Why Do I Still Love Him? (A Bad Boy Romance Collection)

by Vivien Vale

  Jesus.

  The club’s bright with flashing neon, and the thump of hard rock music assails us as soon as we get out of the taxi.

  I tighten my fingers on her elbow again while my eyes dart back and forth from habit, evaluating every shadowy corner and dark figure for potential threats. Once inside the club, we find a table near the dance floor.

  I can see Adelaide’s toes already starting to tap to the beat as I order drinks.

  “Let’s dance!” she yells impatiently above the din of the music.

  I’m still scoping out the club, which isn’t easy given how dark it is, except for the spotlights on the stage where a band’s making over amplified noise that vaguely sounds like music. I glance over at the bar, and suddenly, I feel my face tighten with anger.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell Addie abruptly, threading my way through the tables.

  I approach a guy standing at the bar, one foot casually propped on the foot rail.

  Demetri in the flesh.

  He has some sort of tattoo snaking up his arm and a piercing glints in his ear. All new since the last time we crossed paths.

  Now he really looks like the kind of guy you’d hate to meet in a dark alley…or a bright street, for that matter. As I move closer, Demetri sneers, and I position my right hand nearer the hidden gun under my arm.

  “Demetri,” I say, voice oozing with poison. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  I glance at Addie, who has gotten up and is making her way over to us.

  Fuck, why can’t she just stay put?

  She should be able to tell that this guy looks like serious trouble, but then again, I’ve got other cronies who don’t look any different but are actually pretty good guys.

  As she approaches, I hiss at Demetri, “I thought you were gone for good.”

  “Just looking for my next job,” Demetri answers easily, not seeming to be bothered by my attitude.

  As Adelaide joins us, he eyes her up and down and says, “And who might this be?”

  His gaze sweeps across her breasts, and my hands clench into fists as I struggle not to hit him.

  “None of your business,” I growl, putting an arm around Addie’s shoulders.

  There’s a sudden gleam of interest in Demetri’s eyes as he’s clearly intrigued by my possessive gesture.

  Damn it.

  I suddenly drop my arm from her back, knowing I’ve just given something away to this guy.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “Oh, so that’s the way it is?” Demetri drawls.

  He holds his hand out to Adelaide.

  “Demetri Bordeaux,” he says.

  Adelaide takes his hand reluctantly, with just the barest touch of her fingers on his.

  “Dr. Adelaide Johansen,” she says crisply.

  “Doctor, huh?” Tim smirks. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a good situation this time, Armstrong.”

  “We work together,” Adelaide says coolly. “I’m with Doctors Without Borders.”

  “A do-gooder,” Bordeaux comments, picking up a shot of amber liquid from the bar and tossing it back. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Johansen.”

  I can practically feel the force of my anger growing, coming off me in almost visible waves.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you,” Addie says dismissively, and I can tell she wants to get me away from Bordeaux as quickly as possible.

  Thank God for those polite, icy mannerisms that her mother taught her so well.

  “Shall we return to our table, Mr. Armstrong?”

  She turns, not waiting for an answer, and makes her way back across the floor, through the humid murk of the club.

  “Yes, Mr. Armstrong,” Demetri says to me with sneering sarcasm. “Must do what the good doctor orders.”

  I snarl at him, wishing I could tear his throat out, and then follow her. I throw myself into the chair at our table, threatening to flatten it.

  “Friend of yours?” Addie says after a moment, and I glare at her.

  She holds my gaze for a moment, stubbornly, and finally I relent.

  “That was a mistake,” I admit. “I shouldn’t have put you on his radar. He’s rotten through and through.”

  She puts her hand over mine, her fingers running across my knuckles. “I can take care of myself.”

  “With Bordeaux? Not bloody likely,” I say, my mouth set in a grim line.

  “Well,” she replies teasingly, taking a healthy gulp of her drink. “Tonight, I’ve got my protector here. Now let’s try to have a good time.”

