Page 267 of Hate Mates

“I said, stay here,” I toss over my shoulder as I hear Rachel’s soft footsteps behind me.

“But—”

“No.” My tone leaves no room for argument. At least I hope it doesn’t. Rachel hasn’t been one to listen to me.

Once I enter the bakery, glass crunches beneath my boots. The moonlight spills in through the broken window, casting long shadows over the overturned tables and chairs. The air smells of yeast and sugar, laced with a familiar scent that makes my skin crawl.

“You bastard,” I mutter under my breath.

“You were supposed to come back with either the money or the girl,” a dark voice says.

The scent of expensive Scotch and cigars.

It’s not Malcolm. It’s his brother, Price, who makes Malcolm look like an altar boy.

Chapter Thirteen

RACHEL

Iignore Bracken’s command to stay put. Who does he think he is to order me around? He may have taken my virginity, but that doesn’t give him the right to control me. With careful, silent steps, I follow him down the staircase.

As I crouch behind the counter, my heart pounds like a wild drum. The sight of the destroyed bakery hurts. The place where I’ve poured my heart and soul—my mother’s legacy—lies in ruins. But what frightens me more is the man standing next to Bracken.

He looks like he’s been through hell and decided he liked it well enough to stay. His hair is black and slick, his eyes dark and mean.

He didn’t come here for cinnamon rolls or tarts.

“This ismyjob,” Bracken’s voice says. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

“As soon as you hand over the cash.”

The cash? What the hell is going on? I thought Bracken and I had a deal.

I shake my head slowly.

I’ve been played.

Played like a violin in an orchestra.

Bracken just wanted to fuck me. To control me.

I ball my hands into fists, stand, and come out from behind the counter. I walk toward Bracken and the stranger.

“You motherfucker,” I grit out, no longer caring about profanity in the bakery.

Quick as lightning, an arm grabs me—and it’s not Bracken’s.

Chapter Fourteen

BRACKEN

My blood turns to ice as Rachel jerks out from behind the counter, fury written clearly across her beautiful face. She’s wearing her jeans, and her T-shirt is on backwards. She’s barefoot, but the shards of glass on the floor don’t seem to bother her.

Before I can intervene, Price lunges forward and snatches her by the arm.

“Your little bitch has a mouth on her, Bracken,” Price snarls.

Rachel’s cheeks go pale, but she doesn’t make a sound. My heart clenches.

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