Addicted to Ridge: Addicted to a Bad Boy, #1

By Drucie Anne Taylor

Hope can’t believe it when her mother decides to ship her off to Chicago to live with the father she hates.

Her loose tongue means she makes one enemy after the other until she meets kindred spirits who admit Hope into their clique. However, they weave secret schemes against Hope behind her back so that, without knowing, she puts herself in grave danger.

And then there’s Ridge Cavendish, a good-looking, yet by all measures awkward guy, who wakes feelings in Hope she's never experienced before.

But then Fynn, Ridge’s son, is shot because of her, and nothing between them seems as though it will ever again be what it once was...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781071593431

Book preview

Addicted to Ridge

Drucie Anne Taylor

The Heart vs. Head Series

The Heart vs. Head Series tells the love stories of a Chicago gang. Every book is a standalone story and can be read separately from the others. The characters, however, do appear frequently in the subsequent books.

It takes place in a fictional Chicago that, as described, only exists in my imagination.

I hope you enjoy Hope and Ridge’s story.

This Book

Hope can’t believe it when her mother decides to ship her off to Chicago to live with the father she hates.

Her loose tongue means she makes one enemy after the other until she meets kindred spirits who admit Hope into their clique. However, they weave secret schemes against Hope behind her back so that, without knowing, she puts herself in grave danger.

And then there’s Ridge Cavendish, a good-looking, yet by all measures awkward guy, who wakes feelings in Hope she's never experienced before.

But then Fynn, Ridge’s son, is shot because of her, and nothing between them seems as though it will ever again be what it once was...

Prologue

Bite me, I say to my mother. She’s just told me she wants to send me to live with my father in Chicago because apparently, she can’t cope with me. She’s lost it!

Don’t take that tone with me, Hope! You're moving to live with your father, whether you like it or not. I can’t put up with you and your antics anymore. Did you really have to light Mr. Miller’s car on fire just because he failed you in Phys Ed.? she screams.

Oh yeah, so actually I’d only covered it in shaving cream; someone else’s cigarette butt had made it go up in flames. I didn’t know the thing would be so flammable, but why am I the one having to pay for it? She’s made up her mind and I have no interest in fighting with her anymore. Okay, on paper, it wasn’t me. What happened is I covered his car with shaving cream, but someone else’s cigarette butt set it on fire, I say while she complains again. Her howling is giving me a headache and I don’t have any aspirin. I just want her to shut up.

Your father has a better handle on you than me – that's always been the case – but since we split up, you've been out of control. How could you be so stupid and smear shaving cream all over a car? It damages the paint, Hope.

And it should, I reply, bored. I swish the energy drink I’m holding around in the can.

Hope! she shouts, frustrated.

I pull my beanie down over my eyes. Let me know when you’re finished, okay? I wanna relax a little.

How have you turned out so badly?

I could tell you, if you wanted, I say, disinterested.

Please do!

I push my beanie up again so that I can look at her. I turned out so badly, like you said, because you were busy screwing your latest squeeze – one of many – and I only had my friends. So, the blame really lies with you because you’re an incompetent mother who's only after the next fuck. My voice is cold, and I stare at her angrily. I hate my mother for never being there. She’s been more occupied with rushing from one relationship to the next, almost living with these men and ignoring me. You don’t do that to a teenager who needs her parents. She’s not the only mistake God’s had in store for me; my father is also a damn bastard. He left her when I just started school. For an old flame! Oh well, I’m not going to Chicago. I’m staying here!

Oh, no, your plane takes off tomorrow, and believe me, you’ll be taking it to Chicago. I’m not going to argue with you anymore. It’s your father’s turn to deal with you now and muster up a little bit of parental love because it’s damned hard for me! she shouts.

I yawn, bored. You know I’m 18, I can do what I want. That means none of you can butt in on anything I do. I stand up from the old-fashioned chair I’ve been sitting in and head for the door. See you later, mom. I leave her alone with her anger. I don’t wanna listen to her scolding anymore.

* * *

Chapter 1

I wanna puke. She actually brought her squeeze and his oh-so-perfect son to drag me into the car, steer me through the airport, and shove me into the hands of the air marshal who’s accompanying me on the plane. The whole thing’s been so damn embarrassing that I haven’t removed my beanie or my sunglasses in the last few hours. Plus, they woke me so early that it’s pretty obvious I spent last night partying with my friends. Luckily, I managed to steal my cell phone from her nightstand, so at least I haven't lost any numbers. And as soon as Cynda and the others get the cash together, they’re buying me a ticket back to the Bronx. It’s not where I’m from, but it’s where we hang out. It's always fun to scare others a little. Okay, so my friends are more willing to resort to violence than me; I often get a five-finger discount, but I’ve never injured anyone.

