Page 5 of Addicted Lies

We should not be in the back of a car together, taking from each other’s bodies, knowing who our families are.

But I can’t help myself.

And Ford? Well, he doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

But after, I’ll have to swear him to secrecy so that no one finds out about this.

Little do I know that this one night will lead to heartbreak and secrets.

Pretending we aren’t fucking each other every chance we get like it’s a newfound addiction.

One neither of us are able to break.

Not until we break each other.

CHAPTER 2

Ford

Nine months ago

She’s back.

I always know when she’s back because the minute I walk into my house after a night working with Eli and my brother, I can smell her baking before I even catch sight of her. She’s always baking something sweet in my kitchen, a soothing habit she picked up from her mother, apparently.

The moment she learned how to break into my home, I decided to give her a key. I’m not opposed to her breaking in, but when she’s home on school breaks, it just gives us easier access to what we both want—to fuck.

That first night months ago sparked something neither of us can pull away from.

Her brother is away on another business trip in Italy, which means there will most likely be a lot of fucking. When he’s home, it becomes a little trickier to sneak around. Not that I’m scared of Dutton, although I know he’ll try to kill me if he so much as thinks I’ve laid a hand on his precious little sister. But, frankly, I don’t give a shit.

No one has any idea about us, and I plan to keep it that way. I love having her as my dirty little secret. Like an addiction and a fix, I get to keep to myself.

It was her idea to keep it a secret. When I suggested telling her brother, she basically screamed at me and demanded that I never tell him. Lucky for her, keeping my mouth shut is myonlyredeeming quality. So I’ve become her dirty little secret in return.

We’ve been together three more times since the first night we hooked up. The first time, she’d drunkenly broke into my home. I don’t even know how she got my address, but I’m glad I immediately recognized her because I was ready to kill the fucker who thought it was wise to break in. Which is really the main reason I gave her the key.

She complained about being starving, and with the few ingredients I had in the cupboard, she baked a cake, which was kind of impressive since I don’t keep a lot of stuff on hand. Two days later, ingredients were delivered to my door for the next time she arrived to bake. I’m certainly not complaining because I fucking love her baked goods.

I go to my room before heading to the kitchen to greet her. I walk into the bathroom and peel my black shirt off. It might have some blood stains on it from handling business tonight. I check my face and arms for blood spatter, then basically swap my dirty black pants and shirt for a similar outfit.

Though Billie was raised with a ruthless brother and father, she isn’t a part of this world. She’s like a sheltered princess. It’s kind of crazy considering her mother was also a mafia heiress. But who am I to judge? If I had kids, I’m sure I wouldn’t want them raised in this world.

I’m certain she hasn’t even noticed I’m in the house as I walk down the hallway and then lean against the entryway into the kitchen. She’s transfixed on icing the cake, rocking her hips back and forth to some ear-splitting music.

And yet I can’t help but cross my arms over my chest and smirk at the sight. It’s a novelty, really. She’s the first person I’ve ever seen bake anything. My biological mother could hardly put food in our mouths because she was so fucked up on drugs, and our adoptive mother, Anya Ivanov, would somehow turn the smooth-edged utensil used to ice a cake into a weapon. Anya is crafty as fuck when it comes to killing someone, but she’s definitely not a baker.

I wouldn’t let just anyone in my home. In fact, my brother is the only other person who has a key and has been in here. But ever since I met her when she was twelve and I was fifteen, Billie has always had this ability to include and welcome herself into any situation or group. It’s been almost eleven years since then, and in many ways, it hasn’t changed.

“I didn’t know you’d be in town this week,” I say.

Billie jumps back, clutching her chest. “Oh, for the love of fuck, Ford, announce yourself when you’re here.”

“In my own home?”

She glares at me, and I don’t think she realizes she has flour across her cheek. Instead of a smart-ass retort, she breaks out into the brightest fucking smile. “Hello to you.” She nods to the cake on the counter. “Dutton’s not in town, and I’m bored. I figure you’d have the cure to that. So, while I waited, I baked you a honey cake. I know how much you love them.”

I do. I really fucking love her honey cakes. I step toward her and crowd her from behind, placing one hand on her hip. My cock is already twitching at the promise of being inside her. My other hand reaches for the icing.

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