Hate Me

by LP Lovell

  “Hey,” I finally say.

  “Hello, avecita.”

  He sits on the edge of the wall next to me, keeping his back to the pond. He braces his elbows on his spread knees, the cigar clasped between his fingers. In the daytime, he’s always dressed in suits, but tonight he has on jeans and a tight t-shirt. I’m not sure which makes him more dangerous. His muscles strain against the material of his black t-shirt, and I know he could hurt me so easily. Tattoos cover his arms and hands, making him look dark and deadly. His head tips forward as he lifts the cigar to his lips. A strand of hair falls forward over his forehead, and I have the strange urge to brush it away.

  We say nothing, and this is often all he does. He just sits and doesn’t speak.

  He exudes this confidence, this absolute certainty in himself, and I envy him for it. He’s a walking contradiction, the cartel boss that comes and sits with the whore for no reason. The man who wears a suit, yet can’t hide the gang tattoos that crawl over his skin. A man who will sell drugs to teenagers, but refuses to sell women.

  “Why do you come out here?” I finally ask.

  He twists his face towards me, a small smile curling the corner of his lips. “The same reason you do.”

  I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Because you hate people?” I look up, smiling tentatively before I focus on the fish again.

  “You don’t hate them. You just don’t trust anyone.” He lifts the cigar to his lips and inhales one last time before tossing it to the ground. “You’ve experienced too much, seen too much, and it’s altered your perception. You know you can survive the worst humanity has to offer.” He reaches out and pinches a strand of my hair between his fingers. I hold my breath as those dark eyes collide with mine. “It makes you detached, fearless even.”

  “What if surviving is what I fear?”

  A small smile touches his lips, and his fingers brush over my jaw. My skin tingles under his soft caress as he strokes my hair away from my neck and brings his lips to my ear. I close my eyes, my heartbeat rising as his breath stirs the strands of my hair. “Then live, avecita.” And then he’s gone, and the air around me suddenly feels cold. When I open my eyes, he’s walking away, his form slipping into the shadows until he disappears from view.

  I pull against the chains binding my wrists above me. My skin is rubbed raw, my arms coated in old, dried blood. I shiver as the cold air touches my bare skin, and I try to pull my knees to my chest, but it’s pointless. Ava is across from me, chained to the opposite wall. I want to cry, but I can’t. I’ve cried all the tears I have.

  Ava’s head rolls to the side—dark, tangled hair spilling over her bruised and battered face. She’s been unconscious for too long.

  “Ava,” I whisper. “Ava.”

  There’s a loud bang as the bolt on the door slides back before it swings open. And then the master walks in, two more men behind him. A sick smile twists his lips as he drags his eyes over my naked body.

  “You see what you made me do, Amado.” He gestures towards Ava, and I focus on her face. Both of her eyes are swollen shut, her nose is broken, and her lip is split wide open. Her thighs are coated in blood and bruises cover her naked body. I bite my lip as tears prickle at my eyes.

  He strolls over to me and trails a hand from my bloodied wrists, down my arms, and over my naked breasts. “All of this belongs to me. Everything you are, everything you will ever be,” he hisses against my neck. “You are mine!” I squeeze my eyes shut waiting for the blows I know will come. “And you would deny me?” He strokes over my face. “I thought you loved me, Amado? But no matter. You will learn.” He snaps his fingers. “Uncuff her.”

  One of his men releases my cuffs, and I sag, struggling to remain standing. My ribs are broken, my skin covered in open bleeding welts that pull and split with every movement, sending fresh waves of blood over my body. He walks over to me and takes out a knife, placing it in my hand. I stare at it, completely confused.

  “You brought this on yourself.” His hot breath touches my neck, and I fight the bile rising in my throat. “All you had to do was scream for me. So learn this lesson and learn it well. If you don’t do what I want, then another will, and after I am done with her, I will make you kill her.” His hand wraps around my throat. “Over and over, until I break you.”

  My hand starts to shake and cold sweat prickles over the back of my neck. “No. Please.” I never beg him, but I can’t kill her.

