Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

I would do it all over again.

I would restart if I could. Every day. Until the day I fucking die.

Kyle joined me some time later, offering a hand, but I refused, so he just hung around to watch.

He told me he’ll keep him on a leash with the help of his friends here. I didn’t ask who his friends are and I couldn’t give a fuck as long as Christopher never sat right, peed standing, or breathed clean air.

I would pay them the billions in my name if I had to. Every single last dime.

As long as Chris’s life turns miserable.

This brings me to the reason behind the emptiness.

Despite what I previously thought, this doesn’t fix it. Doesn’t bring back what Nicole already lost.

Doesn’t erase the fact that I’m part of the reason she was traumatized.

Not anyone else.

Me.

I take a sip of the cheap whiskey bottle I kept in my rental car for this purpose.

Two hours. That’s the amount of time I spent in my car on the opposite side of the street, unable to go inside the house.

Maybe I should leave now, sign over the mansion in Nicole’s name, and threaten Zach to provide her and Jayden with rich oil princes’ lives.

That would be the right thing to do.

But that would involve actually talking to my brother and me pushing her to another man.

Fucking again.

I retrieve my phone, all three hazy versions of it, and type out the ant-like letters.

Daniel: Asleep?

The reply is immediate.

Astrid: Currently painting for a fussy Glyndon. She’s nothing like Lan and Bran.

Those are her spawn. Landon, Brandon, and Glyndon. The reason they have preppy names is the fact that they’re Kings and will lead royal-like lives better than their father.

Daniel: I think I fucked up big time.

Astrid: Concerning?

Daniel: Someone. I hurt them. Badly. What should I do?

Astrid: Apologize.

Daniel: I don’t think ‘sorry I screwed up your life’ would pay the bill.

Astrid: You’d be surprised at the power of a genuine apology, Bug.

Astrid: Is this about Aunt Nora and Zach? Will you finally talk to them?

Daniel: No.

I throw the phone away before she starts nagging and acting like my surrogate mother.

My fingers are unsteady, because of being drunk and pissed the fuck off as I drive the car the small distance inside the mansion.

The doorman opens the front gate, doing a spectacular job at ignoring my sewer rat appearance.

I practically throw myself out of the car as soon as I stop the vehicle in front of the house—or in the grass. What-the-fuck-ever.

An angel appears to welcome me home.

Or I’m drunk.

I really hope it’s that and not that I actually need psychic therapy.

The nausea that I usually get from the sight of food creeps in my stomach. Or maybe it’s something different that involves my stomach and the thing beating behind my rib cage.

Nicole stands in the middle of the garden, wearing a white dress with peach-colored lace and a fluffy shawl covers her arms.

Her blonde hair falls straight to her arse with the brightness of the sun. One that’s going to burn me alive but I’d still approach anyway.

Touch it.

Fucking breathe its fire.

Her head is tilted back as she watches the moon with her biteable lips slightly open.

A sun that’s in love with the moon.

Isn’t that thing doomed in some tragedy?

Her attention shifts to me as if she could naturally sense me around her.

A gasp slips from her as she runs toward me, and fuck.

Fuck it.

Fuck me.

The sight of her coming to me nearly brings me to my knees.

I have fucking PTSD from the way she turned her back to me the day she packed her suitcases and disappeared into the night.

The air crackles with tension and shifts with her smell. Cherries, pain, and fucking heartache.

Joy, too. As small as it is.

“What happened?” Her voice trembles as she palms my face, her fingers dabbing on the dry blood from my temple.

“Pub fight.” I don’t sound so drunk. But then again, the sight of her always sobered me up. “You should see the other tool. They’re performing CPR as we speak.”

“Since when do you ever fight?”

“Since today.” I lean into her hand like Lolli does when she pets her, and no, I’m neither jealous nor mimicking a cat. “Were you waiting for me, Peaches?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just couldn’t sleep after Jay was out.”

“You know…your cheeks become the same shade of red as your lips when you’re blushing…or lying. Which I assume is both right now.”

“Shut up. Let me clean that.” She takes my hand and leads me inside.

I let her guide me in my own house, watching her from behind, unable to take my gaze off her.

My hand itches to touch her, fucking grab her by that gorgeous hair and kiss her.

But something stops me.

She’ll never forgive you for not coming to her rescue.

My jaw clenches.

My fist tightens.

And I wish I had finished that bottle of whiskey.

Actually, I should go back to the car and do just that. Maybe crash it against the gate this time.

Nicole sits me down on a sofa and produces a first aid kit from a side table as if she played Sherlock and learned this mansion’s every nook.