  She pulls me up and leads me to the small dance floor, where she fits herself against me, drawing me closer as she puts her arms around me.

  I feel her wiggle a little, fitting herself against me more tightly, hip to hip, crushing her tits against my chest.

  “Just a reminder,” she whispers in my ear.

  But I can’t help but glare, still scanning the room over her shoulder to find Bordeaux, who’s now chatting up some woman at the bar.

  Adelaide’s going to have to work harder if she thinks she can distract me from him.

  Chapter 30

  Adelaide

  My mood has changed completely, and it’s entirely Ford’s fault.

  Before dinner, I was turned on by how he prepared himself. How he hides weapons on his massive body. How his whole being exudes might and strength.

  But now, I see a side of Ford that intimidates me.

  I’m a bit frightened by his past. And I don’t like how he shuts me out.

  “So how do you know this Demetri Bordeaux we met at the club?” I press him as we’re walking back to our hotel.

  “It’s a long story,” Ford tries to brush it off.

  “We’ve got time,” I suggest. “Or is it more from your dark past you won’t talk about?”

  Ford just grunts and shrugs his shoulders.

  I sigh in frustration.

  “You know,” I begin again, “it’s one thing to teach Edgar tricks and have him bring me flowers. That’s sweet and all, but if you really want to impress me...”

  Ford raises his eyebrows at me with a pained look.

  “Then you’d open up to me a little more. But you’re stonewalling me. Yet even you are not made of rocks. Admit that you have feelings, too. Talk to me for a change!”

  But his eyes glaze over.

  I’ve already lost his attention. His steely blue eyes are doing the thousand-yard stare.

  I huff in exasperation and quicken my pace, walking a couple of steps ahead of him.

  He comes after me in long strides.

  “Addie!” he says. “Don’t run off. We need to stay together at all times in the city. Even in this neighborhood...”

  I stop dead in my tracks and spin around.

  “You know,” I interrupt him, “I thought you cared not just about my protection but also about my feelings. And I feel...”

  Suddenly, here’s a hand in my hair jerking my head back. An arm slings around my waist, and a cold steel blade is pressed against my throat.

  “Stop!” a voice shouts over my shoulder at Ford.

  “Don’t move or I’ll slit her throat from ear to ear!”

  Ford freezes and puts his hands up in a calming gesture.

  “You got it. Easy, tiger.”

  I can feel hot breath on my neck and against my ear coming rapidly and erratically.

  I’m looking at Ford, wide-eyed with fear, but his eyes are focused on the man behind me.

  I strain to see over my shoulder, but I’m afraid to move a muscle with the blade against my throat. I can’t make out who’s holding me.

  It must be a young man, judging by his voice.

  I’m scared, but he’s nervous as well. His hand’s shaking, and the blade quivers against my skin. Goosebumps stand out all over my body.

  Ford’s bringing his hands behind his head. He just stands there.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you want?” he says coolly.

  The mugger t
ries to pull me back a step. I shriek.

  I see Ford slide his hands down the back of his neck, toward his back.

  “Do you want money? No problem, I have some right here, tiger.”

  “Shut up!” the mugger yells, spittle spraying over my shoulder.

  Ford’s right arm moves forward in one fast, swooping motion. A flying object whooshes past me, and the mugger’s blade suddenly drops to the ground.

  I lurch forward toward Ford, who immediately shields me with his body.

  From behind his back, I peer out at my attacker and take him in for the first time.

  It’s a young guy, hardly an adult. His body’s shaking, and Ford’s throwing knife is sticking out of his upper arm, the one that held the blade.

  He clutches at the wound with his other hand and looks at Ford in disbelief as to what just happened.

  Ford takes a step toward him and pulls his knife out of the arm.

  “You’re slow, kid,” he says.

  The mugger screams in pain. With the back of his hand, Ford slaps him across the face. The mugger tumbles to his knees with the force of the blow.

  “Who do you work for?” Ford yells.

  “Ford, stop!” I plead.

