Crowned by Hate (Crowned 1)

Clearing my throat, I bring my glass up to my mouth, eradicating any thoughts about his sexy voice. I can’t believe I compared his voice to a molten lava cake.

What an insult to the cake community.

I sip my wine, just as my father starts talking with Bryant about some trade deal in the PNW (Pacific North West) when my phone vibrates in my purse. I smile sweetly at my dad, even though his attention doesn’t stray from Bryant, and unfold the flap to my purse, pulling out my phone. Swiping it unlocked, I open up to a text message.

How are the Hiltons?

I smirk at my best friend’s text message before shooting one back.

What are they ever? Perfect and all that boring shit.

Lydia clears her throat rather obviously and bumps me under the table with her leg—again. I look to her and she widens her eyes at me. She’s a little unbearable at times.

I’m at a rage right now and have the biggest cock you could imagine rubbing up against my leg. Oh, Isa, oh, Isa, you have to feel his mon—

I choke on my drink, my hand flying up to my mouth to stop it from escaping. Jesus, Devon! Lydia pats my back in a nice gesture—well, nice to people who don’t know that she’s a bit savage on the best of days—and says in a soft tone, “Are you okay, dear? You almost got your drink everywhere!”

I smile apologetically at her, and then offer that same smile to my father, and then furthermore to Bryant, though his includes a slight clench of the teeth. “Yes, so sorry about that.”

Bryant leans back in his chair, propping one elbow onto the armrest and runs his index finger over his upper lip. “Something funny, huh?”

My dad shuffles in his seat, watching me carefully and Lydia’s eyes snap to mine. I can see them both glaring at me carefully out the corner of my eye. They’re both probably praying I don’t say something sassy that will land my ass in hot Royal water.

“I suppose so,” is all I answer, pulling away from his annoying fucking gaze. I hate the way he has been watching me. It makes me a little uncomfortable, and I don’t know why. He reminds me of someone or something. Something calculating. Something I’ve only witnessed on someone once in my life.

Red alert. We aren’t going there right now.

I glance back to him once I realize he hasn’t replied back to me, only to find him flicking an unlit cigarette around in his mouth. Yeah, I’m pretty sure you can’t smoke in here. He reaches into his pocket, flicks open his Zippo, and lights up his cigarette. Taking a long inhale, his eyes flick to mine, a smirk tickling the corner of his lips. Thick grey smoke slowly leaks out between his cocky lips.

Now it’s my turn to ask questions.

“Something funny?” I tilt my head my head and cock my eyebrow.

His grin deepens before he shakes his head, blowing the remainder of the smoke out through his mouth. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“Ho—”

“—So, Bryant, how was the game last weekend? Was a tight run in?” My dad interjects, knowing what I’m like and how I struggle to keep my mouth shut. Not to mention, you could pretty much cut the tension between Bryant and I with a pair of scissors—it’s that thick.

Rolling my eyes, I snatch my purse off the table. “Excuse me.”

Pushing past all the expensive frocks, fake tans, hair extensions, and dollar-dollar-bill bitches, I finally walk through the doors and step outside, letting out a long breath. God, why do I feel like I just survived The Hunger Games—foreplay version. Probably because I just did. That man had me hungrier than Katniss Everdeen right before she almost got ganked for stealing those bags of food.

My phone vibrates in my purse and I quickly grab it out.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t answer me, I thought you might have been dead.”

“Nope,” I pop the “p,” taking my smokes out of my bag and putting one in my mouth. “Sorry, still here.” I light up my cancer stick and take a long inhale before blowing out.

“You need to quit the cigs.”

“You need to quit sucking dick every day but hey! What do I know.” My best friend is bi. He tends to swing both ways. I love him to bits for many reasons, but one of them is definitely because of this. He has never cared what people thought nor has he cared for labels. If he finds you attractive—and I don’t mean that in a shallow way, I mean that if he finds you attractive in any way, he will try to sleep with you, and he usually gets his way because not only does he look like he should be on the cover of GQ magazine, but he has the gift of the gab too. He could sweet talk a nun into removing her panties in record time.