Page 55 of Hate Mates

I remove my jacket and toss it aside, then unbutton my shirt which allows me easier access to the small dagger at my hip. Unlike Beth, my preference is a gun. I prefer to snipe from a distance and vanish in a crowd. But I’m adaptable and lethal with any weapon, or my bare hands.

I take a deep breath, then click the mirror open.

“Move fast but stay behind me,” I say. Rushing through the opening, I spot the first guard right away. He’s taken by surprise and gives me just enough time to punch him in his throat and snap his neck. One of the women gasps behind me, but they all stay quiet otherwise. “At the end of the driveway is a limo driven by Francis. Find him and stay with him. Which way?”

The first one points to the left, and we move that way. The second guard is a little more work. Still, he goes down without much noise. I take his gun, though, weighing it in my hand and happy to see it has a silencer. Before moving further, I check the chamber and the magazine, knowing what I’m working with makes this easier.

Two more are shot before they see me coming and then we’re at a door that leads outside. The first and second girl run out without hesitation, but the third stops just inside the door.

“I won’t make you leave; you can stay if that’s your choice.”

“No,” she says. “If you came with a woman, she’ll be at the opposite end of the hall from where he brought you. You should hurry.”

“Thank you. Go, don’t look back,” I say, then grab the dead guy’s gun as well.

Now, it’s time to find my two greatest enemies—Lyle and Beth.

THREE

Beth

This motherfucker.

Lyle Maclain is vain, arrogant, and downright putrid. His wealth has offered him an enormous amount of privilege and power, making him feel like he can do anything without consequence.

The plans coming out of his mouth in the few minutes we’ve been alone in this room are horrific. My stomach turns with the idea of what he’s done to women before me. He’s into hardcore shit. Bloodplay seems to be a favorite.

I’ll happily oblige, but not in the way he thinks.

He’s ordered me to dance for him. Not seductively, but like the little toy ballerina in those wind-up jewelry boxes little girls love. “Twirl,” he barks again and again. I obey, like a good little doll.

“Redheads are my favorite. Did your husband tell you that?”

“William doesn’t tell me much,” I say, pausing to look at the balding, bloated man. He doesn’t take care of himself. Age spots show on his hands, he’s growing older, but he’s far from frail.

“I didn’t tell you stop. Twirl,” he roars, and I pretend to flinch. Then I twirl some more. This game is tiresome already,but I need to give Andrew time. We were taken in opposite directions. And we never received floorplans for this house. We’re mice in a maze that will make it difficult to find each other. Or a way out.

“My mother had red hair,” he muses.

Gross.

I catch his hands move on one of my rotations, not long after I hear the unbuckling of his pants. A lowered zipper and hum of appreciation follows. Abruptly, I stop spinning and feign dizziness with a hand to my forehead, swaying slightly.

“On your knees now,” Maclain says, widening his legs and pulling his small penis out.

“Thank you,” I coo. “I don’t know how much longer I could have done that.”

“As long as you were fucking told to,” Maclain mutters.

When I’m close enough, he buries his fat fingers into my hair and yanks me down to my knees. He’s pulled out several strands, bringing them up to his face to caress his cheek with them.

I place one hand on his thigh, while the other, I move to my own thigh. To the small, thin knife that I was so lucky to smuggle inside this party. Fuck waiting for Andrew, I’m not touching this creature’s appendage. Sliding the knife free of its sheath, I try to stand when I’m hit in the jaw.

The asshole punched me. Despite his age and stature, he’s strong. I stagger back, not losing the knife, but exposing it. Quickly, I’m back on my feet but a door opens to my right and Jensen steps through, a handgun outstretched in front of him.

“Who are you?” Maclain asks, grabbing my single dress strap, ripping it and exposing me to both men. Only one is distracted by that. Unfortunately, it isn’t the one with the gun. Lyle is the target, I could take him out before Jensen gets the shot off, but hewillget take the shot.

Damnit.

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