and stuck my hand under the tap. I hissed as I plucked out the larger bits of glass. Blood mixed with water swirled together in the sink, the inky red liqui
d turning pink as it spiraled to disappear down the drain. On closer inspection, I discovered the cuts were still bleeding quite a bit, several of them possibly deep enough to require stitches.
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.
Junkie (Broken Doll #1) Page 4