HATE ME: a bad boy romance novel
Page 1
HATE ME
Jaxson Kidman
Contents
Hey darlin’
Hate Me
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
From Jaxson…
About the Author
Hey darlin’, your favorite bad boy author is back… and I’ve brought a friend with me this time. The second you click and start reading, you’re entering the world of Mason. I cannot and will not be held responsible for anything you feel… because Mason only wants one thing from you: TO HATE HIM.
As always, darlin’, thank you for being a reader.
Jaxson
Stay social with me, darlin’ …
Newsletter (part of the Outlaw Romance Obsession team): http://eepurl.com/b9BDKb
Jaxson Kidman Facebook fan page: www.facebook.com/jaxsonkidman
Outlaw Romance Obsession Facebook fan page: www.facebook.com/karolynjamesauthor
St. Skin Facebook fan page: www.facebook.com/stskinseries
Hate Me
SHE WAS UNTOUCHED. UNTIL SHE MET ME. AND THEN I RUINED HER LIFE.
Hey, beautiful. My name is Mason and my job is one simple thing: I want you to HATE ME. I want you to hate this story. I want you to hate this book. I want you to leave a nasty review on this book. Actually, I dare you to do that.
This is the story of me being me and a beautiful, innocent woman named Violet who moved in next door to me. From the second I saw her I had to have her. But then she slipped up and confessed she had never been touched... that's when she became my ultimate obsession.
My name is Mason... and, beautiful, you really are going to hate me.
Prologue
I Hate Stupid Mason
(Mason)
My parents were dead. They were dead, and they were never going to come back. No matter how hard I squeezed my eyes shut. No matter how good I was. No matter how many mall Santas I visited, even the elves at the North Pole couldn’t bring them back.
They were gone.
Dead.
And nobody else understood what that meant.
They tried, but nobody really knew.
Tucker said he was sad when his dog - Trixie - died over the summer, but screw him. A dog was stupid. Four legs, big tongue, a stupid tail. Dumb animal got hit by a car.
My parents died in a car accident… so maybe they were just as dumb.
I squeezed my pencil tight as my hand started to shake.
The school made me stay home for a while. Then I had to go see doctors. They asked me questions. Wanted me to draw pictures. Wanted to play some board games that I never heard of before. Some weird dude on the edge of a couch with the sleeves of his sweater pushed up, trying to be my f-ing friend.
I had no friends. I didn’t need any friends. Video games were boring. Action figures broke too easily. Riding a bike? For what? To where? Around the block? Man, if I was going to leave on a bike, I was going to never come back.
I pressed the top of the pencil with my thumb.
It cracked, easily.
“Whoa,” a kid next to me said.
I looked at him. “What?”
“You’re really strong.”
“Damn right,” I said.
I loved cursing. I loved being strong. Strong meant I controlled things. And maybe I could get strong enough to control death. Keep it away from me. Or at least fight harder than my stupid parents did. Why’d they have to go out to the movies? They couldn’t have stayed home? Ordered pizza on Friday like we used to do? No. They needed a change. Mom used to say that to Dad. We need a change, Tom. Or we’re in trouble here.
“Give me another pencil,” I said to the kid next to me.
“I only have one.”
“Give me yours then. Or I’ll break your finger like I did my pencil.”
The kid’s face turned a deep red. He gave me the pencil.
I broke that one too.
Then I pushed the math test away.
Another F was coming my way.
F for failure, but I had another F word I liked better.
Everyone in the class was working hard on their math tests. But not me. Math couldn’t bring my parents back. Math couldn’t make things easier. Not a chance.
I wiggled in my chair, making the metal feet on my chair scrape against the floor. It squeaked just enough to be annoying. I knew how to do it so the teacher thought it was just someone adjusting in their seats.
The chirping kept going and going.
“Mason,” Mrs. Ritz said. “Are you feeling okay?”
I looked at her as she looked at me over the top of her glasses.
I didn’t like her. You know why? Even her parents were still alive. She was old and her parents were alive. I was young and my parents were gone.
When Mrs. Ritz set her sights back to the papers on her desk, I went back to work, wanting to annoy the entire class and make them all fail their math tests.
I felt something poke my back.
I ignored it.
I rolled my eyes.
I felt something poke my back again. This time, harder.
I turned around and looked at Becca. The class princess. The smarty pants. Her Dad was a lawyer and her Mom baked cookies all the time.
Becca put her pencil to her lips, telling me to shhh without making a sound. She had super blue eyes and messy blonde hair. She was super smart, knew everything in advance, and never got more than a single problem wrong on a test.
