* * *
Unwilling to let the soiled girl sit on any of my expensive furniture, I had Milo tie her to a plain wooden kitchen chair. Hell, it was probably unnecessary to even bother with restraints. The pathetic thing barely looked healthy enough to breathe, let alone fight us off and escape. Still, I was pretty damn ticked off, and better safe than sorry. I learned that the hard way a long time ago. To trust people who appeared harmless only to find out they were anything but was a grave error in judgment. For all I knew, her strung-out look was just an act. Maybe she was some highly trained operative or something, like Jennifer Garner in Alias.
The ridiculous thought made me snort in amusement, drawing the confused stares of my security team, who’d finally fucking materialized and gathered in the kitchen on Milo’s request.
Milo and I shared a discreet glance, neither of us quite sure what to make of the half-dead girl. Being The Boss, everyone was waiting to see what I would do. Christ. Holding back an eye roll, I squatted in front of the chair and held back from flinching away from the stench of body odor and sickness and the grime that covered her head to toe.
“Hey!” I snapped my fingers in front of the girl’s face when her head sagged, her delicate chin falling to rest on a bony chest.
With the effort of a newborn trying to hold up her own head, she tilted her face up. Underneath the dirt, the malnourished physique, the dull, pockmarked skin, I could see that this girl was actually stunning. Tragically so. Though her natural beauty had been completely ruined by drugs.
The symptoms were obvious—sweating, chills, confusion, and deep dark circles under dull eyes. She also had the faded, purple, telltale scars on the insides of both arms. I’d know a heroin addict anywhere. Besides my main product being heroin, both my mother and sister were too weak to resist the powerful drug, which made me very well acquainted with the dark stranglehold it could have on its users. Users like this girl. The lack of control in these people disgusted me because they’d ruined my life as a child, yet they’d also turned into the source of my very hefty, very illegal income.
I was a fucking hypocrite, and well aware of that fact.
I hadn’t witnessed the destruction my product caused firsthand in a long time, but in my kitchen, reflected in the face of this pitiful young woman, the reality was just as I remembered—horrifically unpleasant. My past surged up like an unexpected kick to the head. Watching her was much more difficult than the vague awareness of my shit being sold to nameless junkies somewhere out in the city. Putting a face to my dirty deeds, bringing up painful memories, tugged on my humanity. Something I didn’t have the time or desire to acknowledge.
But then, you’d require at least a shred of humanity to acknowledge it, and I lost mine a long time ago.
I attempted to speak to the girl again. “Why are you here?”
The girl’s rheumy green eyes blinked slowly and she sniffed. She glanced around the kitchen, vacantly taking note of the six other men in the room behind me—Milo, my security team, and Burke, who would be dealt with later—and began crying.
“I just need a hit,” she sobbed, and began coughing uncontrollably. “Mason, he usually—”
“Mason? Mason Smith?” Milo shouted from my left side. It startled the girl so badly, she jerked in her restraints and nearly tipped the chair over while strapped to it. My hand shot out to steady the chair before she crashed to the floor and cracked her head open.
“Calm the fuck down, Milo,” I growled. I was as surprised as Milo to hear of the girl’s connection to my recently departed dealer, but showing any kind of emotion in front of a suspect was poor form and lacked the air of finesse I preferred to maintain. Though I’d rather be doing this in my suit than my sweatpants, and with someone… ugh, cleaner. I swallowed back my distaste.
“What?” Milo asked, incredulous. He pointed at the girl and continued. “She knows that motherfucking piece of shit thief. He probably skimmed to give the H to her, Boss. You heard him talk about a whore.”
I released the chair, stepped back, and turned to my lieutenant. Remaining silent, I crossed my arms over my chest and waited until Milo’s bluster quickly drained when he became the sole focus of my attention.
“I don’t want her falling and leaving her fucking brains all over my imported Italian tiles, asshole. And I decide what happens to her, not you.”
