Page 117 of Thorns of Malice

I follow her until she's against the wall.

"Dax, don't touch me right now," she warns, then closes her eyes, taking ragged breaths.

I don't listen. I put my hands on her cheeks and push my forehead against hers. "Isn't this what you want? What you need? What you're searching for, chasing all the time?"

She takes shallow breaths.

"It'sme, baby girl. I know it's me, and it's always been me. It's always going to be me. Just like the only thing I'm chasing is you."

"You don't understand," she says, her voice quivering, eyes squeezed shut tight.

"No? Tell me what I don't understand."

She shakes her head, and a tear falls down her cheek.

I swipe at it with my thumb. "Don't cry."

She opens her glistening blues, swirling with guilt, shame, fear, and the craving she can't eliminate. "Do you think I want to? That I enjoy crying all the time, being emotional, not having any control of it, just like everything else I feel in my body?"

"I know the desire I have for you—and the one you have for me—has nothing to do with Trance."

She scrunches her face, looking away. Her voice cracks when she quietly says, "I'm fucked-up, Dax."

I pull her chin back toward me. "You're not. And I promise you, things are going to get better."

Hope lights in her eyes, but then she scoffs. "How, Dax? How are they going to get better?"

"They will. I promise you."

"They won't. You should go," she says.

"Why? So you can go back to him?" I snarl, still upset that he ever touched her.

But I'm angry at myself. My actions and the people I hung around caused her addiction. And that's what led her into Jaxon's arms.

Her eyes turn to slits. "What if I was, Dax? What business is it of yours?"

My chest tightens. I insist, "You don't want to be with him. I know you don't want to be with him."

She huffs. "Do you know how many times I've been with him? So many, I can't count."

Jealousy pummels me, attacking me down to my bones. I stay silent, trying to take deep breaths to stay calm.

She pushes my chest. "Just leave."

"So you can go back to him?" I repeat.

"Stop asking me that."

I don't move. I press my lips against hers, mumbling, "You don't want him, Ivy. You want me."

"You're so full of yourself," she says.

"So you don't want me?" I push closer.

Her hands relax against my chest. She asks, "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what?"

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