Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You sure?” Ivy asks. “Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me all about Mr. Hottie, who left like a Cinderella story. I want all the gossip.”
I avoid showing any interest in the matter in case Hawke’s temple actually explodes.
Ford doesn’t take long to arrive. He never does. If someone needs help, he’s there the moment they call. Unless, of course, he’s working for Eli. But if Hawke’s out on the town for the night, it means they’re both off duty. Basically, Eli wanted alone time with his wife, Jewel.
And one of the perks of Ford never drinking alcohol is he naturally turns into the designated driver. It’s not common knowledge he doesn’t drink. Only the people in his closest circle and those observant enough to notice he’ll hold a drink but never consume it are aware of it.
When a bouncer helpfully escorts me outside safely because Lord forbid Hawke trust me to do it myself, I see Ford is waiting at the curb.
The bouncer opens the passenger door for me, and I slide into the car. Ford doesn’t generally have a need for high-end luxury, even though he has the money to have such a lifestyle. His car, however, is something he splurged on.
“A detective?” he questions, clicking his tongue. I throw myself into the seat dramatically. Of course, that’s the first thing out of his mouth.
“I’m so going to kill your brother.” It didn’t even take him ten minutes to spread the word.
“You should know better than to tell him anything,” he chides. And I do know better. Hawke has the biggest mouth. Most of the time, he accidentally lets things slip out because he doesn’t think before he speaks. But I know Ford is the only one he will tell about my predicament since I came to both of them for help.
“I know,” I grumble.
“He hasn’t told anyone else. Just me.”
“For now.” I bite my lip, then ask, “Do you think Dad and Auntie Anya will be mad?”
“Yes. So just don’t tell them,” he answers, and I turn my head to look at him. We’re such a close family, and Ford is one of the most loyal people I know. But even he has his secrets. I mean, he snuck around with Billie for over a year. I had no idea. Granted, I was away for most of it, but apparently, they weren’t exactly always discreet.
“I think you two are forgetting the fact that I asked you to train me with a gun so I can kill him.”
“I don’t know, Hope. I don’t usually make out with the people I’m planning to kill.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Eli did.”
He laughs, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him freely do so. It lightens my heart to see the shift in him that definitely came as a result of being with Billie. He seems different. He’s still intense but… happier. Is that what happens when people fall in love?
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be creating any examples from the boss’s love life. He’s not entirely all there.” He taps his temple as he says the words.
I arch my eyebrows. “Oh, so you’re aware your boss is a methodical, cruel, and unhinged man?”
He shifts his gaze to me. “Aren’t we all a little unhinged? And need I remind you that my mother is the most cunning of them all, and your father is, respectfully, deranged?”
I want to defend my father, but it’s not really even an insult, nor is it untrue. My father is the very best version of himself in our home. But outside that sanctuary, there’s a reason why people fear him. The idea of him ever finding out about Braxton shoots fear through my veins.
Because he’s my kill. That’s the only reason. I immediately try to convince myself.
“Just don’t tell them. Besides, you don’t plan on anything else happening with him, right?” Ford’s previous humor is long forgotten. His dark gaze drifts from the road to me again.
“Right,” I say, and I can tell he’s not convinced. Even I’m not convinced. Do I plan for something to happen? I don’t know. But I do love the way he kisses me. And how would he be now that we’re older and I’m not a virgin?
Would it be just as explosive and painful as that night?
A pounding in my core ignites, and I cross my legs uncomfortably.
Shit.
I should not be thinking about that.
At all.
Ford pulls into my driveway and parks in front of the house. “Are you going to come in?” I ask.
“No, I was sketching a new design when you called. I’m going to go back to that.”
Another thing I like about Ford is that, much like me, he’s a bit of a loner. Instead of partying, he’d much rather be at home with his sketches for new tattoo designs.