HATE: MADISON KATE #1

by James Tate

I smiled at her, not fully awake yet, and headed over to the espresso machine to make my coffee.

  She disappeared somewhere between me grinding fresh beans and steaming my milk to velvety consistency, but she’d left me a bowl of bircher muesli with fresh fruit and greek yogurt on the counter—somewhat healthier than my usual choice of Lucky Charms, but it was a kind gesture.

  I hummed under my breath to a song that was stuck in my head while pouring two shots of espresso, then swirled my steamed milk to mix it before pouring it ever so carefully into my mug. Just as I was jiggling the milk jug to create the perfect fern leaf in the crema, a sharp crack made me jump, and milk sloshed onto the counter.

  "Motherfucker," I snarled, wiping off my hand and turning to glare at whatever had just frightened the ever-loving shit out of me.

  Then my mood soured further.

  "The fuck do you want?" I snapped at Archer, channeling all of my shitty mood into my glare. "Shouldn't you be in the gym admiring your flex in the mirror?"

  He gave me a sarcastic laugh. "Funny. Here." He slid a manilla folder across the island where he'd just dropped it. The sound that had startled me must have been him whacking it down on the marble surface. Prick.

  I eyed the folder with supreme suspicion. "What's this?"

  He arched a brow—damn that was sexy—and tilted his head to the side. "You wanted to know about your stalker? Well, that's everything. Happy reading."

  I stared down at the folder like it was poisoned, but Archer leaving the kitchen jolted me out of my trance.

  "Wait!" I blurted out, making him pause in the doorway. "Why did you give this to me? Is there something, like, really awful in here that you think will make me run screaming or something?" I was scared. I was also woman enough to admit that, if only inside my own head.

  Archer didn't reply for a long, tense moment. He didn't even turn back around.

  "Knowledge is power, Princess Danvers," he said eventually, his voice rough with some undecipherable emotion, "but ignorance is bliss. You decide for yourself which one you prefer."

  * * *

  The packet of documents sat on the counter in front of me as I ate my breakfast, then drank my coffee ever so slowly. It just... sat there. Staring at me. Daring me to open it.

  "Shit’s sake," I breathed, reaching the end of my coffee and shaking my head at my own crippling paranoia. Chances were, there was nothing bad even in there. It was probably another stupid Archer flex. Messing with my mind.

  I glanced at the time on my phone. Bree would arrive to pick me up soon, so I needed to get it over with.

  Open the damn envelope, MK.

  Biting down on my lip, I shoved my empty dishes aside and slid the envelope closer. Before I could talk myself out of it, I flipped the flap open and tipped the contents out onto the marble countertop.

  Instantly, I regretted that choice.

  They were all photographs—some blown up to full A4 size, some smaller, from a Polaroid camera. All of them were of me. Some were through my bedroom window. None of them were with my consent.

  The most recent picture, taken on the weekend when I was hugging Dallas on the doorstep, explained Steele's comment about my stalker not being content to "just watch" anymore. Not that that would have been okay, either, but this sent chills down my spine.

  I'll cut his touch from your skin, then clean the wounds with my tongue.

  It was scrawled over the back of the photo in jagged, black-inked letters. I dropped it like it'd stung my fingers and clasped my hands to my mouth.

  A million things ran through my mind. Questions, concerns, what-ifs.

  Then a thought occurred to me.

  Could Archer and the guys have made this up? Was this their payback for my little pranks on them? There were no photos of me with any of them... no photos from the fight on Friday night or of our run-ins on SGU campus. Was that simply because my stalker wasn't around at those times? Or because they'd orchestrated it themselves?

  My mind latched onto that idea, and I scooped all the images up into a pile. If they thought they could intimidate me with a fake stalker, they were sorely mistaken.

  Anger and outrage built within me as I stomped down to the home gym and slammed the door open. Then almost swallowed my tongue.

  But I wasn't here to drool over sweaty, tattooed, male perfection. I was here to prove that their stupid plan had failed.

