He Hates Me (Hate & Love Duet 1)

Who needs those studio-made sounds when I can play my little Petal like my custom-made instrument?

Now that I figured her buttons and saw her unravel, begging for more as I wrenched orgasm after orgasm from her, I won’t be able to stop.

Not now.

Not ever.

In order to go back to her, to light both our bodies on fire, I need to take care of this fucking ordeal first.

I tuck my little Petal’s taste and cries at the back of my mind where they join images of her spent, with a soft satisfied smile on her lips.

No idea why I want to see that smile over and over again.

That smile is only mine.

Just like my little Petal is.

I stop near a shabby old building on the outskirts of Wisconsin and put on black aviators. Instead of driving through the poor, shitty neighborhood, I leave the car at a public parking lot and walk the rest of the way.

The neighborhood isn’t only old and poor, but there’s a certain depression lurking in the air like another layer of atmosphere.

Curious glances fly my way and I try to walk normally without attracting any attention. This isn’t the Costas’ turf. There are other gangs, local and even Russian, and they don’t react well to the name. They won’t hesitate to come after me if they know Lucio Costa’s hitman is in town.

He might be feared, but he’s not liked and when the shit hits the fan, his enemies will always try to bring him down, not offer him a hand of help.

I’m risking a fucking gang war here. Some of those smudge-faced kids and the whores who pretend they want to give me head will tell their pimps and I’ll soon have a crowd on me.

These people always know when there’s a stranger in town.

So, I have little to no time to get the information I need and get the fuck out of here.

I step inside the bakery shop without making a sound. The two patrons at the table lift their heads. The waitress’s face is caught in what resembles a grimace and is in no way a smile.

“What can I get you, darlin’?” she asks in a thick accent.

“Sarah. Where is she?”

“S-Sarah?”

I pull out my gun and point it at her face. The two patrons scream and scramble out of the shabby bakery. The gangs are coming for me anyway, might as well make it worth their trip.

“Sarah,” I repeat. “Say one wrong word and your brain will be gone.”

The waitress’s face turns white as she points behind her with shaky fingers.

“I’m here.” A quiet voice pulls my attention.

A woman stands behind the counter, wiping her hands against her apron and wearing a serene expression. Her white hair is pulled into a bun under the kitchen cap and her wrinkled face eases as if she’s relieved.

She knew someone would come to find her one day, and to delay that as much as possible, she moved into a territory that doesn’t like the Costas.

Sarah Lisette, a former cook at the boarding school and a current nobody, but she’s smart. She knew to stay out of the Costas’ reach, but she kept close enough to Chicago to check on a certain someone.

I stride toward her and stop close enough that only the counter separates us. I place my gun on the marble, a clear threat that if she doesn’t tell me what I want to know, I won’t hesitate to kill her.

“You’ve grown, Jasper.” Her wrinkles crease as she smiles. “You used to like rocks, but it looks like you changed toys.”

Interesting. Not only does she remember me, but she also knows me. Weird that I don’t have a clear recollection of her, which means she did an excellent job at staying in the background.

“The new toys hurt more.” I finger the trigger of my gun, even though the safety is still on. “Don’t make me try it on you.”

She throws her hand around as she retrieves dough and proceeds to twist it. “I’m old, my boy. Death will come for me one way or another.”

“You get to decide whether it hurts or not.”

“No wonder he keeps you.” She shakes her head. “That fucking brat and his thirst for the best things never changed.”

She knows Lucio.

This is getting more interesting.

“Is that why you hid the boy from him? Because you knew he’d mold him into his thing?”

“Mold him?” She scoffs, her attention never wavering from the dough. “He wouldn’t have been able to with you in the picture.”

I freeze, my finger stopping at the trigger. I was hoping it isn’t true, but —

“Remember Joseph?” Her wrinkled eyes meet mine for the first time, they’re tired. So fucking tired. I haven’t seen tired eyes like hers in a long time. “You used to protect him, used to make the other boys eat dust before they laid a hand on him, and you didn’t care that you’d be punished for it.”