Page 42 of Playing Hard to Hate

GRIFFIN

PRESENT

Tate never took this long to answer a text.

It was something simple, something stupid, just to hear from her, but she never answered.

She always answered. Or at least left me on read.

I picked up my phone again, side-eyeing the time stamp of my message from twenty minutes ago and the road in front of me.

I was getting sick and fucking tired of this hour drive separating us.

Something wasn’t right.

That gnawing, uneasy feeling in my gut had only gotten worse as the minutes dragged on. By the time I was gripping the wheel of my SUV, speeding through the streets toward her apartment, I already knew. This wasn’t paranoia. This was instinct.

I tried calling. Twice. No answer. I tried Millie, who answered on the first ring, who immediately started gushing about how cute we looked in the article, pictures, and the stupid video on TikTok.

“Millie, she isn’t answering me.” I skipped past the pleasantries. I didn’t have time for them, and I hoped she could forgive me later because Millie’s opinion mattered .

“You sound worried. I haven’t heard from her in an hour. I know she was going back to the grocery store today. Something about facing her fears.” She rambled on.

“Try calling her and call me back.”

She hung up without questioning me, and it was moments like this I was grateful for her relationship with Tate and her sudden trust in me, even though I had a sinking suspicion I was not her favorite person at times.

I drummed my fingers impatiently against the wheel, watching the time tick away on the GPS as I pushed my foot against the pedal, forcing the car to fly down the express lane of the highway.

Millie’s name flashed on the dashboard display, and I answered before the first ring could finish vibrating through the cabin.

“She didn’t answer. I’m far away, Griffin. I’m over an hour away,” she cried, panic and distress seeping into her tone.

“I’m here.”

Pulling into her complex, my stomach twisted.

Her car was in its usual spot.

So was another vehicle. A dark sedan, still running . The headlights were on, engine idling like someone had just left it there in a hurry.

“Call the police, Millie.” I hung up just as she started to shout questions.

I barely put my SUV in park before I was out, sprinting toward her building, my pulse hammering in my ears. There were people waiting by the elevator, and I didn’t have time to wait.

The second I hit the stairwell, I fucking knew .

The door to her apartment was open.

No, not open. Busted in. Where someone had forced entry.

The frame was splintered, the lock blown apart. Inside, things were scattered. Groceries spilled across the floor. A chair was knocked over. The distant sound of Tate’s strangled voice came from her bedroom.

A man’s voice followed, sharp, furious, laced with pure menace.

Rage ignited in my chest at the mere thought of a stranger in Tate’s home. The malice dripped from his tone. The audacity of him invading her safe space. Violating it. I kept my steps light, staying in the shadows as I approached her bedroom, every muscle coiled tight.

“I need money!”

“I don’t have any. Please, believe me. I don’t have anything.” Tate’s voice trembled, thick with tears, and my blood boiled.

“Huh? You think I don’t know who you’re with?”

“He doesn’t give me money!” she cried, desperation cracking through her voice. A sharp crack rang out, skin meeting skin , and my vision blurred with red.

“He must buy you things. Give me your jewelry!” The command came, followed by a muffled whimper. A tray clattered to the floor. Drawers slammed open, the sound of frantic rummaging filling the room.

Then a sickening pause.

“Found something.”

“No!” Tate’s scream split the air, and another vicious slap landed, her instant cry of pain searing through me like fire.

I moved without thinking, stepping inside her bedroom, my eyes landing on the scene. All I could think about was the violence I was about to unleash.

Tate stood in the middle of her bedroom, terror in her wide eyes, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

And behind her, Damian Voss. The kid I had gone to school with my entire life.

He was the same bastard from the robbery. The same crystal blue eyes filled with violence. The same scar just under his right eye, a slash through his face. He moved quickly when I entered the room, flying across the space between him and Tate.

Suddenly one arm was locked around her, yanking her against his chest. She squirmed and clawed at his arm to no avail. He was far too strong for her.

His other hand raised, holding a knife to her throat.

The air thickened . My vision tunneled. My whole body went rigid, heart pounding with rage, with fear, with an instinct so primal it nearly blacked me out.

Then, the smallest whimper of fear escaped Tate’s lips, fragile, broken, like she was trying to hold it in but couldn’t.

Her bottom lip was split, a thin line of blood staining its fullness from the force of his slap.

Her cheeks were flushed, streaked with tears, her breath coming in quick, panicked gasps.

Her wide, desperate eyes flickered to mine, searching, pleading .

And I snapped .

“Let her go,” I growled, voice like gravel. “You want money? She doesn’t have any, but I have plenty of it.”

Damian grinned. It made my skin crawl when he dragged the tip of the blade across her pale skin, taunting me.

“Would you look at that? Prince Charming in the flesh.”

I wanted to kill him.

I wanted to wrap my fingers around his neck and squeeze while he begged me for his life, but I had to remind myself I couldn’t do that. I had a future, and if I killed him, my future would be snuffed out right before my goddamn eyes.

The police were on their way. I just had to buy us time. Keep him talking. Keep him distracted.

“Let her go,” I said again, forcing my voice to stay steady, ignoring the cruel smirk tugging at his chapped lips .

“Fifty grand,” he countered, tightening his grip on Tate. “Cash.”

I shook my head. No chance in hell.

“I’ll write you a check,” I offered, inching closer. “You walk out of this apartment and never come back.”

His laughter rang out, sharp, unhinged, filled with sick amusement.

“You don’t get to make the terms, Silver.

” His grip on Tate jerked, making her whimper.

“I’ve got your girl. And if you don’t give me what I want…

” He pressed the blade against her throat, the cold steel biting into her skin.

A spot of blood rolled down her skin, sinking into the fabric of her shirt.

“I’ll slit her pretty little throat and watch her bleed out right in front of you. ”

Tate whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut, but I saw the way her body trembled, the way she was fighting to stay still, to not make a sudden move that could set him off.

I clenched my fists, every muscle in my body coiled tightly, my vision darkening at the edges. I wanted to lunge, to rip her from his grasp and end him, but I couldn’t risk it. Not yet.

“You kill her, you get nothing, Damian.” My voice was low, deadly. “No money. No escape. Just a life sentence, if you’re lucky.” I saw a hint of fear flash in his eyes.

His nostrils flared, his fingers twitching against the knife. I had his attention now.

The knife trembled in his grip, his breath turning ragged, uneven. The manic energy in his eyes flickered, fear creeping in, cracking through the rage.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head like he could somehow erase what I just said. “You don’t get it, Silver. I don’t have a choice.”

His fingers dug into Tate’s arm, his hold still firm but slipping, his panic starting to consume him.

“If I don’t bring back the money…they’ll kill me.”

The confession burst from his lips, raw and unfiltered, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Like he had been holding it in for too long.

Tate stiffened, her breath hitching.

I locked eyes with him, seizing the moment. “Who?” My voice was low, measured. Careful.

He blinked rapidly, his gaze darting around the room as if the walls were closing in. Sweat dripped down his temple, his pupils blown wide with terror.

Tate whimpered as his grip tightened again, his knuckles going white around the knife. He was unraveling fast, spiraling into the kind of panic that made people reckless. Dangerous.

I took a slow step forward. “Listen to me. Killing her won’t fix this. It won’t get you the money, and it sure as hell won’t save you.”

His chest heaved, his lips parted like he wanted to argue, but deep down, he knew I was right.

I just had to keep pushing before he realized he had nothing left to lose.