  He grins, and he knows he has me. Leaning in, he sweeps my hair from my neck, bringing his lips to my ear. “You will kill her, or I will fuck you with your favorite objects right here in front of everyone.” Icy fear grips me. The master has toys that will stretch and tear until the pain is unbearable. “She will die either way.”

  I approach my friend. Tears streak down my face and my heart pounds frantically in my chest. She’s going to die anyway. They’ll make it so much worse for her. My hand trembles as I lift the knife, pressing it to the skin of her throat. I don’t even know how to make this quick for her.

  “One,” the master calls. “Two.” If he gets to three… With a ragged cry, I drag the blade over the side of her throat, watching as her neck opens like a tap. Blood rushes down her throat, coating her naked body. Ava’s body jerks for a few seconds before she slumps forward in her chains. I scream.

  I’m torn from sleep by a loud bang as the bedroom door flies open. I squint against the bright light and find Lucas standing in the doorway looking at me. My chest heaves, and I swipe at the tears streaming down my face. The nightmare clings to me like a blanket of despair, one of the worst memories I have. I press my hand over my mouth to try and quiet the sobs leaving my lips.

  “Anna,” he stammers awkwardly. “Are you okay?” All I can hear is my own ragged breaths as tension cuts through me. “That sounded worse than normal.”

  Footsteps fall across the floor, and then all the air seems to get sucked from the room. “Leave!” Rafael.

  The door clicks shut as Lucas leaves, and then Rafael is striding over to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight before he’s cupping my face, both thumbs wiping away my tears. “Anna.”

  “I’m sorry,” I choke. I’m trying to pull myself together, but his soft touch makes me all the more vulnerable.

  “I thought someone was trying to kill you.” He huffs a small laugh.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you.” God, I don’t want him to see this, and yet I crave the unyielding sense of security that I have when he’s near as if nothing can touch me, not even my own memories.

  “Shit.” He shakes his head and huffs out a breath. “No one apologizes for having a nightmare, Anna.”

  “Probably because no one you know has nightmares,” I mumble, absentmindedly twisting a piece of hair around my finger.

  “I’d say that requires a conscience.”

  “I’d say that you have one.” Does he? I’ve repeatedly told myself that he’s bad, but the more I learn about him, the harder it is to believe. Especially when he’s looking at me like he’d slay every demon I have if he could.

  He snorts. “You’d be wrong.”

  “And yet here you are, coming to the aid of a sobbing whore.” My words are almost mocking because the irony is a bitter one.

  His jaw clenches and his eyes flash with something volatile. “You are not a whore,” he growls.

  I watch him for a moment as the muscle in his jaw ticks. “Why does it upset you?” I whisper, confusion riding me. He’s like a puzzle I cannot figure out. A constant contradiction.

  “You are not a whore,” he repeats. I say nothing, waiting until the tension in his muscles dissipates. “You should sleep.”

  “I was trying.”

  “Are you getting smart with me?” He smirks.

  “No.”

  “Do you want some sleeping pills?”

  I shake my head. “I stopped taking them.”

  “Why?”

  I inhale a sharp breath. “I don’t want to be helpless and
caught unaware if anything happens.”

  He goes rigid tense again, his warm palm cupping my cheek. “No one can get in my house. No one will touch you.” But they did once. The last thing I want to be is helpless. “Lucas is right outside the door.” Lucas doesn’t make me feel safe though, not truly. His eyes search mine. “You don’t feel safe?”

  I chew my bottom lip, staring into those dark, dangerous eyes, liking the way his warm skin feels against mine. Soothing, protective. “I do now,” I whisper, like a shameful confession.

  With a heavy sigh, he moves, getting on the bed next to me and leaning back against the pillows.

  “What are—“

  “Sleep, Anna. I’ll keep the monsters away.”

  Nineteen

  Rafael

  I should leave, but I couldn’t if I tried. I’m angry. I’m angry at the fact that someone has put those nightmares in her head and that she feels the need to apologize for them. I’m pissed that those fuckers took her from my house and now she doesn’t feel safe here. I hate that she looks at me like I’m the monster under the bed and her possible salvation at the same time. But most of all I’m angry that I’m here, that I can’t seem to stop myself from caring, that her pain cracks me wide open. She makes me want to bleed for her.

