Page 507 of Hate Mates

When we were finally alone once again, his eyes flicked to me, cold and calculating, as if measuring how much longer he could hold his control. The air between us crackled with tension, thick enough to suffocate anyone who dared stand too close.

"You think you're in control, don’t you?" Romy’s voice was smooth, but there was a razor-thin edge to it. "You think I don't see what you're doing?"

I held his gaze, unflinching, but inside, something twisted. He had no idea how much I hated him. But I wasn’t about to show it. "And what exactly am I doing, Romy? Using you like everyone else?" I couldn’t keep the bite from my voice.

He leaned in closer, his breath brushing my ear as his tone dropped, thick with venom. "Don’t play coy with me. I know the game. I know how you work. You think you're so clever, don’t you? Pretending to be innocent while you scratch your own itch. We’ve been using each other from the start, haven’t we,amiira?"

The words hit harder than I expected. It was the term for princess in his native language but he spoke with such loathing, it made my skin crawl. He wasn’t wrong. Somewhere along the way, we’d both slipped into this twisted dance, manipulating one another, getting what we needed and nothing more. But I wasn’t about to let him win that easily.

I stepped back, my voice colder than I intended. "You’re right. I’ve used you. But make no mistake, Romy—you’ve usedme just as much. And now that I’m done with you, you need to leave my room."

His eyes darkened to pools of black, a mixture of contempt and something far more dangerous than just the authority of my father’s capo.

"You think this little game of yours is under your control?" he hissed, his voice low but full of fury. "You think I won’t make you pay the moment I tire of your presence?"

I met his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest, but I refused to show fear. "You’re the one who’s still standing in this room, Romy."

The tension between us thickened, a moment too sharp, too close. The walls felt like they were closing in, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down. The hatred between us was so palpable it could have suffocated us both. The mental image of my hands wrapped around his throat was tempting. What would he look like with his eyes bulging out of their sockets? Would he groan or growl with the pressure?

As if he could read my thoughts, his nostrils flared. Somewhere beneath the animosity, there was an insatiable need. A hunger neither of us was willing to admit.

The door abruptly swung open, shattering the silence between us. One of the men, eyes wide, stepped into the room.

"Romy," he said quickly, his voice tinged with urgency. "The Boss wants you. Now."

Romy’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving mine as he straightened, his posture radiating anger. "We’re not done here," he muttered, his voice low, almost a growl.

I didn’t move, my heart still racing, my mind spinning with the weight of his words. But as he turned to leave, I couldn’t shake the need to clench my fists. No, we were far from done.

My father’s soldier stood there, eyes scanning me from head to toe now that his superior had left the room.

“Leave,” I growled, turning to grab a random item on my nightstand and throwing it in the direction of his head. He ducked and cursed, before quickly exiting the room and slamming the door shut.

I could still smell Romy and it annoyed me. Stripping off my clothes, I made my way back to the bathroom to wash off the evidence of today. As the hot water cascaded down my skin, scorching my flesh in punishment, I pressed my forehead against the cool tile.

As much as we tried to distance ourselves from each other, it only became harder as the years passed. The more we frustrated each other, the more our itch grew. With a sigh, my hand traveled down my thighs and slipped between my legs, the evidence of my arousal coating my fingertips. I hated the way he made me feel, hated how my body reacted when he was being so arrogant, especially in front of others. It was as if he knew exactly how to provoke me, speaking down to me in front of an audience, humiliating me with every word.

Despite having tasted him again and again, I never once let him take me—a fact that probably added to his resentment toward me. I chuckled as only the tip of my fingers slipped inside of me, in and out before swirling around my clit.

“Asshole,” I whispered, leaning my cheek against the shower wall as my hand began to move faster.

He knew just as I did that we were both too deep into this twisted game to ever walk away.

Romy’s shadow lingered in the back of my mind as I chased my own pleasure, concentrating on my clit, intentionally not screaming his name as I came quickly beneath the cascading water of my father’s opulent home. There was a time in my youth when I was uncertain about the dangerous path I had chosen. But now, at twenty-five, I no longer cared what the consequences were—not in a world where my position gave melittle to no power among the men who roamed around me like lions waiting for the kill.

As I washed my hair and scrubbed my skin, I wondered what would happen when the game finally ended. Would either of us survive the precipice of the knife we both were standing on?

Chapter Two

ROMY

Istood at the edge of the perimeter, eyes sweeping over the sprawling gothic mansion that belonged to my boss, Viriato Nogueira. The sun was beginning to dip behind the jagged silhouette of the estate, casting long shadows over the manicured grounds in the shape of his favorite grotesque stone gargoyles. This was his kingdom—his carefully controlled empire, one that stretched far and wide across the east, while the Medeiros family ruled the west. Tonight, those two worlds were colliding.

I wasn’t a fool. I knew the weight of this meeting. The Medeiros family, originally from Brazil, was dangerous, ambitious, and no strangers to violence. Viriato had expanded his empire across the eastern borders of the country, but the Medeiros were always lurking, waiting for a way to take control. They had their sights set on the north, and their patriarch, Carlos Medeiros, wasn’t known for his pleasantries. He was here for a reason, and I would be damned if I let anything slip through my fingers tonight.

The men were already in position, checking the perimeter, ensuring every entry point was covered. I didn’t have to givemuch instruction—they knew their job, they were each trained by me personally. But my eyes never strayed far from the shadows, scanning for anything out of place. I moved like a shadow myself, a constant presence in the background, watching, waiting, ever vigilant.

And then, of course, there was her. Nádia, the boss’amiira.

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