Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

I heard him when he was watching stupid Vikings—her favorite show—with her in our pool house. The same pool house in which he spoke to me, touched me, and held me for the first time since that peaches incident.

He told her she shouldn’t get involved with Levi and that he would satisfy her sexual needs instead.

That was exactly three months and two weeks after he fucked me so senseless that I couldn’t walk properly for a few days.

It doesn’t matter what I let him do to me. Given the chance, he’d go to his precious Astrid.

But she’s into Levi.

Which is how my plan comes into play.

After the game, the football team throws a party at Ronan’s house.

Chloe and I tag along, then break up at the entrance. Since Ronan’s father is an earl, he has the mansion that goes with the title.

When I first came here for a collector exhibition thrown by his mother, I was struck by how much the place seems out of a fairy tale with its high-end furniture and prim and proper servants.

However, since his parents often travel outside the country, Ronan has sort of turned this into a brothel/club/casino.

The number of ignorant fools walking past precious paintings and spilling alcohol over premium carpets is insulting.

Still, I ignore the chaos and any attempts anyone makes to talk to me.

I’m on a mission.

So I walk straight to it.

To a private room where Levi and a few team members have retreated.

The stench of cigarettes, weed, and alcohol wafts in the air like the stench of death.

But I keep my head high as I slide to Levi’s side. He blows a cloud of smoke in my direction but looks at me as if I’m the dust on his shoes.

He’s looking at me at least, so that’s a good sign.

“On your knees,” he announces out of nowhere and I want to smack that rich-boy smugness off his face.

“I’m not a whore,” I bite out.

“On your knees or get the fuck out of here.”

My eyes trail off to the door. Papa, if you can send a sign, then please do that now.

Preferably him.

But I’m just too naïve. I should’ve stopped believing in Papa and wishes made upon passing stars.

I should’ve stopped having the same wish for my past ten birthdays.

Wishes that never came true.

Wishes are meant for fairy tales, shooting stars, and imaginary worlds.

Biting down on my pride, I fall to my knees between Levi’s legs. He jams two fingers in my mouth and I resist the urge to gag and throw up all over his limited edition designer shoes.

Imagine it’s him.

It’s not Levi. It’s him.

I start to suck, but Levi tuts. “Stay still.”

A bulge grows in his trousers and I reach for it, thankful that my hand doesn’t shake. “Wow, you’re so big.”

Someone kill me.

What the hell am I doing with Levi?

He grabs me by the shoulder when a gasp fills the air.

Both Levi and I turn at the same time to find Astrid standing in the entrance, her eyes wide and sad and angry and every emotion I’ve been feeling for the whole summer.

When Daniel chose her over me.

When Daniel abandoned me and went to her.

I meet her gaze. How does it feel to be invisible to the one you like, Astrid?

“I…um…thought Dan was here. Sorry to interrupt.”

She bolts out, jamming the door shut behind her and I break out in hysterical laughter.

It doesn’t feel satisfying.

Not in the slightest.

It’s humiliating and downright embarrassing for me to be between Levi’s legs in the first place.

For me to be on my knees because of a man who didn’t see me.

This isn’t me.

“Why the fuck are you laughing?” Levi snaps.

“The little Viking learned her place both at home and here.”

“At home?”

“She’s my stepsister, but not for long. Now…where were we?” I reach for him again. I need to at least start it for when Daniel comes to see the show.

I have no doubt that Astrid will go cry in his arms like a damsel in distress.

He’s her knight.

I’m their villain.

Levi shoves me away, telling me to go swallow someplace else.

He doesn’t see my middle finger as he storms out of the room.

I stand to my full height with barely conjured grace and flip my hair. I can sense eyes on me, snickers from the rest of the players, but I don’t let them get to me.

It doesn’t matter what type of reputation I’ll gain from this, especially since I used to reject boys faster than an audition.

The deed is done and I’m officially following the devil on my shoulder.

As for the angel, that one is strapped to a peach. I can’t touch or listen to him unless I’m in the mood to die.

I feel high by the time I get out of the room. No, not high.

Miserable.

They touch the same emotions inside me. The emotions where I want to dive into a pool and drown or maybe eat a peach and die by the one thing that I love one-sidedly.

So I sneak into Ronan’s kitchen. A stuffy middle-aged butler slides in front of me like Dracula in an inhabitable palace. “How may I help you, miss?

I adopt my very polite, very good-girl tone. “Do you have peaches?”

If the request baffles him, his expression doesn’t change as he echoes, “Peaches?”