“Yes, Boss.” Milo looked appropriately chagrined. If he was pissed, he hid it well. I was positive Milo didn’t appreciate being put in his place in front of the rest of the men, and normally, I would have allowed him free rein on someone who not only trespassed, but was an associate of an employee who stole from me. But this girl—while technically just a very foolish, desperate junkie, therefore undeserving of mercy—intrigued me, not that I would tell Milo or anyone else that fact.
“Who is Mason to you?” I asked and pulled a second chair over to sit across from the redhead, my eyes now level with hers.
The girl licked her cracked lips, her enormous, dilated pupils darting all over the place to avoid my direct stare.
“He, uh, I’m not sure. I-I don’t know. I just need a hit.” She sniffed, almost breaking down again.
“Listen to me.” I raised my voice so there was no doubt who was in charge here. The girl shuddered violently and a lock of greasy red hair fell over one watery, bloodshot eye. My gaze trailed over her damaged skin. Scratches mixed with hideous scabs dotted what I envisioned was once a creamy, pale landscape. Natural redhead, I thought, noting the high number of rust-colored freckles dotting her arms and face. “I will give you a hit after you answer my questions. Otherwise, I’ll have you taken out back and shot in the head, got it?”
Milo shifted nearby, clearly excited at the thought of disposing of the intruder and at the same time likely agitated by my offer of drugs to a stranger. One he deemed guilty by association. To Milo, this entire interrogation was unnecessary. I glanced over my shoulder and shot him a glare, once more reminding the brute who was in charge, before returning my attention to the girl.
“Okay. Okay. Okay,” she mumbled over and over in a near-hypnotic state while rocking back and forth on the chair like a redheaded Raymond Babbitt.
I resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. “Who are you? How do you know Mason Smith?”
“Mason. Yeah, he’s, ummm. Oh God.”
The girl paused to let out a long, pitiful groan, doubling over as much as she could while tied to the chair. Belly habit. That meant her withdrawals were getting worse. Fuck, she better not throw up in my house.
She drew in a shaky breath and continued. “He’s my b-boyfriend, sort of but not r-really. I-I mean, I live with him, but… He didn’t come back and I need… I need.”
“Shhhhh.” Using a finger, I shocked myself by tucking an escaped lock of hair behind her ear and not immediately jumping up to wash my hands. “Good. Now, what’s your name, doll?”
The girl shook her head. “No. Not Doll. Miri. My n-name’s Miri.”
Without warning, she began to shake all over, her feeble body straining at her bindings. Miri threw her head back, and the taut tendons stuck out from her skinny neck like guitar strings.
“Oh god! Help me, please.” Those sad, desperate eyes locked on mine, a thin ring of green visible around massive pupils.
Despite Miri’s disgusting appearance, her nasty addiction to heroin, and the fact that her maybe-boyfriend had been stealing from me to feed her habit, I felt responsible for her. It was my shit she got hooked on, and she just seemed… frail and in need of someone to take care of her. It was almost as if she were sent here as penance for my past failures to take care of my mom and sister.
Besides, Miri intruded on my property. She knew where I lived. I couldn’t just toss her out. It was highly unlikely, but she could call the cops and get them down here with a warrant in the blink of an eye.
Better to get her dosed up and calmed down before trying to talk.
“Jase,” I b
arked.
One of my men immediately appeared at my side. “Yes, Boss.”
“Bring me the kit.”
With a sharp nod, he left the room and reappeared in less than two minutes to hand me a small zippered pouch. “Here you go, Boss.”
“All of you leave,” I ordered as I began prepping the kit. One by one, I lined the items up on the table, in the order I would need them. Everyone obeyed my command but one.
“Boss, come on…”
“Milo, don’t push me any further tonight.” I turned to give my lieutenant a dark stare that said don’t fuck with me. He better not press his thoughts in front of a stranger.
Milo’s lips pressed tight as he struggled to keep his mouth shut and follow my orders. Nothing new from the big, strong-willed man. He was very opinionated at times. Tense and agitated, Milo gave in and agreed. “Fine. I’m going home then, Boss.”
