Page 63 of Shattered Hate

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cope says, his expression turning serious.

“I don’t know what’s been happening, but leave him alone, Tray. He’s finally moving forward with his life, living the life he never got to have while growing up. Just let him be.”

“Where is he?” I demand.

“Why do you care? You don’t even like him.”

Something inside me snaps. I leap off the bed and go for Cope. “Because I care, damn it! I care about him, what he’s doing, all ofit. Got it?” I practically shout in Cope’s face. “I don’t know why I care so much, but I do. Now tell me where he is.”

Cope stares at me for a moment. “I love you like a brother, Tray. But I’m not telling you.”

Suddenly, clarity hits me. What a dick. The app—I know exactly where he is. My anger had clouded my mind, but now everything is clear. Without saying another word to Cope, I head to the door and fling it open.

“You won’t find him,” Cope calls after me.

I smirk, turning to give him a defiant look. “You really underestimate me.”

I can’t help but laugh at how I ended up forking out an extra fifty dollars on my ride just to bust the speed limit, but nothing at this moment matters as much as the fear of being too late. My eyes remain fixed on that flashing beacon as I silently pray that he doesn’t move—especially not to some hotel. Just the thought churns my stomach. Before the car has even come to a full stop, I throw open the door and charge straight toward the entrance. Thank God it wasn’t like that swanky joint he was at before—if the door wasn’t opened for me, I swear I would have kicked my way through it.

Inside, the place is massive—damn, really huge—and amid the lively bar and its live band, I can’t immediately spot him. The atmosphere is wild, with people leaping around and singing their hearts out. I first glance toward the stage, knowing full well he wouldn’t be up dancing or joining in the music; he has to be sitting somewhere. I make my way around the perimeter of theroom, shoving people aside without a care, even as drinks fly and insults are hurled in my direction. Desperation surges as I round the halfway point and still no sign of him. I light up my phone once more—he’s here. But where? After picking through another quarter of the circle, something in a dark corner grabs my attention. A large guy is leaning in close, whispering into someone’s ear, and when I look over his shoulder, my stomach plummets. There, unmistakably, is Daxton, his eyes closed while the other guy plants kisses down his cheek. My legs move on their own before my mind can catch up. I grab him by the shoulder and yank him back as hard as I can. It takes him a split second to register what has just happened as his eyes blink at me in shock.

“What the fuck?” the other guy seethes, his hand still resting on Daxton’s waist. I zero in on that hand.

“If you want to keep those hands, I suggest you remove them from him now.” Daxton blinks once, twice, and then his outburst fizzles out.

“Don’t worry, Ross. He’s all bark and no bite,” he slurs loudly, his eyes lazily closing and reopening—a clear sign of how wasted he is. I smirk as my gaze drops to his open shirt, revealing the marks I gave him in the shower yesterday.

“Your neck says otherwise.”

“Fuck you,” Daxton spits out as his drink topples over the edge of his glass, spilling on the floor, and he staggers forward, swaying to the left. “Ross, I think he came to tell you something,” he mumbles, almost losing his balance. I quickly move to steady him.

“We’re leaving,” I whisper urgently into his ear. He jabs his elbow into me, making me grimace, but I resist the urge to double over despite the sharp pain in my gut.

“Fuck you.” His eyes shut briefly before reopening to meet Ross’s furious gaze. “He came here to tell you I gave himchlaaamydiaaaaa,” he drawls, chuckling at the end. Ross’s face turns pale, and he steps away from Daxton. Daxton turns his smirk to me as he raises his arms, swaying slightly. “I did it for you, Trayton; now fuck off,” he snarls at me.

Damn. He must have talked to Ashton. Triple damn. “I can explain everything about Ashton, but first, I need to get you out of here and get some water in you.”

“The only thing I need inside me is him.” He points to a shocked Ross. “Now fuck offfff for the fifth time.”

“Firstly”—I point to my finger—“it’s more like twice you’ve told me to fuck off,” I correct him. “And secondly”—I gesture toward the short, bulky guy—“he’s not laying a finger on you again, much less getting inside you.” His anger flares up even more.

This time, Ross grabs his coat from the chair and backs away. “I’m done. Screw this,” he declares. Daxton groans in protest and tries to follow him. I seize him by the hips, and he spins around, splashing his drink in my face before landing a punch. He actually punches me.

“You can fuck off, Trayton King. I’m done with you, and I’m done with all of this.” He gestures dismissively at me. “I’m tired of you treating me like shit, acting like you can just walk all over me and keep hurting me with your bullshit words.” He steps closer, his teeth bared. “You can go to hell if you think you can hurt me anymore, Trayton King. I’ve been through a lotta shit and taken more beatings than your mommy has cooked you hot dinners.” My heart skips a beat, and I freeze, staring at him as a smirk forms on his lips. “Oh wait, that’s probably not many, is it?” I look at him in disbelief at what he just said. Instinctively, my hand wraps around his throat.

“Don’t,” I grit out. “Don’t even go there.” I’m shaking with rage. I know he’s drunk and doesn’t mean it, but he doesn’t realize how deeply those words cut. “Oh boohoo,” he whines. “Did I upset the big, bad Trayton King?” My jaw clenches, and Itighten my grip on Daxton’s throat as he smiles at me, showing his bright teeth. I know I deserve this, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. I scoff.

“You think you have the power to upset me? You think you matter enough to hurt me?” I hiss in his ear, and he stiffens in my grasp. The smirk and his bravado vanish, leaving only raw pain in his eyes, and I immediately feel like shit.

Chapter thirty-one

Trayton

Regardless of what Daxton has done or said, he’s here because of me. He’s in this state because of me. I keep telling myself that I deserve whatever he throws at me, but when it comes to my mom, I can’t hold back my anger. I make my way through the bar, shoving him toward the exit. Every so often, he bumps into someone, and as soon as they shoot him a look, I return it with a glare that warns, “Say one word to him, and you’ll catch my damn fist.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he mutters as we step outside.

“Keep moving,” I bark, guiding him along the sidewalk by his waist. We eventually reach a bench, where I sit him down. I pull up the ride-share app on my phone, hesitating over the button for a moment as I glance behind me at the large hotel sign. I’m uncertain if I can simply take him back to his room and leave him there. I know that once he wakes up, the hatred in him will be even stronger, and I’ll have to explain—though right now, I’m at a loss for words.

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