I made sure Mrs. Ritz wasn’t looking and I slowly lifted my middle finger. I put it to my lips and grinned.
Becca’s cheeks blushed.
I turned back around and called it quits for the moment. I put my head down to take a nap. I couldn’t sleep at night. Not since… well, you know. It was just hard to sleep. I was waiting to hear the rumble of the garage door opening. The slamming of the car door. The squeak of the door in the kitchen.
But those sounds were now (and forever) silent memories.
I felt something poke my back again.
I looked over my shoulder and Becca had a note for me.
I took it and opened it up.
In her perfect handwriting… I hate you, Mason.
It made me smile.
I’d always make it easy for the world to hate me.
1
New Business
(Mason)
The sun was getting ready to set and the lights were on in the pool. The lights changed color every few seconds. It was only a matter of time before people came home from their shit jobs and justify their shit lives by swimming in the pool.
For me, I was looking at a beautiful woman as she dipped her toe into the water as though she expected it to be cold.
Not in this weather, though. Living that beautiful west coast kind of life, a short ride to the beach, where seasons were marked
on a calendar and left for others to deal with.
“Come on,” I said.
“And you’ll do it too?”
“Abby, do I look like a liar to you?”
I grinned, knowing those cute cut dimples are showing. Everything about me screams wrong, bad, run-home-to-Daddy. But when I smiled, the dimples were like a sliver of a reminder of innocence. I used to hate those fucking dimples, but I quickly realized that no matter how much I lifted weights or how big and strong I got, the dimples would forever remain. So I created myself into this monster… with boyish dimples.
And the women ate that shit up.
Abby grabbed her hair and pulled it back. Her big tits pulled back, gently bouncing in her bikini top. Don’t worry, I’d already fucked her a few times. Rolling around in the sheets of a hotel room, making them dirty and sticky, just the way I liked it. She cried like a baby and her nails were like daggers in my back. Just another notch on the belt and a memory in the mind.
“Fine,” she said. “But as soon as I go, you go.”
“That’s how we work, babe,” I said with a wink.
I was at least nice enough to women to wait for their pleasure before my own. Then again, bringing a woman to orgasm was almost too easy. I had perfected the art, finding their secrets within seconds, exploring with my fingers, tongue, and my dick. With a dick like I had though, it wasn’t all that hard. Yeah, the first thrust was a little tricky, but after that, there was no escaping it. If I fucked you, you were going to come.
Abby bit her lip and smiled at me.
I met her in a club. She was dancing with her arms in the air, drink in one hand. I walked up behind her and slipped my hands around her body. She looked back at me, a look of shock on her face. I made my intentions very clear when I put my lips to her ear.
I’m going to make you hate me, babe…
And I always kept true to my word.
Abby reached back and opened the back of her top. She slid it forward and let it fall to the ground. She covered her tits with her arm though, still looking around.
“Keep going,” I said. “Don’t let me down, babe.”
She moved her hand and her tits were there in all their glory. Right against the sunset. She stripped the bottoms down, showing off her smooth body.
Goddamn.
She turned, showing me her slender back and small yet firm ass. I personally would have preferred something with a little more to hold onto and play with. But that didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to marry Abby. I wasn’t going to fall in love. She wasn’t going to get a key to my apartment. Fuck… I didn’t even like her that much. She was a good fuck and her lips tasted sweet when she drank some fruity cocktails.
Tonight - I was done with her.
She dove into the water, just like I wanted her to do.
She popped up and moved the hair out of her face. Her tits floated in front of her.
I stepped to the edge of the water and stared down at her.
I was in my black boots, jeans, a black t-shirt. On the back at the top was the logo to my custom motorcycle shop.
I reached into my pocket and took out my phone.
Abby thought I was doing that because I was going to jump into the pool. To be fair, I told her I would.
I pointed the phone at the pool.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I have a meeting,” I said.
“What?”
“Some new business.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Abby covered her tits.
Oh, now you have some grace…
I smiled. “What did you think this was?”
“You said…”
“I said you were going to hate me. Babe, this isn’t even my apartment building.”
“What?” she yelled.
“So I guess taking a picture isn’t okay with you?”
“Fuck yourself, Mason,” she yelled. “I fucking hate you.”
And there it was.
I took a small bow and then hooked her bikini with the tip of my right boot. I swung my foot and kicked the top and bottom into the water.
I kept my phone in my hand. I wasn’t going to take a picture of her naked. No need for that. I had the memory locked in my mind. I could just shut my eyes and picture her on her hands and knees, reaching back, sliding her fingers in and out of herself.
What I was doing was gently sliding my finger across the screen, texting Hunter, letting him know I’d be there in a few.