“See you in the morning.” I dismissed Milo and returned my attentions to the sweaty, gross, trembling girl in my kitchen.
I snapped on a pair of latex gloves, no way was I touching her filthy skin with my bare hands. Using an alcohol pad, I wiped the gloves to kill any germs. Then I picked up a tiny packet of white powder, careful not to spill any, and poured it into a spoon designed to lie on a flat surface without tilting. The rubber tourniquet was long compared to Miri’s razor-thin arm. I knotted it around the tiny limb, holding back a pained grimace at touching her, despite the gloves. When I glanced up to check on the girl, I found Miri intently watching my every movement. I blinked and tore my gaze away from those wide green eyes to search for a vein. There wasn’t a single usable one on her scar-riddled arm.
“Shit,” I muttered when an inspection of her other arm turned up the same.
“I-I use my feet.” Miri’s voice was so soft I nearly missed her response.
Caught in the sliver of emerald in those captivating eyes, it took me a minute to reply.
“All right.” I removed the tourniquet, put it around a slender ankle, and placed her left foot on the floor to get better blood flow to the extremity. A single bluish vein stood out, surrounded by a half-dozen faded and fresh track marks. “There it is.” I grabbed another alcohol pad and swabbed the area. Syringe in hand, I uncapped a vial of sterile water and drew up a small amount, adding it to the powered opiate in the spoon. Using a lighter, I cooked the drugs until the mixture was reduced to a clear, bubbling liquid. As I waited for the chemicals to cool, Miri became frantic.
“I-It’s okay. I c-can take it hot. Really. I-I don’t mind. Please…”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not safe. You could blow a vein or worse.”
“I don’t care! Give it to me.” She started to struggle in the chair, in danger of tipping it over again.
Fed the fuck up with today’s events and bullshit in general, I caught her chin between my thumb and forefingers and pinched hard enough to hold her still.
“Stop this immediately or you’ll get nothing. Listen carefully, because I’m only going to say it once. I’m never, ever hospitable to intruders, so you should consider yourself lucky to still be breathing right now and not being driven to a remote location where no one will ever find your body.”
Those dull eyes widened with fear and her lip trembled. “Okay, okay. I’m g-good. I’ll be good. I’m s-sorry.”
I ripped open another alcohol swab and wiped off my fingers. Once the mixture was cool, I drew it up into the syringe using a filtered needle and made sure the air was out.
“Ready?” I’m not sure why I bothered—I knew the answer before the question was asked.
“Yes, please, please, please.” Miri vibrated with anticipation.
Despite the fact I grew up around drugs, despised drug use, watched my family implode from drug addiction and never once allowed anyone to get high in my house or permitted drug use among my employees, I went against everything I believed personally and stuck the needle into the vein on Miri’s foot. I pulled back to watch as dark red blood entered the syringe. With visual confirmation I hit a vein, I removed the tourniquet and slowly injected the opiate into her system until the syringe was empty. Working efficiently, I cleaned up the kit, put the used items in a container for the staff to dispose of, and washed my hands at the sink.
Then I sat down and waited.
Miri
In less than a minute, the hot, tingling rush in my veins made a complete loop through my body. The sweating, the coughing, the excruciating pain in my abdomen all vanished with the depression of the plunger on the syringe in the man’s big hand. My head fell back, though not from ecstasy—I was long past being able to get high off of H. It fell back because I was finally able to stop thinking about getting my next fix and concentrate on something other than how to make the agony of withdrawal go away.
Scoring this one hit exhausted me to the point of going near comatose once the drugs took hold. All I wanted now was a place to fall asleep. I didn’t even care if it was right here in this chair with my hands still tied.
On some level, I knew the rope around my wrists was being undone and my body lifted into a set of strong arms to be held against a warm broad chest. Content in a way I hadn’t been in a long time, I burrowed my face into the soft cotton fabric and inhaled deep. The smell was clean and masculine, with a cologne or soap that made me feel warm and safe. I sighed and snuggled in closer to grip the front of the shirt in my fists. A low rumble vibrated against my ear, the deep sound washing over me like the rhythmic lapping of the ocean on my toes. The imagery was so real I actually heard the splash of the water.
