Page 58 of Addicted Lies

“I think perhaps you should have the rest of the night off,” Eli tells me, but it’s actually a command.

I spit blood on the floor, my face swelling from a good punch Hawke got in. I stand slowly, holding out my hand. Hawke grabs it, and I pull him up as Eli lowers his gun.

Without another word, I grab my crowbars and walk out the door. I glance in the direction of the bloody mess on the floor that was once Henry Fall.

And part of me wonders if it would be bliss, being free of this world. No longer a victim to the demons that constantly gnaw at me.

The need.

The impulses.

Billie Taylor has turned into my addiction.

And I have no fucking clue how to get her out of my system.

CHAPTER 27

Billie

Isee the tattoo shop a block away. It’s been refreshing to walk lately, and I’ve been doinga lotof walking.Work has been hectic this week, and every day I’ve been walking from the office to my apartment, which is just under an hour, to clear my thoughts. Except it feels like I’m spiraling further.

Matthew and I have exchanged a few text messages throughout the week, and our date is this evening. Yet, I can’t muster the excitement I should be feeling. I finally got approval to date someone, and I’m not feeling it. If anything, I’m more furious at the fact that I even have to feel like I’m getting permission in the first place, and that has nothing to do with Matthew at all.

My thoughts and urges keep coming back to one person, and I fucking hate how many times I’ve grabbed my phone to text him.

Ford.

The man I can have only in body.

I even thought of using the excuse to see Felix to drop by his house, but I’ve exerted all of my self-control not to.

It’s not even that I was lying to my family and keeping what was happening between us a secret. My feelings were getting too heavily involved, and cutting it off felt like the closest thing to a breakup I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never felt this way for any man before. And while I’ve told myself over the past year there is nothing to it, I know I’m lying to myself.

It’s why I booked myself an appointment to finish the tattoo he started. I learned my lesson from last time and didn’t tell him about this one, so I’m relieved that it’s still in one piece. It’s absolutely wild to think he burned down the last shop just because I threatened to have someone else finish the tattoo. But it’s not at all surprising. I’ve seen Dutton, and Eli do some pretty crazy shit and hardly get reprimanded for it.

The woman behind the reception desk smiles as I approach her. I reciprocate it but get an uneasy feeling. Her smile seems forced.

“Welcome, Miss Taylor. I’ll just let him know you’re here. Please, take a seat.”

I’m a little confused. I didn’t even tell her my name or who I’m here to see. I glance around, impressed by all the sketches and drawings hanging on the walls. It reminds me a little of the room Ford has in his home. Except he doesn’t have so many drawings hung up. And a sinking feeling hits me as I note these aren’t as good as his.

I scoff at that. That’s a lie; these artists are probably better. At least they’d finish the actual job, unlike a certain asshole. It’s unfair of me to think that, considering I’d been the one to get restless while he was working on me, and every time I was over after that, we were too distracted by ripping one another’s clothes off.

I internally growl.Stop thinking about him.

It’s like the longer I go without seeing him, the more stir-crazy I become, and that’s so fucking crazy.

He said he can’t give you anything more than sex. You ended it, so stop spiraling.I reprimand myself.

“Billie?” I look up when the lady calls my name. She waves me through to one of the rooms and holds the door open for me.

“Thank yo—” My manners die on my lips, and my feet stop at the threshold of the room. Sitting on the stool beside the tattoo bed, wearing an arrogant expression, is Ford.

“Close the door,” he commands, and the lady who walked me in does just that, almost hitting me as she does. I feel like a trapped animal as my heartbeat picks up.

“Why the fuck areyouhere?” I demand, popping a hand on my hip. All the self-pity bullshit flies out the window, and I’m once again flooded by so much hurt and rage that I want to slap him across the face again.

It’s like a fucking detox with this man. I’m trying to get him out of my system, and although I don’t think I was making progress, this makes it harder.

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