Page 256 of Hate Mates

He raises his eyebrows. “For Malcolm?”

“Yes,” I gulp, gesturing to a white box next to the black pouch, “along with this red velvet cake. It’s my specialty…and his favorite.”

He raises an eyebrow. “There money hidden in the cake?”

“No,” I say. “The cake is a gesture of goodwill. It’s not every day someone bails you out of debt.” I try to force a smile, but the grim reality of my situation makes it difficult.

He stares at me for a moment before chuckling again. Though it’s technically a laugh, it sounds cold. Like ice crackling through his throat.

He grabs the pouch and unzips it, pulls out the money, counts.

“Only thirty,” he murmurs to himself, thumbing through the wads of cash. He returns his gaze to me. “That’s not nearly enough.”

I swallow hard again. “It’s all I have,” I say, meeting his icy stare with a steadiness that surprises even me.

He studies me for what feels like an eternity before zipping the bag closed and sliding it back toward me. “It’s all or nothing, and the deadline”—he checks his watch—“is in a little under two hours.”

“I understand,” I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “But this is all I have.”

He looks at the cake. “What did you say was in this again?”

“No money,” I say quickly. “Just cake. Red velvet with cream cheese and pecan icing. It’s Malcolm’s?—”

Before I can finish, the man grabs a nearby fork, opens the box, digs into the cake, and brings a forkful to his mouth. He closes his eyes while he chews. When he opens them again, I see a flicker of warmth against the chilly blue of his irises.

Or I could be seeing things.

“You made this?” he says.

“Yes,” I reply. “Everything sold here is made from scratch.”

“Delicious.” He takes another bite, chews, swallows. “Tell me, though. What do you have to offer that’s even sweeter?”

His eyes are burning into me.

“I… I don’t know what you mean…”

Except I’m pretty sure I do.

“You know what I’m supposed to do to you if you don’t pay up, right?” He leers at me lasciviously. “I mean, you look like a pretty intelligent woman.”

I swallow hard. “You’re supposed to break my legs?”

He rakes his gaze over me. “That’s the plan.”

A shiver crawls up my spine, and I force myself to keep my voice steady. “That won’t get you your money.”

He tilts his head. “True,” he admits. “But it might make you more eager to find the rest of what you owe.”

“I’m already doing everything I can.” Desperation creeps into my voice. “I’ve sold what little jewelry I had, and I’ve taken on extra catering jobs… There’s just no way I can get that much money by midnight.”

He stares at me.

Glares at me.

Something about the intensity of his gaze makes my heart beat even faster.

Finally, he moves away from the counter with a sigh. “That’s a damned shame, Rachel.” He pulls out his pistol.

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