Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

“Is that so?” His permanent smirk falls. “And who would you choose? The one you’re taking those shots to?”

“Who I choose is none of your concern.”

One moment I’m standing there cursing myself for ruining the chance to give him the shot, and the next, he snatches one from between my fingers and downs it in one go.

My lips fall open. “H-hey!”

“Oops.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then in another swift move, he snatches the other shot. “Guess your plans are ruined.”

And with that, he turns and leaves.

“Daniel!”

My voice is a bit high-pitched, definitely above the range I ever allow myself to speak.

Because I’m freaking out here. Is he going to drink that? What if something happens to him if he drinks a double dose?

Before I can think of a way to stop him, Daniel finds Astrid coming out of the toilet. He sweeps up another shot and gives her what was supposed to be my shot and they do a one-shot.

My shoulders fall as my lips tremble.

It doesn’t matter what I do or the lengths I go to, I’ll only remain invisible to Daniel.

Maybe it’s time I finally give up.

So why does the mere thought fill my eyes with tears?





5





DANIEL





AGE EIGHTEEN





My head buzzes with a strange type of energy. As if I’m plummeting to earth and shooting for the sky at the same time.

It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before and it’s forcing me to move, to jump out of my skin and just…go.

Somewhere.

Anywhere.

Like a shooting star—aimless, heartless, and absolutely destructive.

I parted ways with Astrid and told her I’m going to fuck one of the girls, which is usually her cue to give me the stink eye, call me a pig, then let me have my fun.

Then she’ll call someone to drive us home, usually my brother. She’s loyal and responsible like that. The “we can’t drive while we’re drunk” Astrid. The “please tell me you wear condoms, because I don’t want to be an aunt this young” Astrid.

In short, the best wingman I’ve ever had. Except for the fact that she doesn’t like partying and I have to drag her kicking and screaming as if she’s heading to her hanging.

Actually, she doesn’t like people in general and prefers to remain hidden like a stone that’s camouflaging a diamond.

Unlike her flashy, seductive stepsister.

That’s where I’m going right now—after Nicole.

Yes, I lied about fucking the other girl, because the moment I saw Nicole sneaking about, I knew she was up to no good.

Not that she was ever up to anything good.

If trouble were a club, Nicole would be their face, soul, and the inspiration for their name.

I shouldn’t give a fuck what Nicole is up to. In fact, I made it my mission not to focus on her, not to get pulled into her manipulative web, where she lures her victims, then sucks their souls like the blood countess sucked young girls’ blood to remain beautiful and ageless.

That shit is real. Look it up.

If Nicole lived in those times, she would’ve been her wingman and best advisor. Hell, she wouldn’t even have been caught for it. Since, well, that countess had the brain energy of an aimless bird.

Back to the reason why I’m following Nicole with the persistence of a crooked detective.

She’s been different today. Talkative, though still venomous. Dressed in a fuck-me dress and heels as if she was out to get some.

And why the fuck am I getting so bloody hot that I want to set my own clothes on fire?

So when I saw her gulping a drink, ignoring her holy circles of glorified bitches and slipping through the crowd, I followed her.

Just like I followed her that day ten years ago when she nearly died in my arms.

I shouldn’t have.

Since that day, she’s been a thorn in my fucking side.

Prior to that incident, she always had a smile on her pretty little face, and acted nice in an annoying kind of way. So seeing her sneaking about was an occurrence I’ve never witnessed.

It’s why I left the game and tailed her. Then I watched her stealing peaches, hiding them behind her white lace dress, and tiptoeing so no one would see her.

Now feels like a repeat of that time.

As if she’s about to steal a peach, go eat it in an obscure place, and…die.

That’s what the doctor said that time. Her allergic reaction was only oral when she was younger, but after she turned eight, it became respiratory, too. He said that the next time she eats a peach, she’ll stop breathing.

She’ll drop dead.

There will be no more Nicole and her fake smiles and dainty dresses.

I waited for her to wake up so I could ask her again why the hell she ate peaches when she already knew she was allergic to them.

I wanted her to explain if liking something was enough of an excuse to push herself to the brink of death.

However, I didn’t get the chance to ask anything, because she’s a fucking backstabber and got out of the whole situation by blaming it on me.

I’ve never seen Mum as disappointed in me as she was at that moment.

Not that she’s been a model mother all our lives. Her mission has been, for as long as I can remember, a self-pity party, to mourn her youth for being with my cheating bastard of a father.