Hate Me

by LP Lovell

  “Good.” He takes his gun from the holster at his chest and hands it to me, taking the rifle. “Now this one.” I stare at him for a second. “Rifles are easier but harder to carry,” he explains. “Stand like this.” He grabs my hips and maneuvers me until my back is pressed to his chest again. A fissure of unease attempts to rise as he pulls my ass flush to him, but it quickly dissipates when his hand gently wraps around my waist. His thumb strokes circles over my hip almost absentmindedly as he speaks. “Now, this is harder because the gun has more kickback. Don’t fight it.” He pulls both my arms up in front of me. “Both hands, like this.” He positions my hands, and then his fingers trail down my arms. “Take the safety off, and then do the same as before. Breathe in, out, then pull the trigger.”

  I do as he says and the loud bang echoes around the barn deafeningly. This time the bullet careens off, hitting the wall somewhere behind with a spark of metal. “What…”

  “You fought it,” he says. “Some things, Anna, are too forceful. You can’t fight it. You can only accept it and adjust accordingly.” I’m not sure we’re talking about shooting anymore.

  I swallow hard. “How do I adjust?”

  He smiles and strokes a strand of my hair away from my face. “You predict the outcome.”

  My skin tingles under his touch, and I feel blood creeping into my cheeks.

  “I know nothing about dangerous weapons. How can I possibly predict them?” He moves behind me again and grabs my hips, pressing his cheek to mine.

  “Practice, little warrior.”

  We stay in the barn for hours until I manage to consistently hit within the first three rings of the bull’s eye. I’m pretty sure it’s mostly fluke, but I’ll take it.

  “Good,” Rafael finally says. I slide the clip out the bottom of his gun and reload it before handing it back to him with the safety on.

  “Wouldn’t want you getting caught with no bullets.” I smile as I look up at him, but quickly drop my gaze.

  His finger lands under my chin, and he forces me to look at him. His dark brows are slanted in a frown, his lips pressed together. He’s so cold but so beautiful. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Look away from me like you’re scared of me.”

  “I’m not scared of you.”

  “Lies.” His lips quirk, his eyes falling to my lips. His thumb strokes the length of my jaw. “You don’t need to fear me, little warrior. Not many can say that.”

  “You do scare me,” I admit, my mouth going dry. He steps closer, so close that my chest brushes his stomach. He cups my face in both hands and touches his forehead to mine. “But not for the reasons you think,” I whisper. It’s because of this right here. This pull he has over me, the inherent want to be near him because he feels like the only safe haven in an apocalyptic world. Because when I’m with him, I don’t need to be quite so strong.

  He pulls back slightly and stares at me. I get lost in his gaze until I feel like I’m drowning in it, consumed by it, protected and possessed under its dark depths. And then his lips are on mine. The softest of brushes. My body tenses for a second and my mind grapples with itself, but he strokes my face so gently, it soothes my panicked heart. He holds me and kisses me like I’m something precious and breakable, something treasured.

  When he pulls away, I can barely breathe. “Never fear me, Anna.” He presses his lips to my forehead once, and then he’s turning away. I watch him stalk from the barn with his scent still clinging to me, and my lips tingling from his kiss. No, I’m not scared of him. I’m scared that he of all people might ruin me because he makes my heart hope in spite of my head and hope will break me. Hope is all I have left, the last piece I have to give.

  I’m playing a deadly game, and Rafael D’Cruze might destroy me where hundreds before him have failed.

  Twenty-One

  Anna

  I leave the barn and decide to keep going, away from the house, farther onto Rafael’s property. The grass is so long that it kisses my fingers as I make my way through it. The sun beats down on me, and I can almost feel it heating my soul, reaching inside and caressing the coldest parts of me. There’s not a person in sight and the farther I go, the freer I feel. But you’re not free. I grit my teeth and try to focus on something other than the cruel voices twisting my mind. He kissed you. He wants you. Just like all the others. Only the others never kissed me. Not like that.

