Page 17

CHAPTER 17

Billie

I don’t expect a message back from Ford, but it still pisses me off when he doesn’t take the bait. I pocket my phone again.

“This is the fucking best,” Ivy squeals as she sifts through the selection of lingerie. “I want to try these on.” She races to the fitting rooms.

No one else is in Honey’s, the exclusive lingerie franchise my father started and that both my parents now own. A friend in college once asked me if it was weird to know my parents ran a lingerie shop, and I was baffled as to why they’d even think that. Because it has perks like this—opening the store afterhours and taking whatever we want. It’s not considered stealing since my mother handed me the keys and told us to have fun, but whatever.

I’m certain they’re happier for us to spend time in here where the security is top of the line than in some shady club. But right now, I could certainly go out for a few drinks and dance the night away.

Ford’s pissed me off. Epically. And no matter how much I try to push it away or simmer down, I can’t.

Trying to understand the fucker is like trying to break into a vault. And this is the second time he’s denied pleasing me, when that’s all this is supposed to be—sex.

I take a seat on the sofa beside Hope. “You’re not going to try anything on?” I ask her.

She only flew in today, and it’s nice having her in town to check out the new apartment. Hope adjusts her glasses that frame her beautiful eyes and complement her naturally vibrant red hair. “Nah, I have a few pieces already.”

I sigh and drop my head on her shoulder. Where Ivy is the outgoing party girl, Hope is on the other end of the spectrum. She doesn’t like crowds and is awkward in social settings, so she usually keeps to herself. But she has a calming energy around her. It’s crazy how successful she is at only twenty-two. And to be honest, I’m a little envious. She’s world-renowned for her sculptures, and she seems more put together than me or Ivy.

“How did the last show go?” I ask.

“Sold out” is all she says. Seems about right. She’s a woman of few words, taking after her father, Alek Ivanov.

“Oooh, how cute! Damn, I can’t wait to be railed in this!” Ivy screams, opening the curtains and sauntering out.

“Damn, girl, your ass!” I snap to attention.

“I know, right?” she says, smacking said ass and then walking back into the fitting room.

Hope shakes her head and then looks down at her phone, sighing. “I was hoping to see Hawke and Ford this weekend, but it looks like they’re at Pearl, and I’d rather not go there.”

I frown. They’re practically cousins, and Hope and Ford seem to enjoy one another’s company. But it pisses me off to hear they’re at the strip club my brother owns. I know it’s unreasonable, and they’ve gone there plenty of times before. Hell, I go there too. But it’s eating me alive not knowing what Ford is doing. Not that he owes me anything.

I throw my head back on the sofa, frustrated that this fucking thing is taking way too much of my energy. Maybe I really do just need to go and fuck someone else to bring me back to reality.

“What did you need to see them for?” I ask.

She casually shrugs. “Just stuff.”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye because I can’t help but feel like there’s something she’s not saying. But that’s always been Hope’s style—keeping things close to the chest.

“Okay, I’m grabbing all of these. Shall we go home and put facemasks on and watch a horror movie?” Ivy asks.

Hope’s eyes glisten with delight. “Really?”

I pull her in for a hug. “Of course. We don’t get to see you all the time.” Horror movies filled with gore are her favorite. And though I don’t share the same sentiment, I can at least keep my stomach for most of them, and Ivy chooses when to be curious but is often scrolling through her phone.

We close up the store, and before we leave, I find myself looking at my phone again. Still no response. I’m not at all surprised because why would he bother messaging me when he’s at a strip club doing fuck knows what?

I internally slap myself. Fucking stupid. I don’t even care that he’s there, so why is it affecting me so much? But it’s more the not knowing what’s going through his mind that’s bothering me. I shouldn’t be taking it personally that he’s not replying to me since we were never like that before. But it does.

The next morning, my jaw drops when I arrive ten minutes before my appointment only to discover the tattoo parlor has been burned to the ground.

That fucking psycho!

Rage bubbles in my bloodstream.

I’d like to say it could be a coincidence, but I very much doubt that.

I’m fucking furious. If he wants to be controlling like my brother, then so be it. But I’m going to make him wish he never pissed me off.

It’s time Ford learned what the wrath of a woman really feels like.