Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“I was fourteen when I became addicted, swapping out my reality for anything that could numb it. It was Anya and River who helped me get clean. But the impulses are still the same when I become fixated on something. I relapsed once. Now I use other methods to get the high I crave.”
With sudden clarity I understand why he doesn’t drink. Why he’s always on the phone. His need for sugar.
“How did you come to live with Anya and River?” I ask, bewildered, trying to process everything.
He smirks as he recalls the memory. “It was me who convinced Hawke to break into their home one night when we were fifteen. And my stupid miscalculation almost cost us our lives. But they saw something in us. Took us in, cared for us, and sharpened our fangs. I’ll forever be grateful to them, and to Eli, for letting us be who we are without judgment and for giving us a purpose.”
“You mean killing?” I clarify.
The energy around him shifts and crackles like wild fire, the man gone, nothing but a beast now. “Precisely.”
The hairs on my arms raise, and I swallow hard.
I’ve always known Ford isn’t a normal man. But where my brother and father try to hide their savage nature from me, Ford comes entirely unfiltered. And it is terrifying. This man is powerful, with the grace of a predator I’m not even sure he’s aware of.
“What does the tattoo on your throat mean?” I ask because I feel like there’s more to it.
He stares into my soul, and it makes me shift uncomfortably. As if realizing he’s doing it, he blinks a few times and shifts.
“It was the second time I relapsed. I was clean for a few months, then slipped into old patterns. I expected Anya and River to discard me, but they didn’t. My father found me high as fuck, pummeling my dealer’s ass. The guy had picked a fight with me, and I couldn’t stop. I don’t think he would’ve cared if I killed him that day, but he stopped me. It was after that he got me the tattoo gun, to help me focus on something else. The first tattoo I gave myself was this. As a reminder of my roots.”
I don’t like that tattoo and its purpose there. But I don’t voice that. I crawl over him and straddle his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck as if rewarding him for opening up to me. But it’s also because I feel like I need to reassure him.
The fucker doesn’t even flinch. Like everything he just told me happened to someone else. I know men like him don’t feel too deeply or think too much about their emotions or traumas, but I think that’s precisely why it’s so sad. Because he’ll never truly understand that he deserves so much more. But I could never say that to him. I don’t speak a language he can relate to because fundamentally, I’m different. I only hover around the edges of his world. That’s never been more apparent than it is right now. I always thought Ford was a vault, but this runs far deeper then I realized.
Eventually, he gets uncomfortable with my affection, his entire body going rigid. But he doesn’t try to pry me off him.
“Have you ever let anyone else tattoo you?” I ask.
“No.”
His cock is hardening under me, and I smirk. I love how responsive his body is to mine. He might consider it as a problematic addiction, but I don’t think it’s that bad at all, especially when my body is demanding the same thing despite how battered and bruised it is.
I press a gentle kiss to his cheek, silently thanking him, for ever so slightly opening up to me. Ford might not think we’re compatible or he’s incapable of affection, but bit by bit, he’s opening up to me, and I’m becoming more curious about this man that I thought I knew but am realizing someone as strong as even Ford has been let down and hurt. He might speak about it all with ease but surely it impacts him in some way. So, I decide to speak in a language that he does understand.
“Tell me what you want me to do right now,” I say, encouraging his most primal needs as a reward for telling me something I know for certain not many people would know.
His gaze becomes hooded, and a low growl escapes him.
Ford Ivanov is definitely not a normal man.
I’m certain he’s more beast.
But if being addicted to one another is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
CHAPTER 22
Ford
She’s sound asleep when I hear footsteps outside the bedroom door. I know who it is without having to see them. So I pull the covers up over her and then step into the hall.