Page 1 of Sweet Hate (If You Dare #1)

HAVEN

“ B OLLOCKS! ALEXA, TURN THE FUCK OFF!”

Of course, this bitch ignores me, gleefully blasting Kasabian’s “Fire” at deafening decibels, to compete with the smoke alarm screams ruining my morning.

I can’t even fault her song choice. I did yell fire , but in my defense, there are huge buggering flames bursting out of the oven. While this isn’t my kitchen, I know that’s not supposed to be happening.

Jesus. It’s hot as Satan’s balls in here!

The acrid smoke hangs heavy in the air, burning my lungs, making it hard to breathe. Shit, it’s even hard to see. My eyes water, and the smoke is everywhere. The flames grow by the second, already crawling along the length of the counter.

I’m really trying not to panic.

If I don’t get my ass in gear and grab that damn fire extinguisher fast, I won’t be able to see the end of the hose, let alone where to point it.

That seems like a huge problem.

After taking a couple of shallow breaths, I sprint across the kitchen like a hellhound and I’m back in front of the oven in seconds. As I yank out the pin, I silently thank my old boss for making sure we diligently did our fire training every single quarter.

And he definitely mentioned sprinklers. Why aren’t there sprinklers?

Haven, pull your shit together.

I take a deep breath to steady myself and consequently sputter it out, before aiming the hose toward the angry looking flames spewing from the oven and pray this is going to be enough to put it out.

The powder sprays out at full force, and I stumble slightly before planting my feet like a ghostbuster and taking care of business.

Bollocks, there’s no way this extinguisher is enough. It might have shrunk the flames bursting out of the oven, but the ones traveling along the counter now run up the length of the far wall and crawl onto the ceiling.

The fucking sprinklers would be really useful right about now.

This is bad. This is really, really bloody bad.

Starring in an episode of Chicago Fire wasn’t on my bingo card, no matter how hot Severide is. Speaking of which, where the hell are the firefighters? I dialed 911 ages ago, and the fire alarm blaring will have absolutely woken up the entire town by now.

Shit, the flames dance across the ceiling so fast, swallowing it entirely before I even blink.

Coughing wildly, I can barely breathe. The kitchen is gone. There’s no way in hell I’m stopping this fire alone. I need to get the fuck out of here.

Covering my mouth with my arm, I blindly feel the counter for my phone. I’m sure I tossed it around here when I grabbed the fire extinguisher. Where the hell is it ? I need to call Grams, I need to call…I can't hear myself think with the bloody siren hammering my eardrums.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t do this. Doubled over coughing my lungs out, I grab my knees for support, trying to stop myself crashing to the floor. Eyes watering, my glasses black from the smoke, I can’t see or feel my way out of here.

Sod the phone.

PSSSHHHHH.

A shriek tears from my throat as an almighty crack brings down some of the ceiling plaster just as an icy jet of water hits my back.

With another screech, I slip and fall flat on my ass, bashing my funny bone in the process, my glasses flying off my face.

Well, the sprinklers work. Only ten minutes too late.

Crawling onto my hands and knees, a wave of nausea rolls through me thanks to the pain radiating from my elbow. My wet clothes and hair cling to my skin, making it even more difficult to move as I struggle to find my glasses on the floor. I’m blind as a bat without them.

Luckily, something wants to go my way today, and I find them nearly a foot away. With a labored breath, I shove my now ruined, freshly-dyed pink hair away from my eyes, and slide them on to my nose just as my entire world tips upside down.

Massive muscular arms lift me up and toss me over a broad shoulder, carrying me toward the front of the bakery, entirely unbothered by my shocked scream.

Trying to contain my upchuck reflex, I suck in short, quick breaths while ignoring the pain radiating down my arm.

You’d think this would be more than enough for me to be computing, but his big, warm hand wrapped around the inside of my thigh short-circuits my brain, flooding it with visuals of those thick fingers slipping a little further up.

Bloody hell Haven, this isn’t a porno. He’s not about to maul you against the firetruck. Thank fuck he can’t read your mind .

The fire alarm finally shuts off as we walk through the smoke-filled storefront, leaving Alexa now belting out Prodigy’s “Firestarter.”

That bitch is definitely laughing at my expense.

The morning sun blinds me as we walk out of the bakery. A sense of crushing relief takes hold as I suck in fresh air. But that relief is short-lived when I remember I need to figure out how I’m going to tell Grams that instead of prepping to open the bakery, I somehow flambéed her kitchen.

This can’t be my life right now. Please let this be a hallucination or weird crazy dream.

Maybe those mozzarella sticks I ate before bed screwed me over? I pinch my arm, but nope, still here, hanging upside down.

Dammit.

My breaths quicken and my heart races, but before I can spiral into an anxiety attack, I’m off the fireman’s shoulder. I clearly need my head examined because I get a little thrill as I slide down a broad, strong chest before my feet touch the ground.

Totally not thinking about sliding down a fireman's pole.

Nope.

Absolutely no more Chicago Fire for you, you thirsty cow.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I suck in a deep breath to calm my racing heart. You know, because I almost died in a fire, and not at all because I’ve clearly turned into a sex starved shrew who gets off on rubbing up against muscular strangers.

