Hate F*@k: The Complete Story

by Ainsley Booth

  “Yes.” I smile through my tears, vibrant relief coursing through my entire body. This is happiness. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes.”

  He surges to his feet, picking me up and spinning me around as I wrap my arms around his neck, the diamonds squeezed tight in my hand. “Really?”

  “Yes!” I lay a big, smacking kiss on his cheek. “Did you doubt?”

  “Well, not when I was putting a bid in on the condo, but then…” He slows to a stop and lowers me to my feet, his gaze searching my face for some kind of confirmation. “It’s hard to imagine you can see a future with me.”

  “Oh, baby.” I pull him in for a slower, sexier, hungrier kiss. His hands skate over my hips and up my back, and I want to touch him, too. “Where can I put these blingy rocks?”

  “I was thinking a ring, but…”

  I laugh and twist out of his arms. “I meant right now.” I carefully put them in the middle of the kitchen island, then turn around. Cole’s right there, looming over me. “They’re beautiful.”

  “Like you.” He’s staring at me like he can’t believe his good luck.

  I loop my fingers through his belt and slide our bodies together. “That right there. That’s why I see a future with you. Forever with you. Because you see the best in me, always.”

  “I could say the same thing,” he says gruffly as I move up his body, getting in some gratuitous groping of my fiancé before kissing him again.

  We both deserved more, and now we finally have it. I can’t be all poor me about my life, but I shouldn’t be the first person to love Cole unconditionally.

  That’s just wrong, and I tell him that when I’m finally done tasting his ridiculously fine mouth. He tries to brush it off.

  “Hey,” I say, forcing him to look at me, to see how serious I am. “Your first parents made selfish choices that meant they were taken from you. Your second parents had…I don’t know, but some kind of messed up expectations or something. All of them should have loved you for the terrifying little ball of energy I’m sure you were.”

  “I think I was a pretty quiet kid, actually.” But he smiles.

  “Sure. You didn’t climb trees or build weapons out of cardboard boxes?”

  “Well…”

  “Cole, when we have kids, I’m going to plant trees and pick up bonus boxes at the grocery store for them.”

  “I think a good climbing tree is more mature…”

  “You’re missing the point!”

  “Okay. We both deserved better parents,” he says. “At least you’ve got your siblings.”

  They’re okay. But they don’t always have my back. “You’ve got Jason and Tag and Wilson.”

  He nods slowly. “I do. They’re good. But they’re not you.”

  “And my brother and sisters aren’t you.” I trace his lips with my index finger, loving the way his eyes darken and his cheeks flush. “You’re mine. You’re my first and last thought every day. You’re already my primary family, really. I want to run decisions past you and tell you about new knitting patterns and share all my secrets. I want to plan a future with you. I can’t share any of that with my siblings because there’s all this…other stuff that they bring to it. Worry and doubt. They’re always cautioning me, you know. Like I should be less brazen and brash. And then there’s you, wanting me to spit fire at you.”

  “’Cause it makes me hot for you.”

  That’s a great reason. “Speaking of which, are we going to be interrupted here?”

  He shakes his head no, and I go to work at his buttons. I want this man naked. Stat.

  “I forgot to tell you the other thing,” he starts to say, but I’m not listening, so he grabs my wrists and hauls my arms in the air. “Hailey!”

  “What?” I blink up at him.

  “Other news.”

  “Pretty sure nothing is going to top that we’re getting married.” I grin up at him.

  “I’m stepping back from my previous role in the firm.”

  “You’re quitting?” What? That’s crazy. And maybe good. But… “Is this your decision?”

  He nods, then shakes his head. I blink at him, not understanding his mixed answer. “Not quitting. I’m still a partner. But I’m only doing pro bono work. No clients. No hobnobbing.”

  “And Jason is okay with that?” I can’t wrap my head around this. “This is for real?”

