Genevieve
I'M FALLING INTO THE ABYSS.
The abyss is named Ford Brody, and there's no one else like him. He's a murderer and a monster, and he's also the best friend of my ex-boyfriend. He's a member of the elite cult that poisons our town that our parents have spent years after years lecturing us about the perils that are married up to the cult.
But fuck the lectures.
Here I am right now, too far gone with Ford Brody to retreat.
I don't even want to surrender him. I just want him, and that's the terrifyingly lethal part of it all. I want him. I want him more than I wanted Harris. While Ford might not possess the charm that Harris does, there is something in his silence and intimidation that not only concerns me but allures me further.
He's an enigma, and although I knew that already and I won't be able to solve him, I'm willing to give it a damn good go.
"Don't be a fucking broken record, princess," Ford admonishes with the patronising pet name he's adopted for me that grates on me every time it's used. "We're here right now, aren't we? And as much as you can say for me to leave, you don't want me to. Face it."
I can't face it, because then that makes it reality and I'm not ready for that to happen. Quinn is still suspicious of me and she's even tugged Talia into the conundrum too. Her anxiety is rubbing off on Talia and she's been messaging me constantly since divulging Quinn's concerns. It's driving me insane, and frankly, what's gotten me through the day was the tantalisation for tonight knowing that Ford would be arriving, confirmed when he dropped off my hot chocolate with pink marshmallows.
Both devastatingly and predictably, Red Alert took precedence. He's over three hours late because he had to fulfil a job for the cult that rules his life and orchestrates his choices. He can't leave town because his life and legacy are fused to Westville, and there's no workaround for that. While he has a differing perspective, mine is that he's trapped by this cult.
Ford is an incredible boxer, and I'm not just claiming that because of my crippling infatuation for him. With that talent, he can go across the country and make a name for himself. Maybe one day he can take it international if he strives hard enough for it and licenses his boxing to consume his life and not the cult. But he is bound to Westville, and he'll only ever make a name for himself in this town and maybe a few towns over. And that is his life.
"You were supposed to be here at eleven," I find myself blurting out, still concentrating on that minor detail when in retrospect, it's his alliance to Red Alert that's the burning issue, but some part of me is managing to look past that and envision a future for us, even though it's utterly ludicrous that something like that can even be considered a fantasy. It should exist only as a nightmare, but to me, it doesn't bear any semblance to my nightmares.
Ford rolls his eyes. "I told you. I had to take care of something first. I'm here now, aren't I?" He bites out the words through gritted teeth, and my gaze dips to the muscles clenching in his jaw.
"Murder someone again like last time?"
The breath escapes me in one fell swoop even though I've been the one to utter the words. I'm alluding to when I received a text from the alias of Jean Sommers regarding the address of an unknown Hudson Bray's house where Ford was tasked the objective to kill him and become him for a few days so it could shift the reality of the investigation for the cops who aren't totally corrupt.
He tilts his head back. "No. Nothing like that."
"I don't believe you."
"Sorry, princess, but it's the truth."
