Sweet Hatred Chapter 9: Wildfire

Kael>>

She reeked of gin and nicotine, her fingers stained with smoke.

Yet as she stood there, pinned by my grip and glaring like she wanted to carve her hatred into my bones, she'd never looked more alive, more gorgeous.

Aria Thorne.

I'd seen her before—acknowledged the wildfire in her stare, the way she moved like every step was a battle. But she'd been static, background noise in a world full of screams.

Until today.

Until she scorched with that look in the office, her fury so sharp it could've severed arteries. Until she struck in front of an entire crowd—her palm cracking against my cheek with the precision of a blade that sent blood rushing not just to my face but down south.

My body moved before my mind could protest. I closed the distance, fingers skimming the hem of her leather skirt, hiking it up just enough to feel her flinch.

Closer. Closer. Until our breaths tangled, until her pulse hamred against my thumb like a trapped bird. I withdrew my fingers from her thigh and pressed my knee forward instead.

She stiffened, thrashing. Useless. I leaned in further, forcing her thighs apart, relishing the heat that radiated from her. A choked gasp escaped her as I ground harder.

"Get off , you vile beast!" Her voice didn't waver. Her eyes never dimd.

Gods, it was exquisite. The venom in her words lashed at sothing primal, sothing starved. My cock strained against my zipper, aching to be set free.

I smirked, tilting my head to study her. The way her pupils swallowed the anger in her irises. The faint tremor in her lower lip.

I lingered, letting her believe—for a heartbeat—that I'd close the gap. That I'd devour her rage like a sacrant. Then I pulled back, slow, deliberate.

She hissed. I savored it.

"Problem, Miss Thorne?" My voice dipped, velvet wrapped around steel. "Did you expect to play the Villain you were expecting?"

Her throat bobbed.

"Rot in hell."

She spat my na like a curse, and I nearly laughed. There it was. That hatred, pure and undiluted—a drug I'd been chasing long before her.

Mine.

I'd wear it like a blade between my ribs.

My hands flexed, rembering earlier—Mia sprawled on my desk, her moans grating and hollow. A performance. A distraction from the numbness.

Then she showed up.

Aria.

Her glare cut through the fog, sharp enough to bleed. For the first ti in months, I'd felt sothing.

Now here she was, all fury and frayed edges, her body dwarfed by mine. She didn't cower. Didn't plead. I wasn't afraid to admit it. She was tearing apart.

And I was enjoying every second of it.

Aria was fire wrapped in a body that was ant to be controlled, but she had never once been tad.

And I wasn't about to ta her now.

I wanted her burning. Sparking.

So I stepped even closer, watching as her muscles tensed, as her chest rose and fell just a little quicker. She hated this, she hated . And yet, she hadn't moved away.

Perfect.

"You're fascinating when you're unhinged," I murmured, skimming a knuckle down her jaw. She jerked her face away, but not before I caught the hitch in her breath. "How long till that pride of yours snaps?"

Slap.

Her palm struck my cheek—again—but this ti, I caught her wrist mid-air, yanking her against . Her chest heaved, her ribs locked tight as prison bars.

"Sick fuck," she snarled.

"And yet you're still here." I countered, grinning, my tone smooth as silk. "So, tell , Aria—are you going to keep putting on this little show for ? Or do you want to skip to the part where you beg?"

Her snarl was Instant. "I would rather die."

I chuckled. "Dramatic."

She opened her mouth to fire another insult, but before she could—

I leaned in, dropping my voice to a whisper. "You want your job back, don't you?"

She froze, her nostrils flaring. Ah. There it was. The mont the fight wavered. The crack in her armor.

I released her, stepping back to pour a whiskey. Let her stew. Let her burn. And fuck, does it suit her.

I wanted her to lunge. I wanted her to break that pretty little composure, sink her nails into my skin, hurt . Because she would, eventually.

"Let's make a deal, Miss Thorne..." I began, my voice steady and smooth, watching her carefully, every movent, every flicker of emotion.

"I'll triple your salary," I said, swirling my drink slowly. "Give you a much better position." My lips quirked into a dark smile. "All you have to do is say yes."

She scoffed, her laugh cold and sharp. "And beco your next puppet? Hard pass."

I closed the distance between us again, leaning in close, my body pressing against hers, trapping her against the bar. "You think you know what you want, don't you?" I murmured, my breath warm against her ear. "But how could you know you don't want to be a puppet if you've never tried being one?"

Her body stiffened, and her eyes flickered with that sa defiance. I could feel the resistance in her, but I wasn't letting go. "You'll find, sweetheart, that I'm better at this ga than you think."

I paused, letting the words hang.

"You hate ," I whispered, lips grazing her ear. "But you're curious. What happens if you win? If you get your way."

Silence. The air thickened, charged.

"You're enjoying this," she accuses, voice thick with disgust.

A slow knowing smile creeped into my face. "And you're not?"

I withdrew, leaving her breathless. "Think about it."

She would.

And I'd be waiting.

"You're a fucking carrion bird," she snarled, backing toward the door. "Preying on anyone weaker just to feel alive. Does it ever get old? Or are you too numb to tell?"

The words landed like a well-aid punch. I grinned.

"Numbness is a luxury, Aria. You should try it."

She spat at my feet. The saliva grazed my polished Oxford. Barbaric. Perfect.

"Rot in whatever landfill birthed you, Kael."

The door slamd behind her, rattling the frad rgers on the wall.

Niko entered at the sa mont, his gaze following Aria—and then turned back to the room as he scanned the area, the half empty whiskey glass. "Viktor Voss is here," he said. "Demanding to discuss the Singapore acquisition."

"Demanding?" I straightened my tie, still warm from Aria's grip. "Let him demand. Let him beg."

Niko stooped, retrieving sothing from the floor. Aria's lighter—silver, antique, engraved with a serpent coiled around the initials A.T. He tossed it to .

The tal was warm, still humming with her rage.

"Tell Voss I'm auditing his offshore accounts," I said, flicking the lighter's wheel. A fla sparked, casting shadows over the glass on the table. "That should thaw his urgency."

Niko's jaw tightened. "He'll know you're bluffing."

"Will he?" The fla danced, reflecting in his stoic gaze. "Or will he wonder which shell company I've already cracked?"

Silence. Niko knew better than to question my order.

As he turned to leave, I added, "And track her movents. I want her routines by tonight."

He paused. "The one that just left?."

"Yes... she's a wildfire," I answered, snapping the lighter shut. "And I'm curious what she'll burn first."