Page 64 of Shattered Hate

Why did I do what I did with Ashton? Because I wanted to hurt him. How can I confess that I wanted to cause him pain and humiliate him, just as they did to me when I was sixteen? Even the thought makes me feel weak and immature. Why is it that I can never get over any of this with Daxton? Why does he manage to get under my skin so badly?

“Come on,” I say, grabbing him as his head droops, and he moans when I lift him up. I pull his hand over my shoulder, and he lurches upright.

“Where are we going?” he mumbles.

“To get some sleep,” I reply as I guide him into the hotel lobby and sit him down again. “Stay here and don’t move.” His head lolls back, and his eyes close. I scan the area to ensure no one is watching him too closely, and once I’m convinced he’s all right, I head to the reception desk.

“Do you have a room for two, please?” I ask. The receptionist sizes me up before shifting her gaze to Daxton, who has slumped sideways on the couch I placed him on.

“Rough night,” she remarks.

I flash a smirk and add, “Don’t worry. He’ll be out like a light as soon as we get into the room.” She raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment, then looks at her screen.

“Twin room?” she asks, glancing back at me.

“King room,” I reply with a smirk. There’s no way he’s sleeping in a separate bed. She nods and glances back at her screen.

“We have a king room available,” she confirms. Then she hesitates, eyeing Daxton, who’s passed out behind me. “Given your friend’s level of intoxication,” she continues, “I’ll need to add a fifty-dollar housekeeping fee, just in case of any accidents.” I arch an eyebrow, suspecting this charge isn’t part of their standard policy, but I don’t care right now. I just want to get him safely into the room.

“Fine, whatever.” I sigh. She processes my details.

“That’ll be four hundred and fifty dollars,” she says. I hand over my credit card and glance around the luxurious lobby. This hotel is fancy as fuck, and while the cost is high, it’s not a big deal. My father will foot the bill. As soon as I have the key, I turn to find Daxton sprawled on the sofa, mouth agape, as people pass by, wrinkling their noses at his clothing—tight jeans, chains dangling, hair covering his eyes, and silver rings on all ten fingers. To them, he must seem like a menace to society; to me, he looks good enough to eat. I walk over and lift him off the sofa as he groans, pressing his face into my chest.

“Tray,” he mumbles.

“Dax,” I reply, guiding him to the elevator.

“Where are we?” he asks, tilting his head to take in his surroundings. “Is this a mansion?” he wonders out loud, gazing at the ornate ceiling. I chuckle, thinking he probably hasn’t been anywhere like this before.

“Something like that,” I answer as he turns his head toward me.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks quietly as we step into the elevator.

“No.”

“But I am mad at you.”

“I know, and you should be.” We ride in silence until we reach our floor, and I lead Daxton toward our room. As I let go to grab the key, he stumbles slightly, murmuring “Sorry” before regaining his balance. I push open the door and nod for him to enter first. He moves in slowly, his head surveying the luxurious space—a couch is paired with a TV, there’s even a small kitchen area, all making the place seem somewhat worth the price. When his gaze shifts left, he spots the large, white king-size bed in the center of the room. He glances at me and then turns his attention toward the couch.

“I’ll sleep on here,” he declares.

“No way—you’re sleeping in that bed with me,” I step over and pull him close. I know he’s drunk, and while I would never take advantage of that, right now, all I want is to taste him. His eyes flick from mine to my lips and back again.

“I’m mad at you,” he repeats, his breath reeking of vodka, though I barely register it.

“I’m mad at you too.”

He frowns. “You said you weren’t.”

“I lied.” I lean in, placing a gentle kiss on his lip ring, And he shudders.

“You lie a lot.” He breathes. To silence him, I slam my lips onto his, my tongue invading his mouth as he moans into the kiss. Amid the taste of vodka, I still recognize Daxton—the flavor that has become maddeningly addictive. His hands slide around my back and into my hair, sending shivers down my spine—I love it when he grabs my hair. I pull back and meet his lust-filled, heavy gaze. “I want you.” He breathes out the words. “Mad—and all.”

“Not tonight.” I step back, and he watches me as if I’ve just dropped the worst news imaginable. “Not when you’re like this.”

He scoffs, stumbling toward the bed. “Oh, so you can blackmail me into sucking your dick, but you won’t fuck me just because I’ve had a few drinks? Aren’t you such a saint, Trayton.” He mocks me, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “Your morals are flawless.”

“And you’re a fucking brat,” I growl, gritting my teeth. “Now get undressed and go to bed.”

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