Junkie (Broken Doll #1)

by Heather C. Leigh

  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.

  Only, the problem with living meant my emotions were free game. I could feel not only the good but the bad as well. My heart longed for Cat, a constant dull ache that never really went away. Whenever I reflected on her disappearance, a sharp pain of loss would hit, like a knife plunged right into my chest to pierce my battered and broken heart.

  Where was she? Was she even alive?

  My throat tightened and my eyes burned. Sniffing, I pushed off the sink and snatched a paper towel to wipe my face, determined to hold it together.

  After a few deep breaths to regain my composure, I tossed the towel in the garbage. When I turned around, calm-ish and ready to continue cleaning the air filter on the Ninja, I spotted a dark figure shifting in a corner of the garage. Startled, I sprang back and my lower spine collided with the edge of the countertop as I let out a high-pitched, super-girly, horror-movie scream.

  The figure stepped out of the shadows and I nearly cried in relief.

  “Oh my god, Jag. You just about scared me to death.” I clutched at my filthy, grease-stained tank top in a pathetic attempt to slow my racing heart.

  “Sorry about that, doll. Guess I shoulda said howdy to announce myself.” Jag’s crooked grin said he was anything but sorry.

  As heat flooded my face, the initial shock segued into sudden, unrelenting anger. After Jag took me on that ride and woke up the part of me that had given up on life, the jerk turned around and disappeared for three days. Now, I was just supposed to what? Act like nothing happened? Pretend to be friends? Discuss the weather? Not likely.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and shot him a dirty look, doing my best not to notice how hot he looked today. “Why are you here?”

  I don’t know what kind of welcome Jag was expecting, but it obviously wasn’t the outright hostility I flung at him. His dark brows flew to his hairline and his jaw dropped. The big, bad drug lord was stung by the words of a lowly junkie. Good. Asshole.

  Jag fixed his expression and took his own rigid stance, mimicking mine. “What do you mean why am I here? Last I checked, this was my garage.”

  His flippant attitude and irritatingly handsome face only served to push me right on over from angry to furious. “Fuck you, Jag.”

  I spun around to leave, determined to have the last word after Jag fooled me into thinking he gave a shit, got close and made me feel special, only to blow me off like I was lower than dogshit on the bottom of his stupid, scuffed and sexy biker boots.

  Jag anticipated my reaction and moved. He was fast—too fast for me to have any real chance to escape. A large hand wrapped around my upper arm and tugged me back against his firm, hot chest. My ass pressed directly into Jag’s groin and I closed my eyes as my body betrayed me, trembling, pulse racing, my skin literally buzzing with electricity. Despite wanting to slap the shit out of him, my stupid reactions meant I still craved the man physically.

  As difficult as it was, I opened my eyes and attempted to take back control by doing stepping away from my newest addiction, a man who might just be worse for me than the heroin that took over my life and brought me to the lowest of lows.

  “No.” I tore my arm out of Jag’s grip and spun to face him, ready to unleash a torrent of curses.

  I shouldn’t have turned around.

  Jag was gorgeous. That was old news. His body was perfect, but I knew that too. What I didn’t anticipate was the heated, lusty look in his hooded eyes, or to see his freshly shaven cheeks and chin flushed with desire. Without the rugged stubble Jag looked years younger. So much so, I may have overestimated his age by almost a decade.

  Jag was good-looking before. Now? He was positively breathtaking. Beneath his body-hugging long-sleeved tee, Jag’s wide chest shifted up and down with each breath. His tongue poked out of his mouth to swipe across his lips and I couldn’t help myself. My eyes zeroed in on that pink, velvety tongue, imagining the sinful things it could do to my body. My nipples hardened and my thighs clenched with the aching need to be taken by this man. Filled and stretched and pounded into. Hard, hot, and messy.

  I shook my head and blinked back my desire, but my mind still was trapped somewhere in my fantasy, imagining Jag dragging that wicked tongue down my stomach and between my legs. The next thing I knew, I opened my mouth and instead of telling Jag off, my brain stuttered and stalled from the sheer hotness of Jag and my fantasy, and I blurted out the first thing I could think of that didn’t involve ripping off his clothes.

  “You shaved off your beard.”

  If I sounded stupid, Jag either didn’t notice or comment. “Yeah. I did.” His voice was low and husky. He took a step closer, every inch of him moving fluidly, like a predator stalking its prey. Blood pulsed through my veins like liquid fire. I was burning for him from the inside out, my body turning to ash beneath the façade.

  “Why?”

  Jag took another step and had me crowded against the sink with nowhere to go. My palms were so slick with sweat, when I tried to brace them on the countertop, they slipped off the edge and before I knew it, my legs buckled and I was going down. Strong hands reached out and caught me before my head could smack against the rim of the giant stainless steel sink.

