Page 11 of Thorns of Malice

I've never felt so happy as I threaten, "Don't worry, Avery. I'm sure you'll look great in an orange jumpsuit."

3

Ivy

One Week Later

"Ivy, I think it's time to go," Jaxon gently states, readjusting the umbrella.

I don't take my eyes off the casket.

The rain pours harder, but it seems like something my father would appreciate.

He loved the rain. He said it's what makes flowers bloom, and without it, there wouldn't be beauty in the world.

Nothing looks beautiful today. I wonder if it ever will again.

If it hadn't been for Jaxon, I wouldn't have known what to do. The day after my father died, I called him, too distraught to attend work, semi-hysterical, and unsure how to even start planning Dad's burial.

Jaxon took over, making all the arrangements and even paying for it. When he asked me who I needed to notify about Dad's death, it hit me harder how much I ruined my father's life.

I unknowingly allowed Dax Carrington to destroy it.

Dad kept to himself when we moved to Georgia, not making any friends. Anybody we did know in West Virginia is long gone. So the only people who attended were people from my Sex Anonymous Group.

It's ironic. If my father knew how far I'd fallen, how I'm addicted to the thing I'm most ashamed about, I wouldn't have been able to ever look him in the eye. Yet the only people to stand next to me and bury him all suffer from my same demons. But they've all left now, and there's no one at the grave site except Jaxon and me.

The burning for revenge simmers under all my grief. I keep telling myself to get through today. Then I'll figure out how to get back at Dax and Avery for stealing my father's idea, patenting it, then announcing to the world my father's hybrid as theirs.

And I know they named it Seducing Ivy to torture Dad and me. They had to have known we'd find out. So it just solidifies that all I ever was to Dax was a sick, twisted game; something for him to conquer and destroy.

My grief and revenge aren't helping my demons. I've been more hypersexual than normal, going from crying my eyes out to being obsessed with getting my next orgasm.

A bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, followed by a loud explosion of thunder.

"Ivy, it's time," Jaxon asserts.

I stare another moment at the casket, then nod.

Jaxon puts his arm around my waist, leading me through the storm and to his car.

I slide inside.

He goes to the other side, tosses his umbrella in the back seat, and gets into the driver's seat. He turns on the engine and wipers, then the heat to defog the windows. He turns toward me, and raindrops roll down his face.

I reach for him, needing to feel anything but my pain. I want so badly to forget everything I've done. The decisions I made—choices my father warned me about, but I refused to heed—all brought me to this point.

I blurt out, "He should have had people at his funeral."

"He did," Jaxon claims.

I huff, sniffling. "No one he knew came except you, and he barely met you."

"Ivy—"

"It's true."

Jaxon takes my hand off his face and squeezes it. "The only person your dad cared about was you, and you were there. It's all that matters."

---