Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

Zach is two years older than me, has my father’s dark hair and my mother’s steel-gray eyes. He used to be broader than me, the type who slaved at the gym for a perfect body, but it doesn’t seem that he kept that dedication now. He’s leaner, which makes him appear taller even when he’s not standing.

“That’s my place.” I point at where he’s sitting, at the head of the table, as if this is his damn house.

“Nonsense.” He already has the napkin tucked neatly into his shirt which means he’s ready to eat. “You forfeited your leading position eleven years ago and you have no right to demand it now.”

I narrow my eyes, but despite the tension in my spine, there’s something off about the way he speaks, the way his stance is.

It’s almost…robotic.

Zach was more fun than me—if you can believe that. I let my father’s behavior get under my skin and ruin my perception about things, namely food and relationships. My brother, however, tucked it all in a neat box, threw it in the rubbish, and lived the life he wanted to.

So his tone and voice are grating me the wrong way.

A soft hand touches my arm before Nicole stares up at me with enough brightness to light a whole fucking room. “You can sit down anywhere.”

“You did this.” It’s not a question, because I’m sure it was all her idea.

The fact that she was stalling for time, made dinner for an army, and prepared the table for four.

“You can’t possibly ignore your family forever.”

“Watch me.” I glare at them. “Have the food and get the fuck out. Better yet, leave without eating.”

“Daniel.” Nicole gasps, watching me as if I grew a few more horns than what a devil is allowed.

Well, surprise, baby. I’m still the jerk who made your and everyone else’s life hell.

“Dan…please.” Mother’s voice is brittle, which means she’s probably about to cry. That’s what she used to do every day, every night.

It’s her side gig. Aside from giving us prophets’ names in a vain attempt to save our arses from hell.

“Too late for begging, don’t you think, Mother? Here’s a thought, how about you do us both a favor and leave?”

Zach interlinks his fingers on the table. “Since we’re all here and there’s food, we might as well eat.”

“No thanks,” I say.

I’m about to leave when Mother blurts, “Zach had an accident.”

“Nice try, Mother. Next time you’ll tell me his arm is artificial and he’s surviving on Viagra to shag. Can’t you hear how desperate you are?”

I expect Zach to spar with me, verbally or physically. He was always the number one defender and the founder of Nora Sterling’s fan club. Even when she neglected us both for her husband-related issues.

However, my brother is sipping from his soup, his expression unchanged. “I like the chef. I’m moving him to my estate.”

“Like fuck you will.” I wrap an arm around Nicole’s waist, a blinding sense of possessiveness gripping me by the throat.

“We’ll see about that.”

My urge to punch him snaps my shoulder blades together. And why the hell is he saying that with a perfectly straight face? Is this a joke?

“Get out of my fucking house, Zach. Take Mother with you.”

“I decline. I made a dent in my schedule to accept Nicole’s invitation to dine here and I’ll only leave when that’s done.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin, staring at me with soulless eyes. “And I’m taking the cook with me.”

I lunge at him then, grabbing the collar of his shirt and the stupid fucking napkin.

A long time ago, we used to wrestle for sport. It was also our way to get our parents’ nonexistent attention. Zach never, and I mean never, allowed me to win, or take a punch at him.

He was the sort of older brother who made sure I knew who held the power and frustrated me beyond belief.

But right now, he doesn’t even attempt to fight as I hit him. “You’re taking no one!”

Blood explodes in his nose, but he doesn’t even touch it. Or me. His hands are still on the table with the spoon in his fingers.

“Oh my God, Zach!” Mother runs toward us like a shotgun, getting a napkin and wiping his nose.

Nicole grasps my wrist and pulls me back, but she doesn’t need force for it. I was already letting go of him.

I saw something in his eyes just now.

Or more like…nothing.

There was no trace of the Zach I’ve known most of my life. It’s like a ghost exists on his behalf.

Tears glisten in my mother’s eyes as she dabs away the blood from his face. He seems more pressed to go back to eating as if that’s his sole purpose for being here.

“Can you please hear me out?” Mother asks, fawning over him like the doting mother she rarely was.

I remain silent, but I take a seat to Zach’s right.

“Alone?” Mother gives Nicole an apologetic glance. “This is a delicate matter.”

“Yes, sure.” Nicole starts to leave, but I grab her hand and force her to sit beside me.

“If you want to talk to me, she’ll be here.”

Mother twists her lips like a child having a tantrum, then she releases a deep sigh and retakes her seat, then neatly places the napkin on her lap. “The thing is…I never thought you’d come back, Daniel.”