I wouldn’t have thought the whole thing with Mr. Miller’s crappy car would cause such an uproar. It was supposed to be a dumb joke and I couldn’t do anything about Xander’s cigarette butt making the whole thing go up in flames. I’m the only one who has to suffer now that my mother either has a touch of PMS or has hit menopause. On the other hand, it's good that I don’t have to see her face. My father’s gonna wonder what’s become of his little princess, because I’m definitely not that anymore. I’m confident, take what I want, and of course, get away with everything by batting my eyelashes. Up until now, anyway. With him, I should be remorseful, but I’m not gonna be like that. I’m not play-acting in front of this guy who means nothing more to me than a donation at the sperm bank around the corner. He shouldn’t have left me for this Delila. What a name that is, Delila... With the right tone, it sounds like you need to throw up. That's literally what I want to do whenever I think about my ‘stepmother’. She even has a son who’s three years older than me, though he doesn't go to college. Dad told me that when I told him I haven't applied anywhere.

All passengers, we are now making our descent into Chicago Airport, please... Blah, blah, blah, I stop listening. I never even loosened my seatbelt.

* * *

An hour later, I leave the gate with my suitcase and look around. He has to be fucking with me, I utter, annoyed, and go over to my father, who’s holding a ‘Welcome, Hope’ sign way up high. Really? Does he not recognize me anymore? Okay, he ran off more than twelve years ago, but I have to assume that my mom sent him photos. I walk over to him. Thomas Davenport? I ask coldly.

He smiles at me. Hope?

Yes. Are we going?

Let me take a look at you. My goodness, you've turned into such a lovely young woman, he replies.

I’m going to hurl! Yeah, spare me. Are we going now? I’m freezing my ass off. I’m only wearing thin leggings, a miniskirt over the top of that, my Converse, and over the top I’m wearing, I just have a sweatshirt on. A shitty choice of clothing for a flight, but they hustled me out so quickly this morning that I just grabbed my favorite outfit.

Let me take your bag, he says and reaches out his hand.

Hands off, I hiss.

Is something wrong? he asks and looks at me with a touch of anger.

Zip it, old man, and let’s go, okay? I have no interest in discussing it with you.

Give me your bag now, he demands. I ask myself who out of the two of us is actually the adult.

To provoke him, I let it fall, so that it slams to the floor. I look at him challengingly. Sorry about that.

We’ll talk about that at home, he mutters and takes my case in a firm grip. We go out to his car.

It’s a real show-off car. A Mercedes, silver, chrome paint; I hate this thing. My car’s in the shop, so I borrowed Thorn’s.

Who's Thorn?

Your brother.

Stepbrother, I reply decisively. And that’s a stretch, calling him that. I’m unbelievably frustrated, to the point where everyone’s on the receiving end of my bad mood. Aside from the air marshal; I didn't get stupid with him because he could’ve booked me. I climb in and stick my headphones in my ears, then turn the music on.

My sperm-donor starts driving and out of the corner of my eye I see that he’s talking to me. I masterfully ignore him. I don't want to talk to him or tell him anything about me, so he might as well direct his words at the air vents.

Three-quarters of an hour later my father parks in front of his garish house. It's modern, the front has floor-to-ceiling windows and it makes me want to - what else should I say? Hurl. Exactly! I see a woman about the same age as my dad and a guy who looks like he’s lifted way too many weights. They’re standing in the doorway. They’ve both dressed up, which just annoys me even more. I’m in late puberty; I get to be annoyed whenever I want. I pull the headphones from my ears and look at him. Is that your wife and stepson?

Yes, that’s them, and that’s our house.

I nod, rest the wire around my neck and get out of the car. My dad follows me. Where’s my room?

Upstairs, I’ll show you.

Sorry, where?

Hope!

I roll my eyes, shoulder my purse, and turn away from him. Hey, the musclehead looks just as annoyed as me, so at least one of them also finds this whole gathering a load of crap. But Delila is grinning like a Cheshire cat as I approach her.

Hi, Hope. I’m so happy to...

Blah, blah, blah, I interrupt her and march past her to the stairs.

Thorn, can you show Hope to her room? I hear her say.

