Page 157 of Hate Me

A stout man with wiry dirty-blond hair was slumped back against the velvet headboard, clutching his gut and bleeding all over the place. He was pale, gaunt, even, and his glazed eyes weakly met mine and Luke’s.

He wasn’t just another one of Elijah’s guys.

No. This was Ben Harvey, his second-in-command.

“Where is he?” I demanded, striding closer, gun trained on his skull.

He gestured to his wound. “One of your shitheads did this to me outside. Should’ve checked they’d gotten me proper. Still breathing. Good for me, bad for you.”

“Where is Elijah?” I barked.

“Fuck knows.” He let out a sputtered laugh. “He must’ve known. Didn’t bother to tell us, though. Just took off. Thought he… thought me and him were tight.”

“That motherfucker is only out for himself,” Luke told him.

“Supposed to be different with me.”

Blood was roaring in my ears.

Adrenaline was sparking to a whole new level.

And worst of all—rage.

I could feel it coming, breaching the surface.

I nodded at Luke, gritting my teeth, unable to speak with it without letting it out all over the place.

He wasn’t here.

Elijah Bane wasn’t here.

Our chief target was out of range.

It was wrong… it was all fucking wrong.

This couldn’t… this wasn’t supposed to happen.

I was barely aware of Luke interrogating Ben further, bringing some torture into play too, shoving the barrel of his gun into his wound, pistol-whipping him, ensuring that what he got from him was the truth.

The guy didn’t hold up well and he was squealing in moments.

But it wasn’t anything that I wanted to hear.

Just begging for the pain to stop and swearing on heaven and earth and fucking hell itself that Elijah had really taken off like he’d first claimed.

“Fuck!” I roared, that rage finally taking me over.

I spun around and thrust my fist into the wall.

It didn’t stop there.

Before I knew it, it was a blur of untethered violence as I destroyed the fucking room.

“He’s not here! He’s not fucking here!”

32

~Dante Mancini~

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