  I stomp through the grass, my crutches clicking along, as though I can outrun my past, outrun all the ugly truths and doubts that constantly linger on the edge of my mind. I fear hope, and yet I want it, I want to embrace it with open arms. I want to allow myself to hope that Rafael may be the man who will actually help me. The thing about hope is the outcome is irrelevant; it’s the thrill of the possibility that brings a simple joy. I just want to experience something good, no matter how short a time that might be for.

  The long grass comes to an abrupt end, and I walk into a fence. I look down at the timber post and rail fencing that divides the long grass from shorter grass beyond. The fence stretches far to my left, hooking over a hill. To my right, it runs until it meets with the high metal wall that surrounds the entire property.

  I hear a low rumble—the pounding of feet before two horses charge over the hill and trot over to me. They slow, and I smile as the white one approaches, pressing its chest to the fence and sniffing at me. Its friend isn’t as brave. I stroke my fingers over the silky fur of the horse’s face. Whose horses are these? Surely not Rafael’s? I’ve never seen a horse in real life, never touched one. There’s something about the way it seeks out my attention, careful and yet courageous. The horse is strong and yet flighty. Powerful and yet vulnerable. I smooth its mane away from its neck and stroke over the sleek muscles. The horse remains on the other side of the fence, watching me as though I were the most interesting thing in the world. The sun is reaching high into the sky before I finally reluctantly turn away and make my way back to the house.

  Most of the cars are missing from the driveway, and I know enough by now to know that means Rafael is out, handling business. I slip through the front door and up the stairs without being seen by anyone. Stripping out of my dusty clothes, I step into the bathroom and get in the shower. The hot water washes away the scent of dirt, horse, and gunpowder that seems to linger on my skin.

  When I’m done and clothed in a little summer dress, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare through the balcony doors for a moment. A couple of weeks ago, I didn’t like leaving this room. Now though, I find myself wanting to throw caution to the wind. I love being outside, the sound of birds singing and crickets chirping, the sun on my skin, grass beneath my feet. I love the smell of the flowers in the gardens, even the feel of the desert dust sweeping on the wind and brushing my exposed flesh. All of it is so foreign to me that each tiny act feels like its own miracle.

  Without further thought, I stand up, grab my crutches and limp out of the door. I move quietly through the house until I make it to the back door and slip outside again, heading for the gardens. The grass is wet from the sprinklers that arch around, catching the sunlight and transforming into rainbows, stretching across the flowerbeds full of roses.

  I go farther into the gardens, moving around the pond and through the hedge on the other side. Eventually, I come to a circular clearing with a sundial in the middle. I lie down on the grass and close my eyes, smiling to myself.

  I jolt awake at the sound of my name being called. Darkness. I’m surrounded by darkness, and cool grass caresses the skin beneath my bare legs. I’m in the garden. I must have fallen asleep.

  “Anna!” I frown. Rafael? I push to my feet just as a figure passes the hedge line and walks into the clearing. “Are you fucking deaf?” He storms over to me and instinct has me wanting to flinch back, but instead, I stand my ground, feeling the icy drain of my emotions as they flee my consciousness. In the darkness, Rafael looks ominous, but with the anger pouring off him, he’s downright dea
dly.

  “No.”

  He groans, and I lift my eyes, watching him turn his back and drags both hands through his hair. He storms over to me and stops so close that I can feel the heat of his body. Fisting his hand in my hair, he wrenches my head back. My body goes limp, pliant, retreating. I used to get angry with myself after they fucked me. I used to hate my submission, but then I realized, it’s not submission, it’s preservation. The mind is powerful but once broken it cannot be healed, whereas the body can break over and over again. This isn’t submission—it’s retreat. After all, I could never save my body, but my mind saved itself.

  Rafael stares at me, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “No one’s seen you since this morning. Where were you?”

