Page 133 of Hate Me

I smashed my boot into his face, sending him sprawling onto his back.

I went in for another kick, but he swiftly rolled to his side out of the way. And then he twisted and flipped back to his feet.

“Damn, gorgeous. Wanna play first? By all means.”

I spun my knife in my hand. “This ends tonight.”

His face twisted. “The fuck it does. You’re right where you need to be. Fucking finally. On the precipice. I can see it in your eyes. You’re isolated now too, and you’re fucking well obsessed with me. You see? It all comes back to me.”

I smiled inwardly.

He couldn’t read me anymore.

He was way off the mark and he couldn’t tell at all.

“Your intel is flawed. I’m not alone.”

He frowned. “Of course you are. It’s not just intel either, it’s you always been closed off, locking yourself down. Something you know only I can force you to change through my harsher methods. You need me, you see. You always fucking have.”

“I’m back with my men.”

“What? No. That’s not what I’ve heard or—”

“Yes, your source of information has been very helpful to us too.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Damien Thorn… he’s with you?”

“He has been from the beginning. With us.”

“He played me?”

“You were so desperate that you fell for it all.”

“No!” he bellowed, then lunged at me.

I sidestepped his attack, then threw my fist. It plunged into his face, making his head snap to the side.

He hissed and angrily wiped a trail of blood off with his bare arm.

“Fucking cunt! You’re screwing up everything!”

“You did that all on your own,” I bit back as he went for me, but I brought my arm down, deflecting the attempted blow. I shoved my hand into his chest, knocking him into the back of the couch. But he used the impact as momentum to spring back at me, snagging my wrist and yanking the blade free. He tossed it into the arm of the couch, the thing embedding there deep, protruding from the rough fabric.

And then he tackled me into the bathroom.

I cried out as my back hit the hard porcelain sink.

Then he was on me, wrapping his hands around my throat, trying to choke me out. “You’re like me!” he roared. “Not letting you go!” He dug his nails into my flesh, making me gag from the insane pressure.

I reached out behind me and snatched up the first thing I could find—a razor.

I sliced it across his face, blood spurting.

He screamed and fell back, pressing his hand to it and the flesh I’d scraped away.

As he reeled, I pushed off the sink, trapped him in an elbow lock, then hauled him around and drove him face-first into the mirror.

It shattered around him, all over his face and hair, sharp shards digging into his skin.

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