Of course, mom, he replies, and then I hear his footsteps behind me.

I take the stairs up and look around. Photos of the three of them are hanging everywhere, my dad and Delila and a few of Thorn. I thought he really would have a few shots of me hanging on the wall somewhere, but I was fooling myself. It burns like a flaming barb in my stomach.

Along here, Thorn says as he overtakes me.

I follow him up some more stairs. How can they be so flashy? I ask myself quietly.

Because they can afford it, he answers, although I definitely wasn’t talking to him.

What a groundbreaking insight, I counter. Will I be locked in a tower? Why do we keep going up?

Because mom and dad have the second floor to themselves and we have the third for us, Thorn replies and goes down a hallway. That’s my room, he says, pointing at a door that has a ‘Keep Out’ sign hanging on it. And that’s yours, he smirks and points at a door that’s been painted pink. There’s a ‘Home Sweet Home’ sign hanging on it as well.

Are you kidding me? I say, shocked.

He laughs and it seems like he’s laughing at me. No, but maybe mom and dad are.

Maybe. I’ll be inside, thanks. I open the door and scream as I see the pastel-colored explosion within. This really is some kind of sick nightmare!

What’s wrong? Thorn asks.

This! I point at the room. It’s such a joke; who did they think was coming? Alice in Wonderland?

His laugh grows louder. Maybe. I’m Thorn, by the way, but you can call me the Hatter if it makes you feel more at home.

Hope, and you can hope I’ll be gone soon, I reply and shut the door in his face. How old did they think I was when they picked out the pink curtains, the bedspread, and the pink flokati rug? Five or six? I think I’m losing it. Hopefully I can convince the sperm-donor to put up different drapes, but I’ll still definitely need another bedspread and a new rug. I go for black and Bordeaux-red, so those colors need to dominate here. If this is what a girl's room is supposed to look like, I definitely have more balls than I should. I throw my purse on the couch in the corner that – fortunately – is black, and sit down. So, this is my place of exile until I turn 21. Three years in this fancy bunker and all I have is the hope that Cynda and the girls can get me out.

There’s a knock at the door. Hope, your bag.

I open the door. Thanks... Could I get some new stuff? I don't like all this pink.

Dad raises an eyebrow. How often have you actually ever said please or thank you when you got or asked for something?

I cross my arms over my chest defiantly. Often enough. So?

First, you have to content yourself with what you have, Hope. He extends the handle of my bag toward me, then turns and leaves me alone.

You can just give me your credit card, then I can go buy new things alone, I call after him.

Definitely not. Thank Delila first for arranging the room for you, he replies.

I follow him. This room is an insult. I don’t know what you all expected, but I’m no bimbo – tell your wife that! Then I go back into my room, slam the door shut and lock myself in. For the first time since being pushed off here, the tears overwhelm me. I sit on the floor and do my best to be as quiet as possible; I don't want anyone to hear me. Luckily, I have enough make-up in my bag to erase all traces of tears so at least no one will bring it up.

In a few weeks, it’s my birthday. I’ll turn 19 and there’s no way I’ll have a fun party because I don’t know anyone here. I hate my life. Why did Brianna – my mom – have to be so cruel and dump me here? I’ll never forgive her for that. She knows exactly what I think of my sperm-donor. He’s a bastard who left us when I needed him. Every girl needs a father but mine clearly didn't understand that; he only saw Delila, his young love.

There’s another knock at the door. Hope? It’s her.

I don't react but I hear her turn the doorknob.

Hope, can I come in?

No, I don't want to see anyone, I reply sharply to cover up the hoarseness of my voice after crying.

Your dad told me that you like cookies, so I... have some here for you, she tries.

I stand and open the door after wiping the tears from my face. Can’t you just leave me alone, like the rest of your fucking gang?

She sighs. I know it isn’t easy for you, but you should give us a chance. I can't do anything about the fact you’re here, that was up to your parents.

If you’d never shaken your slutty ass in front of my father, I wouldn't be here now. I smack the plate from underneath, so the cookies scatter everywhere. Bite me, bitch.

Hey! Watch what you say to my mother, Thorn shouts, coming out into the hall.

Oh, fuck all of you, I sniff and slam the door shut.

I’ll handle it, mom. Go down to dad. I hear Thorn's say. He comes into my room. Have you lost your mind?

I look at him, eyebrows raised. What’s that? Your mother doesn’t have the balls to deal with me herself?