  “Yep. I didn’t really give him much of a choice. I want to be a ghost in the background.” His gaze drops down my face, and he dusts his fingertips along my collarbone. “It’s safer that way. But we’re all in agreement. As of this week, The Horus Group’s mission and vision statement is changing.”

  “Wow. What does this mean?”

  “We’re still sorting that out. Tag’s taking point on the new branding. And in the meantime, that leaves me with lots of time to fuck my fiancée.”

  “Really,” I murmur as his mouth follows the path his fingers had just blazed. “Tell me more about that.”

  “Fuck her so hard she can’t walk straight. Make her scream so loud the neighbors blush.”

  “Sounds romantic,” I say, fighting back a smile.

  “Is that a challenge?”

  “Damn straight. I double-dog-dare you to make me swoon with your filthy ways.”

  We stay in our new condo until dusk falls, and on the way back to my place, we stop at the jewelers Cole bought the diamonds from and choose a ring setting.

  It turns out, he knows me better than he thinks.

  —eleven—

  Cole

  Three weeks later

  My phone vibrates as I round the corner a block from work. I duck into a doorway and pull it out. It’s a message from Jason.

  J: 911 sit at office. Shark has a new request.

  We have code names for all our clients. Shark is Morgan Reid. Fuck me.

  C: Thought he was out of the country.

  J: Apparently not.

  Thirty seconds later, I’m in the stairwell taking the steps two at a time.

  “What is it?” I bark out as I storm into the boardroom.

  “Mr. Parker.” Morgan stands and holds out his hand, which I ignore as I fist the front of his three thousand dollar suit and shove him into the wall.

  “Did we not make ourselves perfectly clear? We’re not in the business of cleaning up your messes any longer.” We haven’t made a formal announcement yet, but we’ve spent the last few weeks disentangling ourselves from the clients we no longer want to work with. Morgan Reid was my first call.

  He smirks at me. I’m a fucking monster, and he’s not scared of me in the least. That’s terrifying. “I didn’t do anything this time.”

  This time. Again, I swear under my breath and release him, but I don’t step back. “Then what is it?”

  Jason clears his throat from the other side of the room. He didn’t stop me when I charged in, which means he’s unimpressed as well.

  Morgan adjusts his tie. “It’s Taylor. She’s gone missing.”

  “Not missing,” Jason says drily. “Just in hiding.”

  I flex my hands at my side and watch Morgan swallow and press his lips together before answering. He’s nervous. I lean in and let fly the obvious question. “Why is she hiding from you?”

  He jerks back. Not as smart as he’d like to think. Asshole. “You need to talk to her. Convince her to…”

  “To what?” Fear is now rolling off him and he avoids my gaze.

  Behind me, Jason interjects. “There’s a leak. It’s on a blog.”

  Blogs are a dime a dozen in Washington now. I glance back at him. “A real one?”

  He shrugs. “It’s not A-level, but it’s big enough that tweets have started.”

  As if summoned by the now painful tension levels in the room, Wilson strolls in with his phone in his hand. “You’ve stepped in it now, Reid.”

  Tag joins us, and I realize they all must know more than me if we’re all here at quarter to seven in the morning.

  “Will so
meone fill me?” I glance around, then back at Morgan, who’s turning a vile shade of green. “Did you hurt her?” The words are barely out of my mouth before I grab him and spin him around, slamming him face first into the conference table. He groans as I wrench his arms behind his back.

  “I didn’t touch her,” he whispers pleadingly. “I swear!”

  I can’t breathe. Rage fills my chest, and maybe air is optional. I thought I was done with Morgan and Amelia Reid. Wishful thinking. I lean into the hold, enjoying the strain of his arm under my hands. “If you think we’re going to help you cover anything up, you’re fucked in the head. You narrowly missed being arrested in Miami for the kidnapping of one daughter, and now—”

  “You have to,” he says with a groan. “Not for me. For her. This is a mistake.”

  I let go, because touching him makes my skin crawl, and there are three other men in the room who can take turns bouncing him off the walls like a tennis ball if he tries something stupid. Like leaving. He’s definitely not walking out those doors until we know the whole truth, however disgusting it may be.