Must be some really good H.
“What the hell?” I was rudely jolted awake as the comforting warmth of the delicious-smelling chest disappeared and I was plunged under an icy spray.
“No offense, doll, but you smell and look disgusting.”
Water dripped into my eyes and made it difficult to see which end was up. I glared in the general direction of the man, a guy who was most likely the boss, who’d dumped me, fully clothed, onto the floor of an impressive glass and stone shower. Glacial cold water rained down on my body, soaking me through in seconds.
“Well now I’m fucking freezing!” I shivered violently, covered in goose bumps. Now that I wasn’t jonesing, I had found my tongue and didn’t hesitate to use it against the asshole who’d dropped me into the shower.
“You’ll live.”
The jerk’s callous words made me want to tell him off until the smirk fell right off his irritatingly handsome face. I opened my mouth to do just that and in a brief moment of sanity, thought better of it. It was definitely not a good idea to piss off a powerful drug lord. Especially when you crashed his house and was extremely vulnerable surrounded by goons. Plus, the tall man was staring at me like he wanted to strangle me. I had no doubt there was a greater than 50:50 chance he would do just that.
I wiped the water out of my eyes and watched, gaping, as the boss took a step back, stripped off his T-shirt and pushed down his dark sweatpants to reveal one of the most perfect male bodies I had ever seen in real life. Despite my fear and confusion, a spark of desire flared, heating the inside of my frozen body.
Without the intense craving for heroin taking over my every thought, I was lucid enough to study the man who for some unknown reason, injected me with drugs and saved me from painful, debilitating misery. He was big. Muscular big. And tall. I wasn’t sure how tall because the guy was currently towering over me as I sat on the shower floor, huddled in an icy ball. His long legs were sinewy and muscled, with a light dusting of dark hair. The man, the boss, still wore a pair of black cotton boxer briefs, which did nothing to hide what appeared to be a sizable package, though he wasn’t aroused.
Further up, my eyes traced perfect tan obliques and an impressive set of abs. I spent extra time looking at those thick bands of muscle on either hip, the ones that pointed directly down to his groin. Swallowing down an unexpected rush of desire, I followed a dark treasure trail from the
waistband of his designer underwear up to wide, tanned pecs. There was a large tattoo of a rose over his heart, between tight copper nipples.
Before I could get to his face, I stiffened, paralyzed by a surge of panic. The water had finally turned warm, but the heat in my body dissipated, replaced by an icy cold fist of terror. The boss, half-naked, huge, and frightening as fuck, stepped right into the shower with me.
I scrambled to the far corner, plastered against the stone tiles. “What… what are you doing?” My voice cracked, betraying my fear.
Is he expecting payment for the hit?
“Helping you clean up, doll. You’re not in much condition to do it yourself, and no way in hell are you walking around dropping your filth all over my house.” His deep voice had a seductive drawl to it and I shivered again. The boss picked up a washcloth and a bottle of soap, and poured a good amount of green liquid onto it. Then he lathered it up until thick white foam overflowed from his big hands.
“Are you? Do you want…?” I bit my lip and glanced down at his clothed crotch, surprised to discover he was still soft. In my experience, men didn’t get almost naked with women unless they wanted something, and since I owed him for the drugs and for not killing me, I figured he’d be hard and ready for his payment.
I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose in a pathetic attempt to rein in my panic. The scent from earlier, the one that clung to the man standing over me, filled my nostrils and I realized it was the fragrant soap he was lathering up that had smelled so good on his skin. I tilted my head and stared at the man’s face. I could do this. He was good-looking. Hell, he was more than good-looking, he was flat-out stunning, fit to walk any runway in the world. Hell, if I managed to make it through paying the vile, disgusting Jorge without puking, I was confident I could take care of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scary, no problem.
Junkie (Broken Doll #1) Page 3