  I glance down at her tucked against my side, her fingers clutching at my shirt as if I’ll disappear at any moment. Her blonde hair sprawls over the pillow, and she looks so small, so damn breakable. The scent of her surrounds me—raspberry shampoo and a trace of night Jasmine.

  I have no fucking idea what I’m doing anymore. She’s this perfect balance of pure innocence and the most depraved darkness, drawing me in. I want to both cure her of the taint on her soul and corrupt it so entirely that she’s just as blackened as I am. Yes, little Anna Vasiliev is unrivaled beauty covered in the scars of brutal war. She’s learned to survive in the dark, caged, her wings clipped. Now, I want to set her free.

  I lean over and open the drawer of the bedside table, taking out a remote. I press a button, and a TV glides out from the footboard of the bed. She lifts her head, watching it.

  “What is that?”

  “A TV. You didn’t know that was there?” She shakes her head. I have a feeling that even if she had, she wouldn’t have used it. I scroll through the channels until I find a film. Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I don’t care, as long as I don’t have to watch some chick flick bullshit.

  I don’t see or hear the film. I’m acutely aware of Anna against me, every tiny movement, each staggered breath.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asks so quietly that I barely hear her.

  I inhale a deep breath. “I don’t know.” It’s the truth. I can’t explain this to myself, let alone her. I can’t tell her that I want her because I know I shouldn’t. It’s fucked up.

  She leans on her elbow. “Well, thank you.” She kisses my cheek, her soft lips lingering on my skin for only the briefest of seconds before she quickly ducks her head and lies down again. I have to bite back a groan. How does she make such a tiny, innocent act feel like she just offered me everything?

  At some point I must have fallen asleep because when I wake up, the room is dark, illuminated only by the blue glow of the television. My neck aches from sleeping at a strange angle, and I roll over onto my side.

  “Hey,” Anna says. She’s lying on her side, a small smile on her lips as she watches me. Her hand comes to rest against my chest, and my skin heats under her touch.

  She seems quieter, less troubled, but she gnaws on her bottom lip and without thinking, I reach out and pull it from her teeth. “You’ll make yourself bleed,” I say quickly. She drops her eyes away from mine, focusing on her hand on my chest. “What’s wrong?”

  She remains silent, and I sigh, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I need to leave. Sleeping in her bed is such a bad idea because if I’m honest, I’m not totally sure I trust myself with her. It makes me a predator of the worst kind, and Anna will never be ready for that.

  “Wait,” she says. I glance over my shoulder at her small form buried in all the pillows of the enormous bed. The blue screen of the television lights her face. “That film…” She hesitates, tucking her hair behind her ear and gnawing on her bottom lip again. My eyes track the movement, watching her pearly teeth glide over the plump flesh. “Could…could you teach me how to shoot a gun?” She says the last part in a rush, and I cock a brow at her. Even under the blue light, I can see her cheeks tinge pink. “Properly, I mean. On my own.”

  “Why?” I already know why, but I want to hear her say it. She sits up, and the covers fall away from her chest, exposing the little tank top she’s wearing. She shrugs one slim shoulder, allowing her hair to fall forward over her face. “Tell me why, Anna.” I round the bed, watching her the entire time until I come to a stop beside her. Her gaze lifts to mine, her eyes soft, and her expression vulnerable. I lean forward and grip her jaw, tilting her head back. Her lips part and her breath washes over my face. “Say the words, avecita.”

  She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. I wait for the slight blooming flower to close up her petals, to retreat back into herself, but she doesn’t. Something unfurls, crackling between us until my pulse rises steadily.

  “I don’t want to be weak anymore,” she whispers.

  My eyes drop to her mouth, and I swipe my thumb gently over her bottom lip, making her breath catch. “Ah, little warrior, you are far from weak.”

  “Please,” she says. And fuck, that tiny, pleading note in her voice goes straight to my dick. I drag the corner of her lip down before forcing myself to release her.

