Page 100 of Hate Mates

“Are you here to make amends or is this just to soothe your conscience?”

I almost miss his question in the rowdiness that breaks out amongst the men within our vicinity when Anna and Nadia kiss. The girls are oblivious. They are locked in their own world, riding a wave of ecstasy that frees them of their human foibles. Nadia moves in on her best friend to instigate a second smooch. It riles up the crowd another notch.

The hollering stops when the little Cherub I mentioned as being the crux of Brutus Mayberry’s cat and mouse game with his old motorcycle club is intercepted by the Shamrocks’ Sergeant-At-Arms. My skin crawls with revulsion at theintimacy between Anna and Slash as they embrace, then sway together on the dance floor with their bodies connected from hip to chest.

Six foot eight and sporting a messy man bun, Slash is an older, taller version of his younger brother, Hunter. He's also desperately in love with Anna. The same woman who recently broke up with his best friend, Venom.

“Jesus Christ,” Sander curses. He shakes his head as he retrieves his phone from the back pocket of his designer jeans. With his index finger pressed to his left ear, he lifts the device to his right and shouts at the person on the other end, “Needa get ya arse to Mirage asap... Slash’s comin’ hella close to crossin’ the line with lil Cherub.” I’d wager good money on the recipient of his call being the twin’s cousin, Toker—a surprisingly canny man, despite his preference for facing the world through the soft focus of weed-addled eyes. “Yeah, I’ll keep my hands to myself ‘til you arrive. After that, I make no promises.”

Unsettled by the sight of Slash’s hands roaming Anna’s body while they dirty dance, I can feel my poise being knocked off balance. My pulse kicks up. The clamminess of my palms refuses to abate no matter how many times I wipe them on my jeans. Dry mouthed. Partially deafened by the pounding bass. I’m unravelling in the face of their unbridled lust. The last thing I need to do is expose a weakness while I’m documenting as many of Sander’s as I can uncover, yet I can’t stomach the idea that the tall blonde welcomes her lifelong protector’s physical desire.

Lilianna Mayberry has felt the wrath of men.

More than once.

The dossier compiled by the Adjudicator’s curia brims with details of her trauma and triggers. I have scanned the lists of scars covering her body. Winced at the descriptions of the injuries she’s sustained, and eventually recovered from, in the name of love.

I don’t understand how she can react positively to Slash’s overtures.

Surely, she understands that enflaming a man’s desire is dangerous.

She must know that being the recipient of a man’s desire only brings pain...

“Layla?” When Sander tries to touch my shoulder, I flinch away from him. Concern floods his gaze before he wipes it from his expression to glare at me. “I’ll ask you one last time... are you here to make amends with Cub for real?”

“Yes.” Swallowing deep, I force myself to lock eyes with him. “I feel like shit about what went down in Inadale.” The disbelief in the taller man’s eyes is a tick in the pros column. I want him to be wary of me. In fact, I want every single person closest to Luke to voice their suspicions over my intentions toward him. My experience in intelligence gathering has taught me that it’s the quickest way to drive my prey into my web. “You don’t have to believe me—” I drag in a deep breath and fake a shudder. “—All I ask is that you give me a chance to properly apologise for the role I played back then.”

My adversary swallows my assertion whole.

I don’t hold it against him since my sincerity is real.

One of the few regrets that have carried over from my old life is my inability to shield Luke and Nadia from the blowback my father aimed at their families to protect himself and his allies. They were victims of the same depravity that held me hostage. We were all pawns of powerful men. Stalked and stolen, then traded for influence. Used and abused. Battered and broken. Destroyed, inside and out. Discarded as soon as they’d taken their fill.

As the daughter of a key player, I should’ve been protected.

But there’s always a bigger, badder wolf.

And I was fed to him—them—without a second thought or an ounce of remorse.

Pain ricochets through me as memories from back then assault me.

It’s like being stabbed in the gut at the same time as I’m being waterboarded.

My skin prickles.

The world spins.

After inhaling for the count of four, I hold the air for another count of four before slowly exhaling. When the deliberate emptiness of my lungs becomes too much to ignore, I repeat the same process. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Over and over. Three times. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.Eleven.The moment I reach my lucky number, I feel my parasympathetic nervous system engage. Instantly, I am able to mentally remove myself from the brutal recollections of a time I would rather pretend never happened.

It almost broke me.

I almost finished off the job for them.

It was too close for comfort... until Gabriel rescued me and gave me a reason to live.

I make a note to mention this lapse to my handler.

“Don’t push him too hard,” Sander cautions in a soft voice. He seems oblivious to my emotional spiral, more concerned with his best friend than he is in threatening me. Tipping my head to one side and raising my eyebrows, I stare at Sander until he squirms on the spot and lowers his gaze to the sticky floor at his feet. He swings back and forth as he tells me, “He’s fragile. Uncomfortable with...uh,ah, affection... from women.” When I continue peering at him, he stumbles to explain, “Like he won’t let anyone other than Nadia touch him likethat—and even then, he has to be drunk to even get through a blowjob.”

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