Abby splashed to her bikini and then splashed water at me.
I guess it was better than getting slapped across the face.
I turned and walked away.
“I fucking hate you, Mason. You’re a piece of shit.”
Sticks and stones…
I gave a quick wave as I smiled.
Playtime was over (for now).
It was time to do some business.
“This is what he was thinking,” Hunter said as he opened a folder on my desk.
Hunter was my righthand man, my best friend, the closest thing I had to a brother. When I decided to avoid jail time and open a business, Hunter was the only one who didn’t laugh at me. Well, he did laugh at me, but after I socked him in the jaw, he said he’d help me.
And now here we were, running RN Custom Rides, making tons of money, living something that resembled a dream.
“That’s quite the fleet,” I said as I mulled over the long line of motorcycles.
“He wants to start with two and then go from there.”
“And who the fuck is this guy?”
“Some investor,” Hunter said. “Wall Street guy that got bounced around during the recession. I guess he ate up a bunch of property cheap and then flipped it all. Cashed out in the millions and is now living his own dream.”
“Millions, huh?” I asked.
“That’s what you heard. Money.”
“What are my two favorite things, Hunter?”
“Money, pussy, and beer,” he said, winking, knowing my list was always three things.
I shut the folder and stood up. “I guess I should go meet him, huh?”
“Hey, Mason. He’s, uh, you know, a businessman.”
“And?”
“You’re in jeans and a t-shirt.”
“So?”
“You know…”
“I should wear a suit? As I try to sell my services as a motorcycle guy?”
“Not a suit,” Hunter said.
I waved Hunter off. “Don’t worry about it. If this guy wants the best, he’s got it right here. If not, fuck him. How’s your father?”
“Changing the subject?”
“I always ask about your father.”
“I always say the same thing,” Hunter said.
“So we just keep bullshitting each other then.”
“Exactly. I’m going to go check on some orders and close up. I’ll be down at Petey’s watching the hockey game.”
“I’ll be at some fucking restaurant, selling my soul for money.”
“Good luck, brother.”
“Same to you,” I said.
Hunter was like me. At least when it came to women. Attachment was an extension of attraction and that shit was what put men into suburban houses with white fences and leases on minivans. Fighting with the lawnmower on a Saturday, waiting to drink beer and watch some chick flick, only after putting their kids to bed.
All that shit passed by a long time ago for me.
Hunter shut the office door. I looked around. The place was crawling with some of the custom work I had done. Some of the craziest looking rides in the world. There wasn’t a challenge I wouldn’t take on.
I pushed back in my chair and opened my desk drawer. There was a bottle of whiskey and a mirror. My fingers grazed the bottle of whiskey and I skipped it. I grabbed the mirror instead. I propped it up on my desk and looked around as though someone could see me through the walls.
Slowly, I pulled up my shirt.
I pulled my shirt to my chin. It looked like I was flashing the mirror.
Across my heart was a tattoo.
A date.
I ran my right hand across the ink as if it were bubbly, which it wasn’t.
It was a small tattoo, but a big goddamn reminder.
Another reason why I’d never settle with a woman.
I had my one shot… and it got all fucked up.
2
Raw Chicken
(Violet)
“Hey, Purple, you having a smoke or what?”
I stepped out of the backdoor of the restaurant. Two kitchen people and two of the wait staff were on their breaks. All four smoking like chimneys, competing to see who could suck down the most cigarettes in fifteen minutes.
Bindy waved his pack of smokes at me.
I waved back. “No thanks.”
“Come on, Purple, it’ll ease you down a little.”
“Don’t mess with Violet,” Annie said. “She’s big time now. App developer. Software geek. Millionaire in the making.”
“Fashion diva,” Darlene said as she snapped her fingers.
“Hardly,” I said and pointed to the white shirt tucked into black pants. “My hair is greasy, I smell like grease, and if I had a million dollars I wouldn’t be here.”
“I said in the making,” Annie said.
“So, when’s the big launch?” Bobby, the sous chef, asked.
“Not for a while,” I said. “Victoria and I have a lot to work on still. We just got some investors, that’s all. She’s the fashion person, not me.”
It seemed like a lifetime ago when Victoria and I drank too much chocolate vodka and decided to start a business together. She came up with ideas and I came up with the app for them. The first couple weren’t great ideas, but they got our feet wet. But this new one, a fashion app, started to take off. Victoria was good with drawing and loved clothes. Me, I was just basically a geek, which was fine. I grew up playing with computers instead of boys. Perfect for my parents as they never had to really experience the typical teenage years heart attack stuff, but not so much for me.