Page 88 of Addicted Lies

“Who pissed you off? And why do you want to kill him?” Hawke asks, stuffing bacon into his mouth like a caveman.

“He’s a detective. And he lied to me about who he is.”

“You want to kill a police officer?” I ask.

“Yep.” She nods. “Dead.”

Hawke whistles, impressed. He looks at his arms. “I actually have goosebumps because of how proud I am.”

I shake my head disapprovingly. And when I turn my attention to the contents of the letter, my entire world stops, and everything I’ve ever known turns to ash.

You took something from me.

Now it’s my turn to take from you.

You have two hours to be at the below address.

Come alone, or she dies.

A lock of honey-colored hair spills out of the envelope, and every shackle that’s bound me to be a man breaks free, and I become one with the predator. If there’s no Billie Taylor in this world, there’s no me. I’ll do anything to save her.

CHAPTER 42

Billie

My head is fucking pounding. I moan, trying my hardest to push past the fog in my brain, but it feels like I’m not waking up fast enough.

Groggily, I open my eyes. I blink once and then twice, trying to clear my hazy vision. Ow. Fuck me, my head really hurts.

“It’s about time you woke up.” I turn my head in the direction of the voice to find the woman from the cab sitting in the corner.

“Who the fuck are you?” I say, slowly pushing myself up from the cold cement floor.

I scan my surroundings. I’m in what looks like a cell. There’s a small single bed to my left and a sink in the corner that’s stained with mold.

“That’s not a polite way to ask, considering I’m offering you such fine hospitality,” the woman says. “Didn’t think you’d actually fall for the coffee trick. I was going to use chloroform as a backup, but you took that coffee without question.”

I squint at her. She doesn’t look familiar. Should I know her?

“And who I am is irrelevant. It’s not you I want, but you make good bait for the one I’m after.” She glances up the stairs, where I can see a door. We must be in some kind of basement or bunker.

Bait?What is she talking about?

I blink rapidly as I try to stand, but my body isn’t cooperating.

“I used to have a lover too, you know. He was very handsome, and we were bound to get married and have kids and live happily ever,” she singsongs. “He’d just gotten a really high paying job, and he promised to take me around the world. But then your boyfriend and his brother swept in, killing everyone.”

She giggles, the erratic movement making her shoulders twitch. Blisters bubble up her fingers and arms. “He let me go, you know. Your well-trained demon. Most people might have been grateful, but I thought he was mocking me. He took everything from me, and I was left all by myself again.”

She laughs hysterically. “Kids called me weird in school, but I always enjoyed experimenting with different potions. Kind of like a witch, you know? Or a scientist? Sometimes they hurt, though.” She pouts, looking at the blisters on her arms.

This woman is not fucking sane, I realize. She jumps from one trauma to another, and I’d be so fucking terrified for myself if I didn’t already know I was being used to lure in Ford.

“He would never kill a woman,” I grit. “And whatever business you have with him, you can take it up with me.”

She laughs. “And what? Ruin the fun? It’s rather poetic, isn’t it?” She squeezes the stool she’s sitting on and puts her hand to her lips. “Or wouldn’t it be crazy if he didn’t come? What if he doesn’t actually care? Ooof. I don’t know if I’d survive that. I’d probably want to kill myself.”

She looks pointedly at a bottle that’s propped on a stool in the middle of the room. It seems to glow against the dim light.

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