  “Jesus, Miri! You need to be more careful!”

  Jag sounded pissed, which was bullshit. I was the one who was pissed. He ditched me. He avoided me. But for some reason, I couldn’t find it in me to fight my way out of his strong embrace or tell him how hurt I was when he ignored me.

  Jag wrapped me tight in his arms, one hand on my head, pressing my cheek against his chest, the other in the middle of my back. With my ear flattened on the broad surface of his pecs, I closed my eyes and listened to the soothing rhythm of his heart. It was beating fast. Like mine.

  Is Jag as affected by me as I am by him
?

  “Why did you shave, Jag?” My words were muffled against his soft shirt, but I knew he heard them. When I spoke, his breath hitched and his heart pounded faster.

  One of Jag’s hands drifted lower, gently stroking, tracing the curve of my spine until his palm rested just above the swell of my ass.

  “I shaved for you,” he murmured. The deep rumble of his voice against my ear sent pleasurable vibrations directly to my groin.

  “Me?” I tilted my head back from the comfort of his embrace to glance up at the complicated man. “I don’t understand.”

  Jag’s eyes shone with something I couldn’t place until his hands moved to cup my face. Oh. My pulse skipped and I swallowed thickly. It was tenderness. Concern. Desire. His thumbs brushed across each of my cheeks and his fingers curved to span the entire nape of my neck, so long they overlapped in the back. I knew what was coming, but it happened so fast, there was no time to think, no time to react. When Jag lowered his mouth to mine, all I could do was sink into his embrace accept what he gave, savor every second of this moment.

  The kiss began slow, just soft, sweet brushes of skin on skin. Then Jag’s fingers tightened against the back of my head, threading into my hair and causing my entire body to erupt in flames. Desire pulsed hot and hard, the fire licking at my veins, burning with the overwhelming need to be closer, to get more contact with the source of this incredible pleasure. Gathering my courage, I wrapped my hands around Jag’s waist and pressed forward until our bodies were fused from chest to groin.

  After a few minutes, I tore my mouth away, gasping for air. The scent of Jag’s cologne filled my nose and sent my lust skyrocketing from desperate to I might die if I don’t get more right fucking now.

  My brain was scrambled and the steady ache between my thighs made it damn near impossible to think, let alone speak, but somehow I managed.

  “W-what do you mean you shaved for me?”

  Jag dropped his lips to my neck as he licked and bit up and down the sensitive flesh. I shivered when his hot breath swept across the damp skin left in the wake of his talented mouth.

  Without answering, Jag brought his face back to mine, devouring my mouth in a deep, messy, hungry kiss. We both moaned as he took control, plunging his tongue in to taste every single surface of my mouth. Never in my life had I been so dominated by a kiss. Jag stopped to catch his breath, our lips close enough to touch. I slid my arms from his sides to lay my palms flat against his incredible chest. The rapid thump of his heart beneath my hands spoke volumes.

  “You have red hair and the most beautiful creamy skin I’ve ever seen.” To emphasize his point, Jag put a single finger to my mouth and swept it slowly across my lips and down my chin, then threaded his hand in my hair, letting the long pieces fall from his fingers. “I figured my beard would rub you raw and make your skin sensitive.”

  I jerked my head back at his admission. Was he serious? What man was considerate enough to take beard burn into account? More importantly, if Jag shaved for me, it meant he planned this encounter. That he came to the garage specifically to kiss me. But why now after avoiding me for days?

  “So you…” I fumbled over my words, blinking in confusion while Jag continued to hold me close, those stunning blue irises flicking between my mouth and my eyes, devouring me with an intensity I’d never experienced before. “You… you arranged this? Thought about kissing me?” A faint blush stained his cheeks but he never dropped his gaze. “But… but you haven’t spoken to me in days. I thought… I mean…”

  Jag cut me off with a brush of his lips on mine. “I’m sorry, Miri. I shouldn’t be here. I tried to do the right thing, but I couldn’t stay away any longer.” Jag growled, his mouth pulling into a frown.

  He dropped his hands, stepped out of our embrace, and turned his back to me. I nearly cried from the loss of his warmth, his scent, his comforting hold, and it took an amazing amount of willpower to stop from clutching his shoulders and clinging to them, anything to keep Jag from walking away. His head hung and he scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The muscles in his spine and shoulders visibly tensed under his shirt.

  After an awkward moment of silence, the big, handsome, scary as fuck drug lord spun toward me and dragged a hand down his face. This time, I noticed his bright eyes were dull, exhausted, and wrought with guilt. With a loud huff, Jag let out a humorless chuckle.

  “I was avoiding you, doll. For your sake. Yet here I am, despite what I know is best. You’ll find I’m a very selfish man and not so good at denyin’ myself. Especially somethin’ I want as much as I want you. In fact,” Jag’s expression changed, the pain flipping to lust, pupils expanding as his gaze raked across my body. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you, Miri.”

