Sweet Hatred
Chapter 260: Bloody guests

Chapter 260: Bloody guests

His presence filled the doorway like a shadow that didn’t belong to the light. He wasn’t dressed like a villain, but the darkness clung to him anyway. Grey pants, a buttoned-down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he’d been doing work, horrible work, and a tired, almost gentle expression on his face.

Like this was normal.

Like this wasn’t hell.

And the way he looked at me...

Like a twisted form of pride.

"I knew you would come," he said softly, like we were catching up over coffee. "You always come running when she was in danger."

I stood up slowly, heart pounding so hard I thought I’d collapse.

My fists clenched.

My blood boiled.

I turned to fully face him.

"You piece of crap, I swear to God, I’ll make sure you leave this place in pieces."

"I didn’t touch them."

"I brought all I could," I spat, glaring him down like my fury alone could keep him from turning his back on me. "Where are the kids?"

His eyes slid toward the duffel like a magnet pulled him, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he crouched beside it, unzipping it with unhurried fingers.

Cash. Stacks of it. Every bill I’d been able to scrape together, lying there like blood money.

He stared at it for a long second. Then...

"Not enough," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. It was soft. Almost... bitter?

Before I could ask what he meant, he zipped the bag back up and stood, lifting it off the ground like it weighed nothing.

Then he turned.

No goodbye. No confirmation.

Just walking away. Like none of it mattered.

"Where are they?" I snapped, my voice loud, sharp, and trembling at the same time. "Where the hell are Kaleb and Lily?!"

"Please—" Olivia sobbed from behind me. "Daddy, don’t hurt them, please—they’re just kids..."

And for the briefest moment... I saw it.

A flicker.

In his eyes.

Sadness.

Regret?

But I shoved the thought away. I wasn’t falling for that again. I wasn’t Olivia.

"Answer me, you son of a bitch!" I shouted.

He paused. Barely. His shoulders stiffened, then relaxed.

"They’re in the storage room," he said, voice low.

And then, without looking back, he tossed something.

A glint.

I caught it by reflex. A knife. Small, familiar.

One of mine?

Then he vanished into the hallway, footsteps fading into nothing.

"Storage—where the hell is that?" I asked, crouching immediately to cut through the rope around Olivia’s ankles and wrists. My hands were shaking, and so were hers.

She whimpered as the final rope fell, her body too weak to stand on its own at first. I caught her before she could collapse.

"T-The hallway," she sniffled, "last door on the left—next to the busted fan. I—I think they’re in there, Aria. I heard them cry..."

My heart seized.

I didn’t wait.

Pulling Olivia’s arm over my shoulder, I helped her up, her legs stumbling beside mine as we rushed out of the room, down the creaky corridor. The air felt heavier with every step, like the walls were closing in.

There it was.

A small wooden door, chipped paint and all. A fan above it turning slow and lazy, buzzing like it might drop from the ceiling.

I kicked the door open.

And there they were.

Michael slumped against the wall, holding Kaleb and Lily in his arms, passed out but breathing. Alive.

"Oh, my God," Olivia sobbed, dropping to her knees beside them.

My knees buckled too, but I stayed up, barely.

I scanned the room. No blood. No bruises. Just the exhaustion of being drugged or sedated. They were safe... for now.

But the rage building in my chest was far from over.

"Michael," I whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. "Hey—hey, we need you."

He stirred with a groggy grunt. "Aria...?"

"Yeah. Come on. Get up. Grab Lily. We’re getting out."

He blinked like he was trying to swim through fog but finally nodded. I moved quickly to Kaleb, who was still unconscious, and bent down.

"Sorry, buddy," I murmured, hoisting him onto my back. He was heavier than I remembered, but adrenaline made me forget.

We stumbled back through the hallway, the kids clinging to our bodies. Olivia limp at my side, holding the wall for balance, her eyes swollen from crying.

But when we stepped into the sitting room, everything stopped.

My father was still there.

But he wasn’t alone.

Five men. Strangers. They filtered in slowly. Each one looked like they stepped out of a nightmare, leather, scars, weapons, and the kind of eyes that only hardened killers had.

They weren’t just here to visit.

They were here for something.

And they weren’t smiling.

All of them had their guns pointed directly at him—my father, who was standing at the doorway, still clutching the duffel like a ticking bomb. Slowly, like he was in no hurry at all, he stepped back toward the center of the room.

And then he entered.

The last man.

Clapping. Slowly. Each sound a thunderclap in my chest.

He didn’t need guns. Or threats. The moment he stepped in, the others moved aside like he was death incarnate.

He had an aura. Power. Violence. Ease. And the kind of smile that never reached his eyes.

He exhaled smoke from his cigar as his lips curved into something amused.

"Nice to meet you," he said in a lilting, accented English. "You look just like your daddy."

I didn’t blink. "And who the fuck are you supposed to be?"

His chuckle was low, rough like gravel. "Me? Oh, I’m no one important." He gestured casually. "Just... a former business partner."

I glanced at my dad.

He wouldn’t meet my gaze.

And then, he stepped forward with the bag. "I have six hundred thousand," he said quickly. His voice cracked slightly. "In cash. It’s clean."

Six hundred? I thought. I gave him five hundred.

The man—the boss—didn’t even glance at the bag.

Instead, he turned to me again, blowing another thick stream of smoke, right into my face this time.