Page 135 of A Sweet Destruction

He couldn’t leave them behind.

Everything started to move too fast, faster than I could stop it—my hands literally and metaphorically tied.

Elijah realized that Ford wasn’t going to look away from me, so he stepped up right in between us. The second he did, my name left Ford’s mouth in little more than a broken plea.

“Why are you doing this?” I cried, not even caring that those few words exposed the depth of my desperation. No use in faking bargaining power when you no longer had any.

Our only, only hope was that someone realized we were gone, used the tracker burning a hole in the back of my head to find us. At the rate things were going, I was pretty sure one of us would be dead by the time that happened.

Elijah ignored my question, too busy cataloging Ford. Doing what, I couldn’t see, but I could hear him struggling against his restraints.

The Bond had probably taken over entirely now, throwing away logic and trying everything to break out, even if it meant gnawing off its own foot.

“Oi,” Elijah said, snapping his fingers in Ford’s face. “I’d watch it if I were you. I have the opportunity to make this very, very painful for her.”

Elijah, for all he seemed to know, didn’t understand the Bond at all. Didn’t understand that what he’d just said was probably the worst thing for it to hear.

Which was why, seconds later, Ford’s head was colliding with Elijah’s midsection, knocking him back with a force he wasn’t prepared to counter.

It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, considering we were both still tied up, but I’d take every opportunity I could get to repay a little pain. Elijah stumbled back enough that he was within kicking distance of my legs, allowing me to slam my heel into the crease of his knee, sending him off balance.

I used that leverage to swing my other leg up and around his shoulder, hooking over his neck and yanking him back. Surprise was really your best asset, likely the only reason I was able to get him into a headlock between my thighs.

The victory tasted sweet, even if it only lasted a second before a white-hot agony shot up the side of my leg.

Ford’s own growl of pain was drowned out by the shouts of Elijah’s soldiers descending on him, pulling his chair upright. Through the pain, I thought I saw Ford bite down on someone’s arm when it got too close.

The knife sticking out of my leg made the muscle weaken, enough that Elijah was able to twist free and shoot back to standing with a few centering hops and a concerningly bright smile.

“Woo, how fun!” He said, rolling out his neck. I couldn’t quite figure out if he genuinely thought this was funny or was overcompensating for something.

It more likely that he was toying with us, like a predator teases prey before clamping its teeth around a neck.

“You surprised me, Ford,” Elijah said, “I’ll give you…”

The end of his sentence was lost. Into what, I didn’t care.

The moment he’d said Ford’s name, my eyes flew up from the knife in my leg to find his, shining with unshed tears. His eyebrows were pinched together in the center, a deep, pained crease marring his forehead.

He was being held back by three different people, hands covering the entire expanse of his shoulders and his upper arms. They seemed no more affecting than a light breeze, his entire world narrowed down to me, to the blood seeping slowly from my leg.

Slow enough that it wasn’t likely arterial. I’d probably be fine.

It wasn’t even my leg that hurt. It was my chest, breaking apart under Ford’s attention.

Distantly, I heard someone talking. They could have been shouting at the top of their lungs, and it wouldn’t be enough to break through the trance we were locked in.

It felt like I was trying to push my soul out of my body to meet his somewhere in the middle.

Then, Elijah punched Ford straight across the jaw.

I let out a sob and a curse to Elijah’s name. Ford barely moved, other than to spit out blood. Never once did he take his eyes off me.

Elijah was shouting at him now, demanding his attention. There was a threat to his family’s life in there, one that made me see red, but it never broke Ford’s attention.

The second hit, a knock to his jaw that was so hard I thought I heard something crack, didn’t make him move.

“Alright, enough of these fucking dramatics,” Elijah bit out. I knew I was crying, could feel the tears dripping onto my legs, but I didn’t feel all that dramatic. In fact, I found that an incredibly normal, if not expected, reaction to the blood trickling out of Ford’s nose and the bruises blooming on his face.