  But Ford punches the young man in the stomach.

  I can hear the air escape his lungs. I can’t believe I’m seeing Ford like this, blunt and aggressive, showing no mercy.

  “Who sent you? Spit it out!” Ford shouts at him.

  His blows sound dully in the street.

  “You’re not so feisty now, tiger!”

  The man tries to protect himself in vain from the vicious beating.

  “Ford! Stop! You’re hurting him!” I shout.

  Before, Ford’s displays of manly strength, physical force, and mighty prowess always made me swoon. But this is neither bravery nor a turn-on. I’m sickened by the deliberate brutality and efficiency with which he deals out blow after blow.

  Ford ignores my cries.

  The mugger collapses. From the ground, he raises a hand in defense.

  “Please!” he begs.

  Ford takes the man’s hand and twists his arm hard behind his back.

  “Ow!” the mugger grimaces in pain.

  “We’ll see if you’ll talk! Who put you on to us? Who’s your boss? Your accomplice?”

  “Let go off him!” I yell and step toward Ford. “Can’t you see he’s just a kid? He’s just a street mugger!”

  There’s an unnerving crunching sound as Ford twists the arm further up. The man falls forward. Ford finally lets go.

  I jump in and push hard against his chest.

  “Leave him alone! He’s hurt!”

  Ford exhales loudly and lets me push him aside.

  “He threatened to kill you, Adelaide! And I don’t think he acted on his own. Someone sent him. Someone’s after you. Your security is compromised. We need to get you out of here.”

  “We need to help this man! I think you’ve dislocated his shoulder!”

  “Adelaide, you aren’t going to treat this guy, are you?”

  “Damn right I will! You hurt him! You might be a ruthless killer, but I’m bound by the Hippocratic oath I swore. This man needs help!”

  Ford kicks the mugger’s blade into the gutter.

  “There’s your ruthless killer right there! He would’ve stabbed you!”

  “Yet he’s the one bleeding now,” I snap.

  Ford bends down over the man and brings his face close to the mugger’s.

  “What did you want with her, huh?”

  “Please,” the man forces out, spit bubbling from his mouth. “My arm...”

  I give Ford’s shoulder a shove. I have a tiny emergency first aid kit among my things and bring it out.

  “I’m a doctor,” I say to the mugger and place my hand on his chest to steady him.

  He’s breathing in spasms through clenched teeth. Clearly, he’s in a lot of pain.

  I address the wound in his upper right arm first.

  I cut away his shirt and examine the gash. It’s deep, but clean, and the knife missed the artery just so. I apply an antiseptic spray.

  The man grits his teeth but looks at me thankfully.

  To the side, Ford’s pacing back and forth, wringing his hands.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this. You could be dead or worse by the hands of this guy, and you’re dressing his wounds?”

  “I guess my ethics are different from yours,” I say coldly.

  I apply a pressure bandage to the wound, wrapping it tightly around the man’s arm. It’ll stop the bleeding.

  “Adelaide,” Ford pleads, “we need to get out of here!”

  “We need to fix his shoulder,” I say resolutely.

  I help the mugger to his feet. He looks fearfully at Ford.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “He’ll stay back. I won’t let him hurt you anymore.”

  Ford snorts.

  “I’m not your watchdog you can order around.”

  “And this man’s not an animal, either. He’s a human being,” I say kindly.

  I slowly rotate his arm and carefully touch his shoulder joint, feeling for the dislocation.

  “Now,” I say, “look over there, and rotate your upper body, like this.”

  I show him, and he assumes the position.

  I extend his arm and hold his wrist in both hands.

  “I’ll move your arm very quickly in this direction, and your shoulder will pop back in. Got it?”

  The man nods. Ford shakes his head disapprovingly.

  “Adelaide, you truly are a wonder,” he says. “This has got to be the first time...”

  “Shut up.”

  “Don’t hurt him,” Ford adds sarcastically.