  This wasn’t the first time Jag’s Texas drawl came out. I noticed it was more obvious whenever he was losing his tightly wound control or he was simply relaxed enough to not care.

  He groaned and his head fell back so he could stare at the ceiling. Paralyzed where he left me against the sink, I watched Jag’s smooth, tan throat ripple as he swallowed several times. My eyes dropped to his hands, rough and scarred, clenched at his sides, the veins and cords in his neck bulging. The man was clearly struggling with something. I just didn’t know what it was or how to help.

  When Jag finally lifted his head, he pressed his lips together and took a single long step forward, putting him a hairsbreadth away. So damn close, but still denying me the pleasure of his touch. I ached to close the distance, to have his body against mine, to be surrounded by Jag’s scent and heat and the safety of his embrace. But I needed him to make the decision, to be sure of what he wanted. I couldn’t get sucked in by his charms just to be hurt again.

  No doubt, Jag was a confusing and somewhat terrifying man. Yet in my eyes, Jag represented home. Asking for nothing in return, he gave me a roof over my head and put food in my belly. Jag protected me from other men, going so far as to threaten his own employees, likely having one killed for attempting to rape me.

  Despite those first few awful nights, Jag made me feel comfortable in his sprawling mansion, and allowed me to treat it as my own. Somewhere during my stay, that sense of comfort transferred from the house to the man himself. The house didn’t heal me, Jag did. I owed him so much. My chest tightened and my eyes stung from the rush of gratitude.

  Jag dipped his chin until our eyes locked, cobalt blue to emerald green. Even though my vision was blurry with tears, I could see what he hid behind the raw lust. Jag might never admit it, but he cared.

  Huge hands wrapped around my arms. The rough skin on his palms scraped along my forearms and sent a wave of goose bumps to my shoulders and across the back of my neck.

  “I’m no good for you, doll. I proved that by how I’ve treated you. Besides, you should be afraid of me. You should hate me.” Jag’s voice was a sexy rasp, gravelly and deep. His intense gaze flicked back and forth between my eyes and mouth.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” My response, as naive as it may be, was immediate and the absolute truth. “And I don’t hate you. You’ve treated me better than anyone else in my life. You gave me food, a bed, clothes, you don’t hit me or use me… you saved me.”

  Jag shifted closer, his palms squeezing my hips, strong fingers digging into my flesh. One quick tug and he jerked me forward. Jag ground his hard cock into my abdomen, shoving a thick, powerful thigh between my legs, and put glorious pressure right where I needed it most. I gasped at the unexpected move, my pulse faltering along with my willpower. Jag leaned down until our lips touched.

  “Tell me you want this, doll. You have a choice. I want to take you, own you, make you scream you’re mine. But if you say no, I’ll leave right now.”

  I closed my eyes, breathed in his scent, and knew, despite what Jag said, I really had no choice. I wanted this man from the moment I saw him in the shower that first night, all tall, dark, and menacing, the water running over the detailed rose tattoo over his heart, down the
grooves of his abs, to disappear into the waistband of his tight black briefs.

  “I want this. I want you. But… I’m ruined, Jag.” I swallowed down my pride and held out an arm, frantically blinking back tears.

  Jag’s eyes widened for a brief moment before my words sunk in. He skimmed a calloused finger down the sensitive skin of my inner arm, over the multiple track marks and puckered, fading scars.

  “They made you who you are, Miri. From your weakness, your addiction, you will prove that you can come out of it and rise up, becoming a better, stronger version of yourself. You’re stunning. You’re perfect. We all have our flaws and imperfections, doll.” Jag lifted my arm to his mouth and kissed each ugly red mark, trailing his lips down my arm, his heated breath sending a wave of chills back up.

  I choked on a sob as Jag repeated the tender gesture on my other arm. His words were exactly what I needed to hear, even if I didn’t quite believe them.

  Jag straightened and met my eyes. I caught a brief glimpse of the glowing hot coals behind the cool blue irises before those sinful lips crashed down on mine. My hands flew to his neck and pulled him down further. I wanted him so close I wished I could climb inside his body so he couldn’t turn away from me ever again. But from the way Jag held me and the force behind his kiss, I knew he had no intentions of stopping.

  I couldn’t tell if I was thrilled or completely petrified.

  Maybe both.

  Jag

  My willpower snapped. Disintegrated to dust and scattering in the air, leaving me at the mercy of a small, feisty, redhead. One who barged into my life uninvited and somehow blasted her way through my protective walls only to set up camp in my obsessive head twenty-four seven. Miri was all I thought about, day or night, asleep or awake, no matter what else was going on or required my attention. She was always in my mind, front and center. My OCD found its newest fixation, complete with urges I doubted I would ever manage to control.