Page 257 of Hate Mates

I gasp and crouch down behind the counter.

Not like it will save me, but it’s all I can think to do.

Then he laughs. More of that icy chuckling.

Damn him. I’m fearing for my life, and he’s laughing!

I stand straight up, my cheeks burning. “Fuck you!” I yell.

He doesn’t point the gun at me. Instead, he rams it against the glass case. It shatters, shards falling into the leftover croissants and other delicacies from the day and clattering over the tiled floor.

“I really don’t want to break your legs, Rachel,” he says. “But I’m going to have to breaksomething.”

I curl my hands into fists. “So you destroy my property? How the hell am I supposed to earn the money to pay my debt if I have to spend it on somethingyoubroke?”

He shrugs. “You’ve got insurance.”

I slam my hands on the counter. “Actually, I don’t. That’s one of the bills I haven’t been able to pay. So you’re just shooting yourself in the foot, Mister…”

He smirks. “Firestone. Bracken Firestone.”

Seriously? That can’t be a real name.

Before I can reply, he whams his gun into another glass case.

“Damn you!” I cry. “I hate you. I really hate you!”

“Maybe…” he begins, looking at me through half-lidded eyes, “you have other ways of making payment.”

“Other ways?”

He nods, walking around the counter to stand next to me. He’s close, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him.

“You could work it off,” he says, his voice like a growl.

“Work it off?” My mind races. I’m not sure if what he’s suggesting is better or worse than the alternative. “How?”

He grins. “Now that”—he moves closer, his voice a deep rumble that sends a shiver through me—“is up to you.”

“You mean…here? At the bakery?” I struggle to keep my voice steady while I grapple with the possible implications of his words.

He lets out another chuckle. “No. That’s not what I fucking mean at all.”

Chapter Two

BRACKEN

Rachel Woodruff is a hot little number, but I already knew that. No, I don’t break women’s legs, but I do scare the holy shit out of them. It’s what Malcolm pays me very well to do, and I’m damned good at it.

As I stand, towering over Rachel, the fear in her eyes is apparent. She’s scared, but more than that, she’s desperate.

“I can do whatever it takes,” she says, meeting my gaze with determination. Her voice barely wavers, revealing a strength she probably didn’t know she had.

Whatever it takes? I can’t help but admire her grit. Most people would’ve already broken down by now. But not her. Not Rachel.

“And what exactly are you suggesting?” I ask her as I lay my gun down behind the counter.

She looks down at her feet before finally speaking. “I’ll… I’ll work for you.”

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