  "Madison Kate," Kody greeted me, setting down the weights he'd been using and snatching up a sweat towel to mop his face. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

  Archer folded his arms, watching me, and Steele barely even spared me a glance. He just continued punching the heavy punching bag in the same steady rhythm as when I’d walked in.

  Fucking prick. I’d definitely had him all wrong.

  I threw the stack of photos down on the gym floor, scattering them. "You three must think I'm some kind of stupid. You can save your money and call your photographer off because I'm not buying the fake stalker story."

  Steele finally stopped punching the bag, shooting an incredulous look at me, but I'd said all I needed to say. Bree would be here any minute, anyway.

  "Wait, Madison Kate!" Kody shouted as I left the gym. I half-expected him to come running after me and deny that they'd made the whole thing up, but Archer's voice stopped him. And me. But they couldn't see me paused in the corridor outside the gym.

  "Leave it, Kody," he barked, his voice radiating authority.

  There was a pause, and I almost walked away before Kody replied.

  "Archer, this is getting out of control. Fix it." He sounded deadly serious. It was a side of him that I'd only ever glimpsed before.

  Archer scoffed. "Fix what? I gave her the photos. What more do you want me to do?"

  Surprisingly, it was Steele who answered. "Tell her the truth," he said, so quietly I almost didn't hear him. "The whole truth."

  The sound of a fist hitting leather—probably the punching bag—echoed down the hall.

  "No."

  That was it. Archer always had the final word.

  I didn't hang around to hear any more, instead racing out of the house and meeting Bree at the bottom of the driveway.

  "You okay?" she asked when I slid into her car.

  I nodded, pulling my phone out of my pocket and opening the contacts screen.

  "Super," I replied. "Just need to fight fire with fire."

  I found Dallas's number and hit "call" before giving Bree a grin. "Nothing I can't handle."

  I hoped.

  22

  I was sure the whole stalker thing was Archer’s and his boys’ lame attempt at getting me back over the photoshopped spit-roast. Pretty sure, anyway.

  But no matter how many times I told myself that, I couldn't get away from the feeling of someone watching me.

  It didn't help that even two weeks into classes, people were still staring and whispering when I walked down the halls. I'd have thought the whole thing might have blown over, but with the anniversary of Riot Night in just a couple of weeks, it looked like I'd be the center of attention a while longer.

  Even after Bree dropped me home after classes, the tension didn't ease from my shoulders. So many of those images had been taken through the windows of my father's mansion. If this stalker was real—not that I believe that—but if... then nowhere was safe.

  Just in case, I drew the sparkly pink curtains in my bedroom before changing into comfy sweatpants and a tank top. I was expecting Dallas to come by, but despite what I'd insinuated to Archer, I had no desire to seduce my old friend. Sure, we'd slept together before—that part had been true—but only once. And we were much better off as friends.

  On a whim I tried calling my father again, but it went straight to his voicemail. I didn't bother leaving a message. If he wanted to speak to me, he'd have called back by now.

  Trying to swallow past the bitter disappointment I felt toward the last remaining parent I had, I tucked my phone into my pocket and heade
d downstairs. After the stress of feeling constantly watched all day, I needed snacks.

  Just as I reached the bottom of the stairs, a familiar voice in the den made me stop in my tracks. Was that... my father?

  Curious and confused, I took two steps closer to the den and paused just outside, shielding myself behind a huge, antique vase full of lilies while I eavesdropped.

  His voice was muffled, on speakerphone by the sound of it, but I'd bet my left tit it was Samuel Danvers speaking—something that was confirmed moments later when his words became clearer.

  "...thought I'd handled that situation four fucking years ago," he snapped, the sound of seagulls and crashing waves in the background. "Last time that little shit put his hands on my daughter, I had him sent to Mantworth for two years. You're not seriously telling me he hasn't learned his lesson?"

  My blood turned to ice. He was talking about Dallas. My father was responsible for Dallas going to jail? How? Why? Dallas had been arrested in a stupid gang crime and taken the fall for whoever he was with at the time. His whole involvement in the Shadow Grove Wraiths was a major reason we'd fallen out in the first place... but could my father have had a hand in all of that?

