Page 277 of Hate Mates

Iflee from Priest’s house wishing I’d never have come. But it’s not like I had a choice. When Franklin Hart speaks, issues orders, there is no refusing or ignoring it. And being his daughter doesn’t give me a free pass. If anything, it makes it harder. Expectations are incredibly high for anyone in my father’s sphere, but if your last name is Hart? Well…let’s just say your life depends on it. I’ve seen firsthand what denying my father costs.

Cold air hits me, freezing my lungs and trapping air in them, as I burst outside. Reaching my car, I lean against it to get myself under control and consider my options.

I’ll need to go back in. Leaving without achieving my goal isn’t an option. But I need a minute. A minute to quash the residual lust thrumming through my body and calm my racing heart. But more than that, if I have any chance at convincing Mickey of what I need, then he can’t read the hate and anger I feel at him or my situation.

This is my opportunity to show my father I’m more than a disappointment and worthy of the Hart name. Doing this might just give me the leverage I need to stop my impending fate.

Or it could be my final act if I fail.

Yanking my car door open, I drop into the driver’s seat and root around inside the glove box for something to calm me. Finding the little baggy of white powder, I pull my compact from my handbag and begin cutting a short line. Rolling up a twenty from my purse, I press a finger to one nostril, then snort the whole line. I lick my finger and swipe it across the mirror, sweeping up any left-over powder before sticking it in my mouth and rubbing it on my upper gums.

I drop my head back against the headrest and wait for the buzz to kick in. Snorting a couple of lines of coke seems like a small price to pay to get through this. After tidying up and with a nice little buzz flushing through my veins, I head back inside Priest’s.

I let the coke fuel my confidence as I strut through the lounge to the kitchen, my heels clicking on the tiled floor. Someone wolf-whistles as I pass, and I look over my shoulder coyly, adding an extra sway of my arse. I cast an appraising eye over the guys seated there, including Mickey with his little slut beside him, pawing at his chest. It takes everything in me to not sneer at the fucker. Instead, I let a small half smile tug up the corner of my mouth before facing forward and continuing to my destination.

As I approach the guys playing beer pong, an arm sweeps around my waist, tugging me against a hard chest.

“Come to join in the fun, Roni?” Fletch whispers in my ear. “Or are you here just to piss off my mate?”

Twirling in his arms, I trail my hands up his chest, then wrap them around his neck. “I’m here for the shots, and if that pisses off Mickey in the process, well, that’s a win in my book.” I release him, pushing out of his hold. “Line ’em up, Fletch,” I say, plucking the Ping-Pong ball from his hand and tossing it in the air.

I play a couple of rounds with the guys, the shots giving me an extra boost, while Mickey’s searing gaze burns my back, especially when I encourage Fletch’s flirting.

A little while later, a few people leave and those of us left gather around the coffee table in the sunken lounge when Priest suggests a game of poker.

“Deal me in,” I call as I nip to the toilet—not the one Mickey fucked in earlier. When I get back, there’s a single empty chair directly opposite Mickey and his hook-up, and Fletch. My eyes meet Mickey’s as I sit, holding his stare as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Right, I don’t have any chips, plus that’s boring as fuck. So, strip poker it is,” Priest says as he shuffles a deck of cards.

“How original,” I drawl, rolling my eyes.

“I doubt there’s a guy, or girl, for that matter, here who hasn’t seen what’s under that outfit,” Mickey retorts.

“Maybe. But few have had the luxury of tasting the goods,” I say with a wink. “Looks like tonight is your lucky night, Rawlins, seeing as you’ve had neither.” I swallow down what I really want to say along with a large mouthful of whatever this drink is Fletch handed to me earlier. I visibly shudder. “What the fuck is that, Fletch?”

“Roni got Fletched,” Priest says around a laugh.

“Hey, don’t be ragging on my Fletch Special.”

I choke back a laugh. “Sorry, Fletch, but the only thing special about that drink is its ability to strip paint. It’s nasty as fuck!”

Everyone laughs, including Fletch. Everyone except Mickey, who is eyeing me up with a deadpan expression.

Ignoring him, I pick up my hand and shore-up my poker face. I need to play this just right.

I lose the first hand and strip off my top, revealing the black lace balcony bra beneath and drawing a few lusty gazes from acouple of the guys. It’s always good to lull your target into a false sense of security before you strip them bare.

By the fifth hand, there’s only me, Mickey and Priest left. Fletch bowed out in the last round and is currently sitting stark naked on the sofa beside Mickey’s slut, who can’t help her wondering eyes.

I shake my head and hide a smirk behind my cards as Priest reveals his hand.

“Take ’em off, Priest,” I sing-song as I reveal my own hand, beating his and Mickey’s with four of a kind.

“Son of a bitch!” Priest says, standing and peeling his boxers off. I smile as his pierced cock springs free beside me at eye level and is at a healthy half-mast. Seems the rumours are true.

I look up to find Mickey glaring at me with a frown creasing his brow. I keep the satisfaction at getting under his skin hidden and prepare to up the stakes.

“Just you and me, Mickey. What say we make this a little moreinteresting?”

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