My mom has tears in her eyes because you hurt her with what you said, you stupid thing. How old are you, twelve? You’re acting like a spiteful little bimbo who takes her frustration out on people who are trying to help her! He screams it at me and presses me back against the wall. If you weren’t my stepsister, I wouldn’t just rip you a new one with my words, he growls.

What do you know, you prettied-up jumping jack? I snap bravely. It doesn't seem like the best idea, what with the furious spark in his eyes.

Thorn grabs my upper arms, pulls me away from the wall, and then shoves me against it again. Talk to your father however you’d like but behave around my mother or we’re gonna have a big problem. I don't want a spoilt adolescent bitch causing trouble here, understand?

I gasp; the shove was pretty forceful.

Do you understand me? he repeats loudly.

I nod and the first seeds of hate towards my stepbrother begin to germinate in me at that moment. I hate him, his mother, my sperm-donor, this house, and this town. A great start to a fulfilled life.

Say it, Hope!

I understand. I yield unwillingly and try to loosen his hand from my left arm.

He pulls it away and then pats my cheek. Good girl.

I shove his disgusting mitts away and shift past him. Was that it, then? I want some peace and quiet.

Unpack and make sure you’re on time for dinner if you want to avoid trouble, Thorn replies and leaves my room.

I take a deep breath when the door clicks shut behind him. My God, I’ve ended up in a house full of dicks. The worst part is there’s no way out of here for me yet.

When my cell phone rings, I breathe more easily; it's Cynda's number on the screen. Hey. How are things without me? I greet her.

Crap, boring, not the same and how's Chicago? she asks.

Crap, boring, and not the same, I quote her, annoyed.

Your mom raised the alarm with mine after Miller’s car went up in smoke. I had major trouble calming her down, she says.

Fuck! Sorry. My mom's batshit, I’m in this house full of freaks and my stepbrother just threatened me, I grumble as I fall back onto the bed. And the worst is that this room looks like a real bimbo’s dream.

Pink?

Yeah, Marie would like it, but I feel like I’m suffocating. The house is the purest kind of flashy temple; I want to come home. Tell me that you’ve sorted it out," I beg.

Cynda sighs. We’ve scraped together $75 but the flight costs more. We’re working on it; as soon as we have the money, I’ll be in touch.

Thanks, hun, without you I'd be hopelessly lost.

You know that we’re always there for each other. One for all and all for one, she replies.

Always. Hoes before bros, I smirk.

Exactly. Baby, I have to hang up, my dad’s making a fuss because I’m calling you. Call me when you need to talk to someone, okay?

I will. Thanks, hun.

Bye-bye, she sings and hangs up.

I put my cell phone down and breathe deeply. Really, I should unpack because my incredibly disturbed, domineering stepbrother wants me to but then, I don't want to, so I won’t. I’m tired, so I close my eyes and try to sleep for a bit. I was tossed out of bed during last night’s sleep, anyway, so I should catch up on that.

* * *

Hope! Come down for dinner! Thorn yells, hammering on my bedroom door.

I open it, look at him, and raise an eyebrow at the sight. Should I get you a jackhammer? It wouldn't be half as loud as you.

The corner of his mouth twitches. Come down, we’re waiting.

I’m coming, I just wanna change.

Okay, I’ll give you five minutes and if you're not down then, I’ll come get you, he replies serenely, then leaves me standing there. My God, his bossiness is getting on my nerves.

I turn away from the door and put on a pair of shorts and a top. It's awfully warm in this house, so much so that I feel like I’m stuck in some kind of tropical region.

Barefoot, I make my way downstairs and realize I don’t know where I’m supposed to hike to. I’ve still not had a tour through this fancy temple, so I have no idea where each room is. The young New Yorker went missing on her way to the dining room. If you have any clues as to her whereabouts, please call the hotline on 555-...

My father comes out into the corridor and points at the room behind him. Don't worry, you won't get lost here.

Shame, I utter and walk past him. I sit opposite Thorn and look at the meal. I doubt that you have anything vegetarian or vegan here, I say, feigning being grossed out. What? I want to drive her a little crazy and the fun certainly won't ruin anything for me.

Delila looks at me, irritated. You're vegan?

I nod tersely.

Why didn't your mom mention that? dad asks.

Because during her wild bout of screwing around, she’s not bothered to check on what I eat all day long, I reply.

Thorn grins. I’m a second-hand vegetarian. I eat the animals that eat my vegetables.

