Hate Is A Strong Word

Chapter Four

Hate Is A Strong Word

Artemis woke up the next morning with a terrifying hangover. His wrists were hurting and the splitting headache was not helping. 

What happened last night?

He remembered drinking and taking some strippers with him, but what happened after that?

As he tried to sit up, the pain in his wrists became even more intense. He wiped his drowsy eyes and took a look.

His eyes widened as soon as he saw the cuff marks. His eyes caught sight of some words on his left arm. Words that weren't there before. 

Whore. Slut. Bully. Scum. Piece of shit.

His breath caught his throat as memories from last night came flooding in. The voice. The face. Everything became clearer now. 

Professor Lucian Meyers.

His chest heaved. Shame curled in his stomach like acid as he rubbed at the ink as if scrubbing could erase the memory. No use. It felt like the words were burned into him. He was never going to forget it even if the ink was no longer there. 

If he was angry before, now he was fuming. That asshole had the audacity to humiliate him like this!

Artemis scrambled off the bed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand where he saw a note lying below it.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the note. He already knew who it was from. Only one person could sound smug on stationary.

“I hope after a little recap of our play last night, you will understand the level of pain you have inflicted on others and genuinely repent for them. I'm certain your victims wouldn't have trouble forgiving you if you are truly remorseful.

Your amazing professor,

Lucian.”

Artemis’ vision blurred with rage.

He was going to kill that man. Make him suffer and beg for death. He crumbled the paper and tossed it in the trash can. 

He grabbed his shirt and pants. He was going to storm to school and drag him out, whether he was on suspension or not, but before he could even think of doing anything, his phone rang. 

His father was calling. 

Artemis groaned. The man always had the worst timing. What could he possibly want now that couldn't wait until he was back from College?

“Father…” he acknowledged as soon as he swiped the answer button. 

“Come home right now. I have an assignment for you,” the man instructed and hung up. 

There was no space to argue so Artemis had to go home. 

However, he called one more person. He couldn't make a move now because whatever assignment his father had for him was going to take up his time and probably require traveling.

“Boss…” a masculine voice answered at the other end of the line. 

“Leo, I need you to follow and gather information on someone. His name is Lucian Meyers, he works as a professor in Kingston College,” Artemis instructed.

“That's new. You've never given me someone outside the list before…” Leo said. “Is he causing you trouble? I can take him out if you want.” 

“No,” Artemis snapped, even though the offer was tempting. “I want intel on him, that's all. I'll handle the rest myself.” 

“Alright, boss,” Leo responded.

“Report to me every four hours. I want to know what he's doing at every point in time. Who he goes out with, where he lives, what he does after school, everything!”

“Okay boss.” 

Artemis ended the call, jaw clenched so tight it ached. He stood there for a moment, staring at his arms. He could still see the words. His fists curled, his breathing erratic. Lucian had crossed a line no one had ever dared to.

He wasn’t going to let it go.

No, he was going to make Lucian wish he had never walked into Kingston College.

But first, he had to play the perfect son.

With a groan of frustration, Artemis pulled on his jacket and sunglasses to mask the bruising under his eyes. No one could know what had happened. No one could see the cracks in the perfect armor of Artemis McAlester.

He drove with the music blasting, his fingers tapping against the wheel with increasing aggression. The hangover was still biting at the back of his skull, but the rage kept him awake, buzzing like a wasp nest inside his chest.

Lucian Meyers.

Damn it! He couldn't get the fucker out of his head. 

By the time he reached the front gate of his father’s estate, the guard had already opened it, anticipating his arrival. 

Inside, Trevor McAlester was waiting in his usual spot. Leather chair, cigar in hand, glass of neat scotch on the mahogany desk. He was clearly the older version of Artemis. Colder, more ruthless and emotionless.

“Sit,” his father ordered without looking up. Like he was some kind of dog. 

Artemis obeyed, suppressing the urge to snap. He had learned long ago that defiance only delayed the inevitable.

“I’ve received word that a new player is interfering with the Sanchez deal,” Trevor went straight to the point. “Some ghost from the old cartel days. I want you to find out who it is. Make sure they disappear.”

“Why me?” Artemis asked, his voice clipped. It wasn't that he couldn't do it. He would just rather do something else at that moment.

Trevor finally looked up. His gaze was sharp, assessing and his eyes, those steel grey eyes were dead. The most emotionless eyes anyone had ever seen. 

“Because I need someone who doesn’t flinch. Someone who knows how to make problems vanish without leaving blood in the pool. If I send these amateurs, things are going to get messy and you'll have less free time on your hands cleaning it up.”

Artemis scoffed. “Funny. I thought I was already your damn janitor.”

Trevor’s lips curled into a dry smile. “This one’s yours now. Handle it.”

Artemis stood, body slouched in defeat. Arguing was pointless. It was better to just do it and get it over with. “Fine.”

“Oh, and Artemis,” Trevor added, his voice turning glacial, “don’t let me hear about you getting caught up in more professor drama. Your little college games better not affect the family name.”

Artemis froze for a half second. His fingers twitched.

Trevor definitely knew something.

But he didn’t press it. Not for now. However, Artemis knew that one wrong move, his father wouldn't hesitate to bury him. 

Without another word, Artemis left the room, fists clenched in his pockets. 

Back in his car, he exhaled shakily. He needed control. He needed to see Lucian’s face again, to burn it into his memory. Not with fear, but with pain.

No matter what his father said, Lucian was going to pay. He would gladly accept any punishment later.