  By now, he’s seriously beginning to piss me off. Using my entire body, I swing the man’s arm to the side and twist it just right. He yelps, but I can hear a satisfying clack as the joint realigns itself correctly.

  I lose my balance with the momentum of my swing, and the mugger uses this moment to dash down the alley he came from.

  Ford immediately starts sprinting after him, but the kid has a head start and ducks down a side street.

  Ford throws me a look over his shoulder. He’s torn, wanting to chase the mugger, but according to his own rules, he can’t abandon me here. He trots back to me.

  His faces twitches, playing out a pinball game of frustration and anger, but he controls himself.

  “That was… stupid, Adelaide.”

  “You’re the one who went overboard, Ford. You didn’t have to torture him on the spot—for nothing!”

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Ford grumbles. “My gut instinct tells me someone put this guy on us. This was no chance robbery, no coincidence.”

  “Look,” I say, “whatever made this young guy pull a knife on us, he needed medical attention after you were done with him. And I’ll never refuse to treat someone in need! Remember that.”

  “I’d have broken his resistance,” Ford insists. “He’d have told us who sent him.”

  “You nearly broke his arm!” I’m fuming. “Let it go, Ford. Whatever’s in your past that you won’t tell me, it’s making you paranoid. So unless you come clean and talk to me about your past, I don’t want to hear one more word from you!”

  I march back to the main street, and he follows close behind.

  He puts his hands on my shoulders, steering me through the crowd, but I shrug his hands off.

  The merciless violence he’s just displayed makes me sick.

  I don’t want to feel the touch of this savage.

  Chapter 31

  Adelaide

  I’ve locked myself in the bathroom.

  Sitting on the cold, white-and-gray marble countertop with my back to the mirror, I watch my long legs dangle, not caring enough to tuck the loose hair brushing against my face behind my ears.

  I can’t be around Ford. I don’t even want to breathe the same air as him right now.
<
br />   My hands and arms are shaking, and I’m sure my face is red because my cheeks are hot to the touch.

  Regardless of how much deep breathing I incorporate from my seven years of practicing pranayama breathing exercises in yoga classes throughout the world, I cannot find a way to calm my nerves.

  I have never been as angry at anyone as I am at Ford right now. And although my irritation toward him is real, deciding to hate him isn’t a simple task.

  With my millionth heavy exhale of the night, my eyesight neglects me and replaces itself with puddles of tears that won’t go away.

  I wipe my eyes until I realize it’s pointless, and for a moment, I don’t care if I never see clearly again.

  Ford is beyond complicated or byzantine. He’s like two different people.

  I mean, how the hell can the man go from teaching sweet, little Edgar to bringing me beautiful flowers to wildly beating a young man on the street like the villain in a damn Liam Neeson movie?

  I know that Ford’s goal was to protect me, and I truly appreciate it, I do. But he went too far. And the scary part is he was unnervingly comfortable doing it.

  My cries for him to stop didn’t even break him from his violent, animalistic trance.

  That poor, young boy.

  I’m not just Ford’s girlfriend. I’m a doctor.

  And with that, I can’t stop the scariest thoughts from entering my mind: what would he have done if I hadn’t physically stopped him? Would the young man be dead right now?

  Anxiety hits me hard. I try to push the questions from my head, but they refuse to leave.

  I hop from the countertop and start pacing back and forth on the tiled bathroom floor.

  Speculating about Ford and his past has become redundant and supererogatory at this point.

  I wish he’d just tell me something!

  Has he killed before? Why did my brother choose him as my security? Is Ford capable of change or even loving?

  And where does Demetri Bordeaux fit into all of this?

  I am so damn sick of being left in the dark.

  My hands stop shaking when I realize there’s dried blood on them. I wash them under the chrome faucet, violently scrubbing, taking my frustration out on my skin.

  Still, I fail at removing all the blood from beneath my nails.

  I love Ford. I made love to him.

  I spent my life focusing on my career, not getting hung up on men, yet this is what I end up with!