  “Here.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut, and his brows draw together. The grip on my hair tightens as he pulls me closer until I’m plastered against him. “I thought…”

  “You thought what?” I ask coldly. “How would I escape? Where would I go?”

  His eyes flash open, and he glares at me.

  “I thought he’d taken you,” he growls. His words force some awareness to creep back to the surface, and I frown as a sinking feeling of guilt settles in my stomach. Silence reigns between us, and I can hear each heavy breath that leaves his lips, feel the pounding of his heart against my chest, or maybe that’s just my own heartbeat.

  His eyes harden, and I see the exact moment that he’s done with this conversation. Releasing me, he takes a slow step back, his gaze flicking to my exposed legs. “Wear more clothes. This isn’t a whore house,” he snaps.

  Our eyes remain locked for a moment, and then he turns his back on me and walks back the way he came. I hate him, and I need him. When did he start to feel like the hero and the villain?

  A rustling in the bushes has my head lurching to the side. Lucas stumbles onto the lawn, holding his hands up. “Just me,” he says.

  “Hey.”

  “He doesn’t mean it,” he says sheepishly. I love that he’s trying to make me feel better, but honestly, there’s nothing Rafael could say that would bother me. Maybe a normal person would be hurt, but I’m not a normal girl. Nowhere near. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”

  I wake up to the brush of rough fingers over my arm. Goosebumps erupt over my skin, and I blink my eyes open. I can’t see anything in the darkness, but I instinctively sense Rafael simply by the fact that I don’t feel threatened. Rolling over, I seek out his warmth, like a homing beacon calling me to him.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper, groggily.

  His large hand slides over my waist. “I told you, keeping the monsters away.” That’s what he said last night.

  “You don’t have to—“

  “Shh, go to sleep, avecita.” He pulls me closer, and I press my face into his throat, inhaling the distinct smell of him. Citrus, cigars, and warmth like the smell of the desert sand under a red-hot sun.

  His breaths fall evenly. The slow beat of his heart a soothing rhythm that lulls me to sleep. And when I close my eyes and drift away, the nightmares don’t come, as though he can physically protect me from my own demons.

  When I wake up in the morning, he’s gone, but left on the pillow is a huge blood-red rose, freshly cut from the garden. A gift. I pick it up, and the thorns slice open my skin. Some may take it for a romantic notion, but it’s more than that. I love the roses, but I also love how deceptively pretty they are while donning such sharp thorns. A contradiction. Beautifully strong.

  He left it for me, and it makes me smile. It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.

  Twenty-Two

  Rafael

  I swipe my hand down my face as I make my way up my front steps. The sun is already dropping below the horizon. My warehouse is a fucking shambles because, of course, when Dominges’ mercenaries went for Anna, they blew up the warehouse to distract me. This is the cartel. It happens, and we’re ready for it. I’m moving everything to a more secure location, but it takes work, planning. I’d usually just leave Samuel to deal with it all, but when I woke up next to Anna this morning, her soft breaths on my skin and my dick plastered against the front of my boxers, I needed to get out of the house. On top of that shit in the garden last night…she’s making me unhinged, and I can’t fucking afford to be.

  The front door swings open and Carlos walks out. “Boss.” He moves past me, heading down the steps. “I have some business in town.” With Carlos that could be anything from gangs to one of his baby-mamas. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “Anna is in the games room with my brother.” A smug grin pulls at his lips, and I glare at him. Laughter follows him as he rounds the corner of the house towards his bike. Prick.

  When I walk inside, I go to the office and pour myself a drink. The liquor burns as it makes its way down my throat and settles in my gut. Tension clings to me like a second skin. My mind flits between business, Anna, Dominges, Nero and back again. There’s too much I don’t know, and too much that’s seemingly very hard to find out. Carlos has been looking for information on her for weeks, and he can’t find shit. Anna Vasiliev, orphaned at the age of five, placed in an orphanage with her sister, Una Vasiliev. Both of the girls’ records cut off when they’re thirteen, assumedly at the point where they were both sold. It’s as though they just ceased to exist from that point on. I suppose in essence, Anna doesn’t really exist, not in the real world. It’s why girls like her are so easy to take—they just slip under the radar.