Okay, fine. Maybe it’s a mix of both.

I have issues.

His hands grip my shoulders, making sure I’m steady before he steps away, and instantly I shiver from the loss of his body heat. My nipples pebble beneath my wet tank and I look down in mortification to discover a grave error.

The white tank top I threw on over my thin lace bra this morning is now tinged pink from my hair dye and almost entirely see through, leaving zero—and I mean zero —to the imagination.

Fuck my absolute life.

This day cannot possibly get any worse.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!!” I squint at him, my soot covered glasses preventing me from making out his features.

He’s silent for a beat before growling out, “Hurricane Haven, leaving your usual trail of destruction, I see.”

I freeze like I’ve been dunked into an ice bath—and hell, after the sprinkler shower I just had, that’s not far off.

Holy shit, it can’t be. There is no way.

Why the hell did I have to tempt fate?

I whip off my glasses, scrubbing at the lenses with my tank, and stare into familiar, piercing blue eyes. Eyes belonging to my ex-best friend. Eyes that snap down to focus on my soggy see-through top, more specifically my saluting nipples.

Wonderful. Today might have to go down as the single most mortifying day of my life so far.

Note to self: buy a padded bra.

Scrambling to cover my chest by crossing my arms, I let my eyes trail up toward his hairline, and sure enough, there’s the familiar white streak of hair visible on his forehead through the mask.

It’s definitely Axel.

Anger radiates off him in waves, which just makes him a hypocritical ass. If anyone should be angry here, it’s me.

It’s been over a decade without even a hi, how you doing? text. As soon as I left for London, he literally ghosted me, and unlike Casper, this twat isn’t so friendly.

At least not anymore.

His hostile gaze climbs back up to meet mine, but he stays silent, holding my stare. I suck in a deep breath, the air around us swirling with tension .

I refuse to break. I won’t back down and I sure as hell won’t look away first.

He’s not going to intimidate me. I don’t care if he just saved my ass.

And to prove my point, I uncover my chest and stand with my hands planted defiantly on my hips, because fuck this guy today.

His eyes drop to my tits again, and he literally growls before he shouts, “The fuck are you guys standing around staring at her for? Get inside and make sure the fire is out.”

Only then do I notice three other guys standing alongside us, all with a perfect view of my defiant tits. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Looks like Axel wins this round.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I cross my arms again.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, the fire is out. While you guys were out saving kittens or whatever the fuck else it is you do, I managed to put it out. Alone .”

OK, not exactly true. I think it’s out, and the sprinklers did most of the heavy lifting, but fuck him.

His eyes flash as they meet mine again, his nostrils flaring wide as he rips off his mask and takes a step closer to me, crowding me against the side of the firetruck.

He’s so close I’m surrounded by his familiar citrus scent…and leather? Why does he have to smell so good?

“Saving kittens? The only pussy I’m trying to save right now is yours, Haven.”

Wow . He did not just go there.

“What were you doing when the fire started?” He crosses his arms, mimicking my stance, and it just pisses me off. “Let me guess, you fucked off to do something else and forgot all about it, yeah?”

I stiffen and see red. How fucking dare he? This is total bullshit. I inadvertently bring my hands to his chest and shove him, ignoring the painful twinge in my elbow .

Also ignoring how firm his chest feels.

Nope, we are not noticing that.

At all.

“Fuck you, Axel. There’s only one of us capable of forgetting all about something, and it’s not me.”

Needless to say, his crew didn’t go in as ordered, and at this point, their heads are comically swinging back and forth between us.

He spins around to face them, catching one of the guys clearly trying to get a glimpse of my tits again.

If I thought he looked mad before, it was nothing compared to the rage taking over his features now. His hands fist at his sides, his lips flatten, and I swear his entire face turns a deep shade of red as he stomps toward them.

“I said, GET THE FUCK to work.”

The youngest of the trio sends me an apologetic look as he walks over, holding out his hand. “Ma’am, are you OK? Let’s get you over to the medic. We need to have you checked out.”

“Please call me Haven, and honestly, it’s all good. I’m fine. I just knocked my elbow a little when I?—”

Axel doesn’t even allow me to finish my sentence as he prowls back over to me, his brow furrowed as his eyes rake over the rest of my body.

“You are not fucking fine, Haven. You’re hurt and god only knows how much smoke you inhaled in there while you were not running away from the fire. You are getting checked by the medic. If you don’t go with Ryan, I’ll carry you myself.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, and it has nothing to do with my current cold and wet state and everything to do with his alpha male display.

The raging fire in his eyes and the promise in his words ignite something in me I haven’t felt in forever. I can’t look away, my breath stutters, and my heartbeat hammers in my ears.

Oh crap, I’m in trouble here .

Seconds later, the moment is broken. The bakery door opens, and Ed Sheeran’s “Shivers” blasts out into the street from my little demonic speaker.

That bitch is absolutely haunted and needs to be put down.

Any plans for her demise come to a screeching halt when he slaps a Sweet Haven Fire Department T-shirt into my arms.

“And put this on. The whole town doesn’t need to see your tits.”

This guy wants to play? Lets play.

“Oh relax, Verona. They’ve seen worse—you’re the only one growling like you lost your damn chew toy.”

Game on, fucker.