Page 91 of Addicted Lies

The smooth metal is cold in my hands, and I inhale, knowing this is the weapon Ford chooses to kill with. Even though it’s irrelevant at the moment, I wonder how many people he’s murdered. I accepted the fact that he was a killer from the start. But if anyone should live, it’s him.

“Stop being a drama queen and wake up,” I shout with my back to him, as I’m not daring enough to look back at him, terrified I might not see the rise and fall of his chest. I talk to him like he’s awake, reprimanding him like I always do, because it’s the only thing pushing me through. I hold the crowbar outside the bars and angle it down, then strike at the padlock again and again and again.

My hands slip, and I smash my arms. But I ignore it. I strike, and I strike, infuriated by my own weakness.

“I should’ve never gotten in that cab,” I curse, tears streaming down my face.

With bruised, bleeding, and battered arms, the padlock breaks. I’m so shocked that my tears turn into a savage determination I’ve never known.

I drop to my knees, finally looking at him again.

I will not cry.

We are not done.

“Come on, baby. Wake up.Please.”

He doesn’t respond. I awkwardly try to lift him. I try a few times, my knees dropping to the hard cement under his weight. I drag myself across the bars with his weight crushing me. Slowly, I drag him up the stairs, his crowbar shoved into the back of his pants, convincing myself he’ll be sad when he wakes up if he doesn’t have it.

Because hewillwake up.

He has too.

I shove at the door, but it doesn’t budge.

“Come on, Billie,” I groan as I try again.

It swings open, and bright light takes away my sight. I immediately twist myself around Ford, trying to protect him as I sob, knowing the woman’s come back to finish the job.

“Little Tornado!” I hear the voice before I see him, and tears well in my eyes as I look up.

“Hawke.” My voice quivers. “She poisoned him. Please, help.”

When my vision finally clears, I see the sheer horror and panic on Hawke’s face. He pulls Ford from my arms without so much as a strain and grabs my hand to pull me to my feet.

We’re in the middle of nowhere, trees surrounding us. In the distance, I see Hawke’s car.

He half drags me across the grass as he carries his brother over his shoulder. I’ve never seen him in a panic like this. He is fast moving, laser focused and looks like he’s in total control. He’s usually so playful, but even his alter demeanor terrifies me, the reality of how bad the situation is sinking in.

“I’m sorry,” I say on a sob, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s laser focused on getting us out of here. My legs buckle, but I push through, still affected by whatever the fuck she gave me.

When we reach the car, bile fills my stomach. Hawke’s and Ford’s cars are beside one another. But there’s a third car, which I assume to be Emily’s. Beside the open door, I see her lying on the ground, her mouth open, a gunshot wound to her head. Hawke must’ve tracked Ford’s car and found her when she was escaping.

Hawke throws his brother into the back seat, and I crawl in behind him, placing his head on my lap, sobbing as I comb my fingers through his hair.

“Wake up, you asshole,” I cry. “Please.Please.”

I’ve never known fear like this, a vise around my throat painfully closing in on me as I begin to realize his breathing has slowed.

Hawke throws the two crowbars into the passenger seat, obviously sharing the same thought as me, expecting Ford to come back to us and carry on with his life.

“Please, please, please,” I beg. “Hawke, I don’t know what to do,” I cry as he hits the gas.

His gaze flicks to me, and it’s the most lethal I’ve ever seen him. I startle at the intensity and imminent guarantee of death. “You’ve done enough, little tornado.”

Every hair on my body rises as I realize I’ve become the threat.

An obvious weakness for a man who’s considered more demon.

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