Hate Me (The Fox Family Crime Syndicate, #2)

by Summer O'Toole

Marriage for love is for princesses in the fairytales, not princesses in the Mafia.

“I can’t believe you remember that.” “I remember every second I’ve spent with you.”

Fuck if I’ve ever seen anything hotter than this man on his knees for me.

I realize that the soft, vulnerable Finn from earlier was never real. He isn’t soft or kind or sweet. He’s a fucking sadist.

“Eyes on me, princess. Watch me ruin you for all other men, especially that so-called fiancé.”

Her saying my name without an ounce of hate. And it chips away at the cold, black thing beating in my chest in a way I’m not sure I’m ready for.

“Don’t start acting like you care. Not now, Finn.” I let her walk away. My armor is too tight for her words to cut. I think.

And one last bullet that should’ve gone in me, for ever putting her in that situation.

“Where was your humanity when you killed my people? When you tied me up and tortured me? When you nearly got me killed because of videos you leaked?”

“Fuck, Effie. If I’ve ruined you, you’ve obliterated me.”

“How lucky you are that after everything that’s happened, everything you’ve done, I’m still here, still wanting you.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ef. Sometimes it feels like I can’t fucking breathe.”

But the first step on a long path toward redemption, of becoming a man deserving of her. Because deep down, I’ve known, it’s always been her. And it always will be.

I give her as much of a smile as I can manage and lean forward to kiss her. She turns to give me her cheek, and it feels like an arrow to the chest.

“Finn, would you calm the fuck down?” My eyes snap to her. “You’re the only person I know who gets more frazzled giving someone a flower than disposing of a body.”

And she says one word that has me carving out my heart and handing it to her, bloody and beating: Stay.

He’s not mad. He’s not my father. Just breathe.

There’s a brief moment when I feel bad. The deep programming all women have to protect men’s emotions even at the expense of your own. I shove that feeling down, because fuck that.

“I love you Foxes, but y’all are batshit crazy, like if someone gave a bunch of toddlers guns instead of a nap. Now, do you want to learn how to dance like a fucking man, or like you’re attending a catholic middle school dance, leaving room for Jesus?”

“I always say learn by doing. Go ahead, try to punch me.” “What? You can’t be serious,” I balk. “As a heart attack.” He clasps his hands behind his back and sticks his head forward.

Finneas Fox is not a good man, but he is my man.

“Better run, princess,” I call after her, my blood already heating. “’Cause when I catch you, there’ll be no mercy.” I whisper into the night.

If last night was a wildfire, this morning is the warmth from a hearth. The foundation of a home. A home that we have found with and in each other.

“You’ve shown me the beauty in darkness, the strength in myself, and the perfection in ruin.