  Outraged and blinded by anger, I stormed into the den to confront the guys—and my father—over what I'd just heard. But before I made it three steps into the room, Kody shot out of his seat on the couch and grabbed me, clapping a hand over my mouth to prevent me from saying anything—no sounds that would make my father aware I was listening.

  I thrashed in Kody's hold, but I was no match for Captain Fitness. He held me easily, lifting my feet from the ground and carrying me back to the sofa to sit down.

  Archer held the phone—of course—flat in his palm with the speaker cranked up loud for them all to hear. And for me to hear? Call me paranoid, but I was starting to see ghosts in every shadow.

  Steele had his elbows resting on his knees, and when I flicked a furious glance over him, his gaze ducked away. Feeling guilty? Probably. He had every reason to feel that way.

  Archer, though, met my gaze steadily and totally unflinchingly. He almost looked gleeful as he spoke to my father. My father. He'd been too busy to take my calls, too busy to even shoot me a message to say, "Will call you later," but not too busy to speak with Archer?

  "It certainly seems like he requires more incentive to stay away," Archer was saying, not giving even a hint that I was listening. "It's a shame; Madison Kate is having such a hard time readjusting into Shadow Grove, she could do with friends. We're just terribly concerned Dallas Moore is going to get her into trouble. You're aware, I'm sure, that he's a member of the Wraiths."

  "Of course I'm aware," my father spat, his voice like acid. "It's how I managed to get him locked up in the first place." He grunted an annoyed noise, and I swallowed to hold back the stinging tears of betrayal. Kody's arm around my waist wasn't as tight anymore, but he still wasn't letting me go. He wanted me to hear this. They wanted me to hear this and know what my father had done.

  "Leave it to me; I'll get him removed from Shadow Grove by the end of the week."

  My eyes widened, and I desperately tried to wrench myself out of Kody's grip. He held me firmly though—not for the first time, come to think of it—and all that could be heard of my protests were small, muffled squeaks. Nothing that my father would hear down the phone, at any rate.

  Archer held a single finger up in the air, warning me, telling me to calm the fuck down. It was scary how well I could read his intentions.

  "That won't be necessary, Samuel," Archer said after a moment's pause. His cold blue gaze held my eyes as he spoke, and the threat was crystal clear. "I'm sure we can talk sense into Madison Kate. Dallas won't be hanging around anymore."

  My father gave a disbelieving grunt. Archer's lips curved in a cruel smile, and he didn’t break eye contact with me for even a second.

  "Good luck with that," my father scoffed. "That girl is just like her useless fucking mother. All looks and no brains. Wouldn't know common sense if it came up and bit her right on the ass."

  This time I couldn't hold the burning pain inside. It spilled out in hot tears rolling down my cheeks. Not for myself—I couldn't care less what he thought of me—but hearing him speak of my mother like that... shocked didn't even begin to cover where I was at.

  Archer, though, didn't flinch, didn't look even a bit remorseful at what he'd drawn out of my father while I sat there listening and unable to retaliate.

  "Regardless, I think we have it handled," Archer reinforced, and I suppose he expected me to be grateful to him? Fucking bastard. I was going to destroy him.

  "I'm sure you do," my father laughed. "If that's everything, I have better things to be doing right now."

  "Not quite, Samuel," Steele said, and I jolted in Kody's grip. What fresh fuckery did they have now? Nothing good, judging by the regret in Steele's gaze as he looked at me. "Madison Kate has a stalker."

  I rolled my eyes. They were really pushing their fake-stalker story, even after I’d called them out on it? My father didn't appreciate dramatics or hysteria, so they were probably going to get a solid "Don't be stupid," followed by him hanging up.

  But instead, there was a long pause.

  "And?" My father's gruff voice finally cracked the silence.

  Steele's brows arched, and Kody breathed a hushed curse. Fuck, even Archer showed a flicker of surprise at that response.

  "This is old news, gentlemen. Just file the details in my office filing cabinet. There's a folder marked with her name." He sounded as casual as if he were giving a weather report. Oh, tomorrow looks like it might be sunny with intermittent showers of deranged stalker.

