Page 2 of Addicted Lies

I pass Ford the almost empty bottle of whiskey. “Lighten up, Ford. You might actually have fun tonight.” He frowns at the bottle as I walk past him.

I’ve never asked Hawke why his brother always seems like he has a stick up his ass. Frankly, Hawke is probably the only fun one out of the bunch. The rest of our friends and family always seem to have a frown marring their features, like they just sucked on a lemon.

It doesn’t surprise me when I look over my shoulder and notice Ford putting the bottle on the floor of the car, untouched. Instead, he’s sucking on the second lollipop I gave him, the little white stick hanging out of his mouth as he glares at any man who looks at me.

For fuck’s sake, it’s like having my brother here.

Hawke throws an arm around my shoulders to pull me inside with him as if giving me a personal tour. Once we’re inside the club, the flashing lights and pounding music call to me, and the alcohol adds a pleasant buzz. I fucking love dancing, though it might not be the same without the girls. And I sure as shit can’t see either of these two being the dancing type.

Hawke leads us to a seating area, Ford begrudgingly following behind. I wonder if he even likes this type of scene, and if not, why does he come? In fact, I have no idea what his idea of fun is. I never see him drink or party. I wonder if the only thing he enjoys is hurting people.

Probably.

He certainly oozes that type of energy.

Hawke’s arm drops from my shoulders as a waitress starts pouring us drinks without even asking what we want. Obviously these two are regulars. I wonder if my brother frequents this place with them. Then again, I always see them working for Eli, so I suppose this just proves that he does let them have nights off.

Hawke throws back one drink and then two. I follow his lead, gasping at the potent shit. Ford simply takes a seat and pulls out his phone. It reminds me to do the same. Still no message.

What the fuck, dude? Do you want to get laid or not?

Two women approach us and then drape themselves all over Hawke. He’s what we like to call a ladies’ man. He likes to fuck. A lot. Every time I see him, he’s with a different woman. These two climb all over his lap, and another comes along and sits next to Ford. I sigh. Is everyone getting laid tonight but me?

I let out a quiet huff. It’s just so easy for these fuckers. I feel my temper spike. Although the woman beside Ford is talking to him, he makes no effort to entertain her. In fact, he looks up at me briefly, almost expectantly. He then removes the stick of his lollipop and places it on the edge of an ashtray. I roll my eyes as I dig another one out of my bag and hand it to him. This guy really has an addiction to sweets.

I look down at my phone again, and my eyebrows furrow. The contact number and all of my previous text messages to the guy I was supposed to be seeing tonight vanished.What the fuck?

My hands bunch into fists as an unbearable amount of fury fills my veins. This has Dutton written all over it. Did he seriously hack my phone just to delete my only means of communication with this guy? I internally scream. Fuck these guys and this place. I’m sick of not being in control of my own life.

I grab my drink as I stand. I need to fucking dance and find someone to eat me out in the next ten minutes, or I’m going home so I can scream and cry into my pillow. And I know which I’d rather be doing.

My name is called out from somewhere behind me, but I ignore it. Pushing through the crowd, I’m bumped and danced up on. I scan the dance floor, searching for my victim. Surely, there’s one fucking hot guy in this club. Standing in the middle of the crowded floor, I throw back my drink.

“Billie, should you be walking off on your own?” I turn to find Ford behind me. My gaze drops to the drink he’s holding. I don’t know why this fucker even pretends; it’s obvious he doesn’t drink. I pluck the glass from his hand and down the contents. He frowns as I hand it back to him. “Rough night?” he asks.

I eye him and shake my head, reminding myself that it’s not fair to take my frustration at my overbearing brother out on Ford, but my God, I’m about to lose my shit if I don’t dance, cry, or fuck it out.

I ignore him as I continue through the crowd, hoping I’ll lose him, but it doesn’t do much considering he’s taller than almost everyone in here, and people make sure to give him a wide berth as he steps through the crowd.

“Billie.” I shoot him my best eye roll over my shoulder as he follows me. “Fucking hell, woman, your brother told me to keep an eye on you, and here you are running off.”

I turn toward him and snap, “Fuck Dutton and fuck you!” He looks indifferent, almost like a fucking robot. My God, what do I have to do to shake a guy like this? I turn back in the direction I was heading and continue weaving through the mass of bodies. I can feel him following me.

Gah, why won’t he just give up?

I stop suddenly, and his chest hits my back. His hands wrap around my waist, and we both tense at the contact. His grip is tight, and I feel like I’m on fire. He’s looming over me, and I can sense his intense stare on me. We’re stuck, unable to move, as people around us drink, dance, and drunkenly scream the lyrics of the song currently blasting through the sound system. He doesn’t release me, and I don’t move away, and I wonder why.

“I thought you’d be scared to touch me,” I shout over the noise as if that is deterrent enough. My brother has chopped off men’s hands before for being so bold.

“I’m not afraid to touch you.” His voice elicits goose bumps to erupt over my skin, and my spine goes stiff. A heated pounding begins in my core, and for the first time, Ifeelhim.

We stand there like that until the song changes. That’s when I finally turn around to face him, his touch falling away, and I instantly feel the loss.

“My brother would kill you for touching me,” I remind him. He knows it well enough, as I’m sure he’s taken part in dealing out those ridiculous consequences.

“I know.” He says it as if he doesn’t care. Maybe he doesn’t. I don’t know.

His dark brown, almost black, eyes consume me. And for all his lack of expression, I can sense his desire. Even while he’s sucking on that fucking lollipop.

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