  It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve heard something vile.

  But hopefully it’ll be the last time we hear it from a guilty client.

  Wilson clears his throat. “Has the Vice President ever been a guest of Gerome Lively at one of your disgusting rape parties?”

  He asks it like he’s wondering if anyone wants coffee or tea.

  Reid blanches. “This is a mistake,” he repeats, sounding dangerously close to losing his morning martini on our conference table.

  “That doesn’t answer the question,” I growl.

  His face is white and sweat is popping all over the place. “If she persists in telling people that, she’s going to end up dead.”

  “Because it’s the truth or a lie?” Both would be powerful motivators to silence Hailey’s sister.

  He nods, jerkily. “Truth. Not with her, but she found out about it and approached him.” He glances at me. “I’m not sure why this is happening.”

  I am. PRISM.

  I glance at Jason. He nods and jerks his thumb toward his office. “Excuse us for a minute.”

  “What do you know?” I demand as soon as his door closes behind us.

  “Can you stop treating all of our conversations like they have to be a come to Jesus moment? I’ve come. I’m converted, even if I’m not a true believer yet.” He rolls his eyes at me and slowly undoes his suit jacket so he can sit at his desk. “Let’s start with what I don’t know, which is a lot.” He narrows his eyes and chews on his lower lip as he stares at the neat row of papers on his desk. “What’s the end game?”

  “A shot across the bow?” I shake my head and throw myself into the chair across from him. Lively’s network is running for cover already. A power play isn’t necessary and doesn’t make sense. “Righting a wrong?”

  “At the expense of Taylor Reid?”

  “No…” I trail off, staring at the wall, as if I could actually see Morgan Reid sitting at the conference table. “He thinks she’s in danger. But what if she’s not? Her reputation isn’t smeared any further by this, not really.”

  Jason nods. “Not with the Vanity Fair spin that young women were taken advantage of.”

  “It’s not spin.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Yeah, unfortunately I do. All that rape culture bullshit that means Lively and Company were given passes for being dirty old men when they were really terrorists. At the end of the day, he’ll go down for kidnapping, not the rapes he should hang for.

  I think of Miguel, my contact in Miami. My guy, who owes me a favor. Not us. If Lively goes free, it won’t be a decision by committee that determines what happens to him. It’ll be a single call from the burner phone I bought that night we met in the shadows of a disco, the night after Hailey was taken and rescued and saved from a fate worse than death. The day she saved herself because she fought like hell.

  “So we don’t interfere.” Jason frowns. “That doesn’t sound right.”

  My laugh surprises us both, and then he joins in.

  It might not sound right, but it feels…good. “Yeah. Bit of a mind fuck, just letting shit be.”

  He tosses a pen in the air. “You’re going to find the girl?”

  I nod. I already have an idea where she might be.

  “Then let’s go kick that asshole out of our offices, yeah?’

  “Fuck, yeah.”

  Tag is more than happy to escort Reid out of the building when Jason delivers his cold-as-fuck denial of service message. While they’re doing that, I slide Wilson a note. Taylor. St. Regis Hotel?

  It’s just a hunch.

  And frankly, if I’m wrong, I don’t care.

  I don’t care if I’m right, either.

  I’m done with all the fucked up Reids.

  All I care about is the one who’s going to take my name. Hailey Parker.

  And just like that, I’m hard as nails.

  Only one thing for that. I head for the stairs, shaking hands with each of my partners on the way out.

  “Taking a sick day,” I say to Jason.

  Tag winks.

  He’s not wrong.

  —epilogue—

  Cole

  I sprint up the stairs to our new apartment. It’s hot and sticky outside, the height of a typical D.C. summer, but I still prefer to run the fifteen blocks between our house and the northeast community center where I volunteer a few times a week. They have a good boxing ring now, thanks to Hailey, and it’s a clean, safe space for youth to hang out.