  Steele made a small sound of shock, his brow furrowing as he stared at the phone. "Samuel, are you saying we shouldn't report this to the police?" His voice held genuine disbelief, and suddenly I believed them. This wasn't a hoax.

  "Absolutely not!" my father barked. "It's some harmless crazy. He's been sending shit to the house for years; nothing ever comes of it. Just file the details and forget about it."

  Holy shit. Holy shit. This creep had been stalking me for years and my father knew about it? He knew and never said anything?

  "Hey, Princess," Kody's low tones in my ear shifted my attention. "You're freaking out. Deep breaths, okay?"

  Real fucking stellar advice when your hand is over my mouth, you donkey-fucking piece of shit.

  He must have realized what I was thinking, too, because he somehow adjusted his grip on me in a way that let him easily carry me out of the room. He didn't take his hand off my mouth until we reached his bedroom.

  Not that I would have made a noise. I was too busy freaking right the fuck out.

  He sat me down on the end of his bed and crouched in front of me, murmuring soothing words to help me calm down. I didn't need it, though. The second he got me out of the room—away from my father's voice—I was able to get a grip and calm myself down.

  I let him comfort me while mentally running myself through the meditation techniques Aunt Maria had tried to teach me. When I was sure I'd dragged myself out of the depths of panic once more, I batted his hand away from my hair.

  "I take it you're okay, now?" Kody sat back on his heels and arched a brow at me. "More's the pity; I was hoping I'd have the perfect moment to kiss you this time."

  I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Like you ever wait for the perfect moment to kiss a girl." I was thinking about that first day when I’d arrived back and was blindsided by my three new housemates. I'd almost fallen on my face and Kody had stolen a quick kiss after saving my ass.

  He cocked his head to the side, running his fingers through that bleached blond hair of his. I usually hated guys who put so much obvious effort into their appearance, but there was something so totally Kody about that hair.

  "Yeah, you know what? You might have a point." As if to deliberately prove me right, he sat forward, cupping a hand to the back of my neck and crushing his lips against mine.


  A startled squeak of surprise escaped me, but I was a slave to my baser desires. When Kody's mouth moved, his tongue parting my lips, I didn't stop him. Hell, I kissed him right back. For a moment, I shoved all the bullshit aside and let myself bask in the intoxicating warmth of desire and attraction.

  Then I slapped him.

  He touched his fingertips to his cheek, but the look in his eyes was all primal hunger. It spoke to some deep, dark slice of my soul, and that scared the crap out of me.

  "Guess I asked for that," he murmured before he dragged his tongue across his lower lip. A shudder ran through me as I imagined he was still tasting my kiss.

  I shot up off his bed—because that suddenly seemed way too tempting—and folded my arms. "You did that deliberately," I accused.

  "Kissing you?" he replied with a sly grin. "You fucking bet I did. I'd do it again too, if I didn't think you'd knee me in the balls."

  I glowered back and tried to ignore the flutter of excitement at his words.

  "I'm talking about that phone call. You knew I'd overhear. You wanted me to hear all of that shit. My—" My voice failed over the word father. How the fuck could my own father have said and done all those things? I felt like Dorothy when the curtain got ripped away. Except instead of a well-meaning scientist, I had a manipulative, bullying thug for a father.

  Kody nodded, at least having the grace not to try and deny it. "Yeah, we knew you'd hear some of that. Call it payback for the sausage-fest porn. It's lucky chicks dig a bit of MM or that could have really damaged my sex life."

  The idea that Kody still had a sex life turned my stomach, and I wasn't naive enough to think that wasn't jealousy talking.

  "You went too far," I replied and flinched at the raw vulnerability in my voice. I hadn't intended to let that out, but considering he'd just seen me almost melt down over my father's truth bombs, it was just... whatever.

  Kody gave a small nod, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He constantly looked like he'd just stepped out of an athletic-wear commercial. It was hot as hell and infuriating for the fact that I found it hot.