Page 346 of Hate Mates

“Your clothes, take them off.”

I blush, looking down. “N-No. I can’t. No one’s ever…”

But I don’t finish as he grips my shirt with two hands, pulling the material apart. I gasp, watching as his hands reach for my jeans. “Wait!” I scream, panicking. “I’ll take them off.”

He pauses, eyes searching mine before he takes a step back.

“Can you turn around?”

He arches a dark blond brow as if to ask me if I’m serious. I blow out a breath and with shaky fingers I strip, all the way down to nothing. I’m humiliated for him to see me this way, upset that I’m slightly turned on by it. I refuse to look up even when he steps closer to me, causing me to push harder into the door.

His rough fingers start at my hip bones, trailing up my stomach and between my aching breasts, my nipples hardening as he reaches my collarbone. His hand slips around my throat and I widen my eyes and look at him but he’s already moving, pushing the shower door open and dropping me in there. Following after me, he slams the door, pressing my slick body to the tile. I can feel his hard length against me, making my eyes flutter. With my hand gripped in his, he begins scrubbing the number off my hand.

“How could you let him mark you?” he hisses, scrubbing to the point of pain.

“I…”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he snaps. “I saw all of it. The flirting, the way he touched your fucking hair.”

I swallow, blinking the tears back as my hand becomes red and raw. He tosses my hand down and it collides with the tile.

He grips my chin between his fingers, bringing my eyes to his. “You don’t let another man touch you, and never fucking let them mark you.”

I try to move my chin but that just causes him to grip it harder. “And if I do?” I felt bold and humiliated. It was a strange, twisted feeling.

His busted lip curves, causing it to bleed again. “You won’t like what comes next.”

And then he’s gone. Leaving me alone in the shower with a raw hand. I sink to my ass, my head falling to the tile and I allow the anger to take over in the form of tears.

FOUR

Trenton

My father is an arrogant man.

My mom was an angel.

She was too kind for this Earth, for him.

One thing I’ll never forget is her lifeless eyes staring at me as I laid next to her on the dingy, yellow kitchen floor. My tiny hands tugging on her shirt. The way I used my comfort blanket to wipe away the blood that trickled from her mouth.

I had seen and been through more at the age of three than most should. Abuse that didn‘t stop until the tender age of five when I fucking snapped. With cold eyes and my hand wrapped around a knife, I tried to gut that motherfucker. He laid his hands on me for the last time. Him and his buddies. For a quick hit of meth, I would become whatever his friends seemed fit.

Unfortunately, I didn't kill him that day. The neighbors heard the yelling- which was odd, considering we always yelled and no one seemed to care- and called the cops.

I wasn't a snitch. It was something he embedded in me and to this day I couldn't shake, but that day I led the cops to the uneven ground, the grass hiding his sins, and pointed to where he buried my mother.

Everything is a little hazy after that, but I remember one thing.Her.Brown ringlets and honey eyes holding out a crayon for me to take. Our eyes matched. Sad and broken but where hers sparkled, mine had dulled long ago.

She was kind like my mom. Which is probably where it all started. The hair pulling, the obsession. She’s always been mine. Which does little to explain why for the last week Adam has been touching her. Holding her hand, walking her to class. I could fucking smell him on her yesterday. It took a lot for me not to take what I wanted. What I’ve kept protected. All her firsts. I knew she’d had none because I made sure of it.

Adam had it in his head she’d give it to him. Locker room talk wasn't something I used to pay attention to, but when it’s about what’s mine, I tend to take an interest.

My fist that tends to get me whatever I need, did not work this time. He fought back, and he was an okay opponent, not a match though. I think the fight only made him want her more.

I had half a mind to make him disappear, but the thought of Blaise’s tear-streaked face and Desmond’s glare stops me. I truly wanted to make them proud. And I had a soft spot for Blaise. She saw my darkness and loved me for it. So jail time wasn't in the future over this douchebag.

My skates glide over the smooth ice. I was always the first one on the ice for practice. I had a knack for wanting to destroy pretty things.

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