Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

“You didn’t give me the chance to. Besides, that was ecstasy, which has the purpose of making someone feel good. It’s not a date rape drug, and I took one myself.”

I have no idea why I’m explaining this to him. I shouldn’t. I wouldn’t usually, because it’s useless. Daniel takes everyone’s word as fact except for mine.

I get it, he labeled me a liar, manipulator, and backstabber when we were kids, but it doesn’t hurt any less to know that whatever I have to say holds no value to him.

He tightens his hold on my elbow until it turns painful. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you take the drug? Was it so you and Christopher could have a good time? Did I happen to ruin your fucking plan, Nicole?”

A full-body shudder overtakes me, partly because of the way he said my name when it’s only been an impersonal Ms. Adler up until now. But mostly, it’s due to the fact that I’m going through a shock reaction.

I recognize it, even though it’s simmering in the dark corners I spent years burying and hiding from everyone’s reach.

So how come one insinuation from Daniel, one sentence, and the feeling is banging on the surface, trying to claw it open?

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my breathing sharpens, moving in sync with the flutters in my stomach.

All I can smell is weed, strong and potent, and it’s mixed with cigarettes and the stench of musk.

I’m going to throw up.

Shit. Shit.

“Let me go,” I whisper.

“Did I hit a nerve?”

“Please.” I stare up at him at the same time that a tear slides down my cheek. “I know you hate me, and I’m fine with that. I’m fine with the way you treat me as if I’m a rock in your shoe. I’m fine with calling you sir and stomping on the last bit of my dignity to be your assistant, but I beg you, stop touching me.”

Any decent human being would do that. Any normal person would at least pause at the sight of tears that came out of nowhere, in spite of my attempts to never show them.

Daniel isn’t decent, though. Far from it.

Not only does he grip my elbow harder, but he also reaches a hand to my face.

I’m disoriented by the time his thumb wipes beneath my eye. Then he rubs them, his thumb and my tears, against his forefinger. But it’s not the gesture that makes me pause. It’s the fascination in his gaze, the way he looks like a researcher who just made a discovery.

It’s so rare to see Daniel enamored by anything. He’s always treated life as either a game or a chore—never a subject to be absorbed in. Never something to be fascinated with.

But he is now, as he crushes my tears between his fingers with both care and sadism.

“So you do cry.”

Before I can react to his words, he grabs me by my nape, the pads of his fingers closing in on the sides. It’s like a chokehold, but backward, and it’s so familiar that I can’t suck in air into my lungs.

Keeping me immobile, he leans down so his face is mere inches away from mine.

His eyes appear like a bottomless ocean in the middle of a night storm.

Dark.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

“Why the fuck do you think you can cry? Do you feel wronged? Victimized? Or maybe you still need sacrifices at your bitchy altar for old time’s sake. No matter what’s the case, know this, Nicole, I’m going to personally make your life a bloody hell. I’ll destroy everything you build and ruin any goals you’re aiming for. I’ll smash you to pieces and ensure you don’t have the ability to pick them up or mend them together. I’ll make you wish you’d never fucking showed up in front of me.” He releases me with a jerk. “Now get out of my fucking sight. I don’t want to see your face unless it's absolutely necessary.”

My feet falter with the force of his shove and my heart spills on the floor metaphorically covered with dark splotches of blood.

But instead of hiding and crying like when I was young, I force myself to hold my head high. “Do you think you hate me more than I hate you? Do you think I’d ever choose to see your face, let alone work for an egotistical prick with narcissistic tendencies? Do you think I would ever put myself at your mercy—or the lack thereof if I had the choice? I’m only doing this to keep a roof over my family’s head. So you can show me your worst, but you won’t be able to break me or force me to quit, sir.”

He raises a perfectly thick brow. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s merely information.”

“I can still fire you, Ms. Adler, so you best remember that the next time you choose to run your mouth or criticize me when you have no right to.”

I’m about to argue, but he cuts me off by snapping his fingers. “You’re still talking when you should have been out of my fucking sight a minute ago.”

I glare at him, but I stop myself from saying anything because I know it will just come out wrong.

And I might get myself fired.

As a compromise, I close the door not so gently on my way out.

I head to the cafeteria to have lunch. This is the only time I’m able to escape the twat’s orbit.

In the lift, two secretaries join me, but they ignore my existence as they chat among themselves.

Once upon a time, that would’ve bothered me, mainly because it meant I wasn’t doing a good job being noticeable, but that’s not the case anymore. I came to appreciate the lack of social interactions and being in the background.