  “Tomorrow morning,” I say, my voice gruff. I have shit to do tomorrow morning, but nothing could be more important than this right now. I want to place a gun in her hand and watch her take control of her life. I want to watch the broken little bird become the warrior I know she can be, and she will. If I can do nothing else for her, at least I can do this.

  Twenty

  Anna

  I take a deep breath, inhaling the smell of coffee wafting from within the kitchen. Stepping inside, I go to the coffee machine. Maria is already cooking, humming to herself under her breath.

  In my periphery, I see Rafael sitting at the breakfast bar, but I’m not ready to look at him. He slept in the bed with me. He stayed to make me feel safe. I can feel his gaze burning into me, and my stomach coils tightly in response. I make a cup of coffee and take a seat across the bar from him before finally steeling myself and lifting my gaze to his.

  He clasps a mug in front of him, both his large hands wrapped around it, his elbows braced on the counter. I notice the way his suit jacket strains over his bunched biceps and his shirt buttons pull slightly beneath his wide chest. I force myself to look away, and he huffs a low laugh.

  “Ah, avecita, you continue to surprise me.”

  I look up at him beneath my lashes. His eyes flash with something dark, something I recognize all too well: desire. I’m not sure if it’s unnerving or settling that he finally seems…human. “You said you’d teach me to shoot.”

  He smirks and places his coffee down, reaching inside his jacket. He pulls out a gun and places it on the counter in front of him.

  “No guns on the table!” Maria flicks him with a dishcloth, and he rolls his eyes before standing and walking to the door, gun in hand, oozing that casual power with every step. Even if you didn’t know who Rafael was, you’d guess he was important just from the way he moves.

  He pauses and glances over his shoulder at me. “Well?” He walks off without waiting for a response. I hop off the bar stool, hurrying to grab my crutches and follow. Men move out of his way, murmuring greetings as he passes them. No one pays me any attention as we leave the house, walking out into the gardens. Beyond the tall, perfectly cropped hedges, there’s a building. It looks like a barn, with wooden sides, and a corrugated metal roof. Rafael grabs the handle of one of the enormous doors and slides it along its
runners. He moves to the side, and I hear the click of several switches, eliciting a low buzz as a row of lights thrum to life above us. Holy shit. It’s like some kind of weapons vault in here. Along the right-hand side are cages filled with racks of rifles and handguns.

  “You have enough for an army,” I breathe.

  He unlocks a cage and takes out a rifle, snapping something on it into place. “Exactly.” He looks up at me, those dark eyes predatory and calculating.

  He hands me the rifle, and I carefully take it from him, wrapping my fingers around the cool metal of the barrel. A knowing smile crosses his face as his fingers brush mine. He points to the far end of the barn, and I look up at a target shaped like a person. Taking a remote from his pocket, he presses a button. The target glides closer until I can see the bull’s eye printed on it.

  “Well, go on,” he says with a flourish of his hand. I take a shaky breath and raise the gun. “Stop.” I freeze, and he moves closer, repositioning my hands on the gun. “Place the butt to your shoulder. Focus down the sights.” I do as he says and he positions himself behind me, around me. I’m reminded of the room of death in his basement, the way his body held mine as I shot a man. His body presses against mine once again, and my breath hitches. I wait for a sense of fear or disgust to rear its head, but it never comes. My heart pitter-patters a curious tune, tentative and anxious, yet wanting.

  Calloused fingers slide over my own. “Flick the safety off.” His voice is a low rumble that sends warm air rushing over my neck, and I involuntarily tilt my head to the side. His thumb moves the small switch beneath mine. “Take a deep breath.” The words send goosebumps racing down my arms. His lips brush the point just below my ear. “Focus on the target. Then exhale and pull the trigger.” He slowly pulls away from me, and I feel suddenly cold without his touch. I never thought I would think that about any man. Pulling myself together, I focus, staring down the sight at the target in front of me. I exhale a long breath and pull the trigger. The gun explodes, sending a jolt into my shoulder and making my ears ring. I lower it and look at the target. There’s a neat hole to the left-hand side on the outer ring of the bull’s eye.