  The problem I have is that I don’t even know who or what she is, and neither does she. And yet the little warrior has this power over me, try as I might to fight it, I can’t, and she’s fast becoming a pretty little distraction. I want to know every sordid detail, every dark secret, and every sad little dream she has. I want to break her, crack that hard shell wide open and expose all the horrors beneath just so I can put her back together again. And all of it pisses me off because it makes me weak.

  I sit there at my desk, reading over the same set of figures at least ten times before I toss them to the side with a groan. Leaving the office, I head towards the kitchen, but I pause in the hallway, tilting my head to the side when I hear…there it is again, the tinkling, almost musical, sound of laughter. I follow the sound to the games room.

  Anna is leaning over the pool table, laughing as Lucas attempts to place her hands on the pool cue and line up her shot. “Look, you just have to…” His body lingers too close to hers, even though he makes a clear attempt not to press against her.

  “You’re making it worse.”

  “Just hold it properly. You can bend your arm, you know?”

  She snorts. “I’ve never done it before.”

  “I can tell.” He laughs. “Just,” he takes her wrist and slides it down the wood. “There, and look down the length of the cue.”

  “You mean the stick?”

  He groans. “You’re impossible.”

  That smile…she could light up the world with it. She shifts, leaning closer to the table. She’s wearing another summer dress, not as short as the one she had on yesterday, but as she bends over, the hem rides up her thighs, threatening to brush her ass. Lucas steps back and of course, he fucking looks before he turns away, blushing and flapping. That’s when he spots me. His eyes widen, his mouth opening and then closing rapidly.

  “Boss,” he squeaks. “We were just…”

  “Lucas, you can go.”

  He nods and quickly hurries to the door. I step aside, allowing him to leave.

  Anna places the pool cue down and props her hip against the table, folding her arms over her chest. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the little warrior was giving me attitude. “You don’t have to be so…” She waves a hand through the air, at a loss for a word.

  I move into the room, inching closer as though gravity itself were pulling me. “So, what, avecita?”

  “Rude.”

  I fight a smile and cock a brow. “Rude?” I come to a halt
in front of her, so close that there’s barely an inch of space between us. She doesn’t back away, and I clench my fist at my side so I don’t touch her.

  She tilts her head back and glares up at me. “Yes,” she says quietly.

  “To Lucas?” My hand lands on her hip, gliding down to the hem of her dress before caressing the bare silky skin of her thigh. Her breath catches in surprise, and I force my hand away, clenching my jaw. Fuck. “Or because I come in here and find you with young Lucas, bent over the pool table in another short fucking dress?” I wouldn’t mind if it were me she was in here with, but then, I’d have probably had her sprawled on that table long before any game was finished.

  “Why should it concern you? I’m just the whore you have to babysit, right?” She’s angry, and I crave the sound of the laughter I heard only moments before. But that wasn’t for me.

  “I’d prefer you don’t act like a whore in my house,” I snap. My rage crackles through the air like a whip, and I expect her to flinch back. She doesn’t. “Lucas is here to guard you, nothing else.”

  A high -pitched laugh slips from her lips. “You think, Lucas…” She shakes her head. “He’s not like that.”

  I close the tiny bit of space between us and wrap my hand around her jaw, tilting her head to the side. The creamy length of her neck stretches before me, so fucking tempting. “We’re all like that,” I say right next to her ear.

  “Even you?” she pushes.

  My hand slips from her jaw to the back of her neck where I yank her tight against me. Soft to hard, light to dark. Her scent invades every sense I have, and I lean in, skimming my lips over her jaw. “Oh, avecita, especially me.”