Hahaha, I laugh bitterly at his dumb joke and lean back. And do you have anything vegan in the house?

Water from the faucet, my stepbrother replies.

I’ll have a look, Delila says and stands.

Eat. I’ll go to the kitchen and have a look, it’s my home here now, too. I stand and leave the dining room.

Second door on the left! my sperm-donor shouts. I find nothing in the kitchen, or at least nothing at all vegan, so I sigh. Great. I go back and sit at the table again. Everything's got some kind of animal fat in it, I guess I’ll go without dinner today. ‘Oh God, it's so easy to mess with her,’ goes through my head as I speak.

Great, now what? Delila turns to Thomas.

I’ll drive to the supermarket, he says.

I can call Ridge and ask him to bring things with him that the little princess wants. He and the guys are coming by later, so you don’t have to hurry back from your concert. Thorn butts in.

Oh, great, the first night I’m here and you’re leaving me all alone? I aim the words at my father and do my best to sound snippy.

This evening was planned long before we knew you were coming, so calm down, Hope. We can do something together tomorrow, my father says.

I snort, amused. I don’t want to be seen on the street with you.

Delila sighs heavily. It’d be a much nicer time with you if weren’t constantly spoiling for a fight, Hope.

Oh well, you can blame yourselves for that, I reply and pull a face. Did you just kick me, you jerk? I ask Thorn.

Me? Never, he replies. He's radiating an innocent air but sounds like he’s giving me a warning.

I narrow my eyes to slits. Just wait.

Are you threatening me?

What if I was? I know it's a challenge he’ll be more than happy to accept but I don’t care.

You should drop it.

My father slams his fist on the table. Enough, you two! It's worse than being in a kindergarten!

I stand up. Since my presence is unnecessary because I’m in a vegan-hostile household, I’m going to my room to change that Powerpuff Girls nightmare into my own domain.

You don't like it? Delila asks, shocked.

No, not at all. Whatever came over you while setting it up or whatever you took before that, you should keep away from; it doesn’t agree with you, I say and leave the dining room.

I’ll talk to her again later, I hear Thorn say and know that I won’t be leaving my room again tonight. Especially since I’m alone with him later and I can definitely forgo being thrown around my bedroom again. I have to give him credit for not sparing women.

When I get upstairs, I take the bedspread from the bed and put it in the laundry basket, then I throw the pink scatter cushions in there, as well as everything that doesn't suit me. To deal another blow, I place a piece of paper with the note, ‘For charity or for a headcase, whoever wants it,’ on top and then close the door behind me. I push in the button on the doorknob to lock it, just for good measure. Finally, I go to my bag and start to unpack. When I look in the walk-in closet, I almost have a stroke. They’ve even bought me clothes, in the bimbo color – how could it be anything else – pink. Oh God, this is a nightmare.

I shove them as far to the back as possible and hang my things in front. Tomorrow I’ll take them all to a charity or, even better, I’ll take photos of them at some point and put them on eBay; at least I’ll get something for them. Every dollar brings my ticket home even closer.

An hour later, there's a knock at the door. Hope, we’re going. If you need help with anything, Thorn and his friends are in his room. It's my father.

Okay.

Ridge is bringing you something to eat if you're hungry. Thorn organized the whole thing. Oh, and please, don’t rip each other’s heads off while we’re gone.

I open the door and look at him, disinterested. We won’t but please tell him that he should just leave me alone. He started it earlier and I don’t want to fight.

I’ll let him know.

I heard you and don’t worry, I’ve got people over later, so I won't be bothering with the toddler, Thorn says on the way to his room.

I watch the beefy bozo go by angrily. Actually, he looks really good, definitely my type, if he wasn’t such a giant asshole. Yeah, I’m into bad boys but he’s a mother's boy mixed with an asshole and they’re the worst kind of guys. But he's my stepbrother, sad to say, so this stringing together of Y-chromosomes has definitely disrupted a few synapses. He could be on steroids, too, because he definitely hasn’t built all those muscles on the bench press.

My sperm-donor nods at me. Then you should get your peace and quiet. Eat something when Ridge comes so you don’t faint. He strokes my hair. Even though you don't want to hear it, I’m glad you're here.

Blah, blah, blah, I reply and close the door as he makes his way to the stairs.

* * *

I stand in front of the mirror and comb my long, dark brown hair, eventually tying it back with a hair tie. I hate my hair; I can never style it. That’s why I constantly wear hats and braids, so it doesn't annoy me so much. I