HIGH OFF HER

Thiago Rivera used to flash a badge and preach sobriety.
Then one night he traded his sidearm for a vial of coke and never looked back. These days the ex-cop's greatest talents are emptying bottles, sampling pills, and collecting orgy wristbands like souvenirs. If it numbs a nerve, he's in.

Diana Bellamy doesn't chase drugs-she chases bodies.
Sex is her anesthesia, her paint thinner, the only thing that mutes the riot in her head long enough to finish a canvas. She swears she hates the craving, yet she needs it the way lungs need air.

They collide at a downtown dive where the floor smells like spilled gin and regret.
She orders tequila like it's confession.
He watches her mouth the way sinners watch open doors to hell.
One drink turns into a back-alley kiss, and suddenly they're sharing everything-lines, limbs, filthy secrets-until dawn breaks and reality hits like withdrawal.

He wrecks her art with bruised fingerprints and ash-stained breath.

She wrecks his resolve with a single laugh against his throat.

Together they burn nights in strangers' beds, bathroom stalls, and the backseat of a cruiser he never reported stolen.

Love? Not a chance.
Recovery? Comical.
Happy ending? Only if you count matching scars.

This isn't romance-it's a slow-motion car crash that both drivers accelerate.