  The punching bags are a big draw, too. My gut tugs at the haunted look at the new kid’s face as he unleashed himself on one tonight, ineffectively whacking away at it. By the time we were done, he was powering it into my shoulder as I held it on the other side.

  I’m not the guy who invites confidences. Nobody ever spills their guts to me unless I’m making them, and those days are behind me—for the most part. But I can teach kids how to punch right. How to channel that fury and harness their own power.

  Elijah’s face as he promised to come back again—that’s why I go back.

  And the woman inside this apartment gets the credit for me going in the first place.

  She’s in the kitchen, cleaning up, still in the tank top and shorts she was wearing when I left. She gives me a slow, appreciative up and down, then flicks her gaze to the oversized clock on the wall.

  “You’re all sweaty,” she says, licking her lips.

  “It’s hot out there.” I prowl toward her, pulling off my shirt. I maybe flex my abs a little—anything for my girl.

  Giggling, she turns her back to the counter and hoists herself up. “It’s getting hot in here.”

  “We’ve got some time?” I fit myself between her bare legs and tug down her tank, baring her lush tits.

  She nods, leaning back on her hands. “Gonna get me dirty?”

  “Filthy.” I lean over her, almost kissing her before dodging to the side and tasting her neck.

  “Get back here,” she demands, sliding her hands into my hair. She’s not the only one who likes to be tugged around. She drags our mouths together, our kiss suddenly desperate and slightly clumsy as I knead her breasts, the rub of her nipples against my palms making me rock hard.

  I drop one hand to tease at her waistband, and she lifts her hips. Get me naked. The order is clear, and I’m happy to comply. I strip her bare, settling her ass right on the edge of the counter. She leans back again, her pale, luscious curves begging for my touch, the trim brown curls above her pussy pointing to the pink lips I never get enough of.

  I drop to my knees and run my nose up her thigh, breathing her in. She spreads even wider as I get to the good stuff—shiny, pink, and warm, her cunt is beautiful.

  “We do have an engagement party to get ready for,” she whispers, and I lick her for being silly. I know we do.

  “Pretty sure the party starts when we get there.�
��

  “You—ahhh!” The argument ends with me sucking her clit, then it’s just warm moans and panting little breaths from her as I wind her up until she’s begging for my cock.

  Fuck, I love that.

  Shoving to my feet again, I notch the fat head of my cock into her soft, wet folds and ease into her tight channel. I love this, too, the way her pussy clutches me, like I need to be a little rough to get all the way in.

  The way she claws at my back when I get there and doesn’t let me go.

  “So hot, so tight,” I growl, wrapping my arms around her waist, sliding one hand up her back as I press the other against her pelvis, low in her back, holding her in place as I set a blistering pace.

  It doesn’t take long. Her legs tighten around me as she humps back against me, rocking her clit where we join each time I slam into her. As soon as she seizes up, trembling in orgasm, I let myself go. Three thrusts later, I’m spilling myself inside her, my come spurting out so fast it almost hurts.

  We’re both breathing fast, dragging ragged breaths into our lungs as we cling together. I press my forehead against hers and whisper that I love her.

  “I love you too, more and more every day.”

  “We should do something about that—like get married.”

  She grins at me. “Sounds like a plan.” Taking a deep breath, she slides her palms down my sweat-slicked chest and pushes me away from her. “And now I’m sweaty too, so let’s have a shower, yes?”

  Once we’re clean again, Hailey sits at her dressing table and starts putting on her makeup. I slowly put on my boxer briefs and dress pants, but I keep getting drawn back to my fiancée, perched on a stool in a black slip.

  I quietly come up behind her, leaning over to kiss her shoulder before she can stop me. “You’re breathtaking,” I tell her under my breath, and she smiles.

  “I’m not even wearing my dress yet.”

  “It’ll be stunning, too.” I want to kiss her again. There’s nothing I like more than seeing Hailey breathless and aching. She licks her lips, and I get it—I want more, too. “Come on, beautiful, we’re going to be late.”