Page 468 of Hate Mates

I wondered how long it would take Pakhan Mikhailov to marry off his eldest daughter. His only son was slaughtered in cold blood a few months ago, leaving him without an heir. The Bratva is similar to La Cosa Nostra in terms of heirs and hierarchy, and I knew it wouldn’t be too long before he married his daughters off. I’m sure Irina has a current reprieve only because she’s still got one year of her translation studies degree to complete. I’m betting as soon as she graduates Stanford he’ll be lining up suitors. He needs sons-in-law to run his businesses and rule the criminal organization when he gets too old to do it.

Which is why time is of the essence, and I need to convince Irina to date me ASAP. I have a limited window to make her fall in love with me before her father foists her onto some Russian prick.

No one gets near Vladimir Mikhailov because he’s heavily guarded. Going after him in the street would be suicide. I want revenge for my mother but not enough to sacrifice my life. I thought dating Anya would ensure a meeting with her father, but I miscalculated. Assuming he favored his eldest daughter was a rookie mistake.

A few weeks in Anya’s company was long enough to realize she’s an insipid, whiny, spoiled little bitch and her father barely tolerates her. Irina is his clear favorite, and it was obvious from the first time I met her. She’s got intelligence, cunning, backbone, and spirit, and I didn’t need Anya’s petty snide comments to confirm their father is wrapped around her little sister’s finger.

As soon as I realized my error, I dumped the annoying bitch and disappeared for a couple of months to let things cool down. I didn’t think it would be this hard to win Irina around, but she’s stubborn and determined when she gets something intoher head. And, unfortunately, she’s decided I’m public enemy number one, and she won’t allow herself to cave to the insane chemistry we share.

She opens her mouth—no doubt to inform me Anya had no say in her engagement—but promptly clamps it shut. It’s not like she can admit the truth and blow the carefully manufactured image her father has created. To the outside world, she’s the daughter of a wealthy Russian businessman with a successful import-export company. But it’s all a front to hide money laundering, drug trafficking, and murder.

Her body vibrates with anger, and I don’t think it’s all directed at me.

Interesting.

“That isn’t true,” she argues. “Anya will always have feelings for you.”

That’s utter bullshit, and I’m done pussyfooting around. “The only feelings I have toward her are annoyance and relief.”

She stabs me with a glare. “You’re an asshole, and I hate you.”

My lips kick up at the corners again. I put my face all up in hers, holding her body securely when she arches back in an attempt to avoid me. “Liar.” My eyes linger on her chest, zeroing in on the taut peaks trying to poke a hole through the material of her dress. “Your mouth might lie, but your body does not.” I straighten us up, pressing my body flush to hers, prodding her with the rock-hard erection digging uncomfortably against my zipper. “You want me as badly as I want you.”

“I don’t want you,” she protests, and I wonder if it sounds as feeble to her ears as it does to mine. “I loathe you with every fiber of my being.”

“Ever had hate sex, princess?” I ask, swiveling my hips and digging my dick into her stomach.

Her cheeks flush. “I’m not answering that.”

I arch a brow. “Are you a virgin?”

“I’m not answering that either.” The blush on her cheeks darkens.

I cock my head to one side, staring at her, wondering if she is completely innocent. She’d been dating that idiot Adrian for five months, so I presumed she’d been fucking him, but maybe not. She wouldn’t be the first twenty-one-year-old virgin within the Bratva. It’s possible her father demands she remain pure until her wedding night.

It’s added incentive to win her over and get her under me.

My eyes bore into her gorgeous face. “Hate sex is the best, and it happens to be a special expertise of mine.” Grabbing her ass, I squeeze her cheeks while grinding my hard-on into her. Her face is flushed all over, and she’s trying to wiggle out of my grasp even though she knows it’s futile. I’m stronger, taller, broader, and possibly more stubborn than she is. “Give me one night. If I don’t rock your world, you can tell me to leave you alone and I’ll go.”

It’s a lie. I won’t leave her alone. I can’t. She’s my only route to her father, and I swore when I fled New York, leaving my family, friends, and La Cosa Nostra behind, that I would not return from San Fran until I have riddled Pakhan Vladimir Mikhailov full of bullets.

Chapter Two

IRINA

I’m overheating, and while I hate to admit it’s anything to do with the stubborn asshole trapping me in his strong muscular arms, I can’t deny how Cohen Reynolds makes me feel. Like I simultaneously want to rip my clothes off and impale myself on his cockandslam his irritating handsome face into a wall.

I shouldn’t have drunk so much tonight because my defenses are weakened and I’m tempted. So fucking tempted. I’m not a virgin, but I’m not very experienced either. Something tells me the older self-made multimillionaire entrepreneur is a man of his word. I bet a night with himwouldrock my world. He’d probably ruin me for all other men, which is exactly why I can’t succumb to his persistence.

I hate him. He shattered my sister’s heart. Made her fall for him and then tossed her aside like worthless trash. Anya would never forgive me if I took him to my bed, and though my eldest sister can be a complete bitch, my loyalty lies with my blood.

I switch tack, purposely letting myself melt in his arms as a smile ghosts over my lips. “How would you rock my world?” Iask in a seductive tone, deliberately pushing my face all up in his.

I hate admitting how hot he is, but there’s no point in being outright delusional. Anya fell for him for a reason. He’s all dark sultry looks wrapped over toned muscles and inked skin. His consuming dark-brown eyes disguise endless hidden depths. His strong jawline and firm nose work in perfect synchronicity with his chiseled cheekbones, slashed brows, and proud forehead. The scruff coating his chin and cheeks is neatly trimmed, matching the classic styling of his slicked-back dark hair. Cohen has this smoldering intensity that forces easily through walls, burrowing deep, until you’re stripped bare before him.

He's dangerous on multiple levels, which is additional reason to stay away from him.

But he seems determined to crack my walls, showing up every weekend no matter where I’m partying. He doesn’t understand the word no, and I wonder if anyone has ever refused him anything. He could get any woman he wants, so I don’t understand his fixation with me.

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