Page 82 of Twisted Princess

It’s a good place to start—even if I have to wait.

Leaving Lev’s Tacoma parallel parked not far away, I climb the red-carpeted steps of the now-familiar burlesque lounge. And though the business hours on the door establish that the club won’t open until five, when I push on the gold-handled glass door, it swings willingly inward.

“Where the fuck you think you’re going, mate?” someone asks in a distinct Irish brogue.

I glance down the dark hallway off to the left, my eyes landing on a broad-shouldered man. He swaggers forward, and as he steps into the light, his copper beard shines like a beacon. His head has been shaved clean, which somehow makes him look more scrappy, dangerous.

Instantly, I’m on high alert, my senses kicking into gear as I recognize the threat. Which is how I catch the subtle movement behind him even before another man steps out of the shadows.

The second man joins the first, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, looking like the mirror image of each other as they eye me suspiciously.

My muscles tense, my body sinking into a slight crouch as I prepare for anything. My ears strain for anyone approaching from behind me. But so far, it seems to just be the three of us.

“Club’s closed,” the second one states. “Can’t you read?” He gestures toward the sign on the door—the one clearly indicating Pearl’s hours of operation.

I cast half a glance over my shoulder, disregarding the sign for a second time before I square my shoulders.

“What’re ya doing snooping where you don’t belong?” the first man demands.

I watch them both, carefully sizing them up as I consider whether I could take them down. They wouldn’t be as hard to beat as taking on several of my brothers. But I’m not here for a fight. Not this time.

If I want Mel back, I need to find a new strategy. At least until that proves to be a wrong choice. So, my best plan here is to talk myself out of trouble—and farther into the club if possible. And I can only do that if they don’t perceive me as a threat. Forcing my stance to relax, though it goes against all my instincts, I don a cool smile. “Something of mine was stolen. So, I need to speak with your boss to make things right.”

It’s a big hand to play, and if Keoghan chooses to side with his cousin, this plan will likely get me killed. But it’s my best shot of saving Mel and, at this point, the only idea I have left.

The first red-bearded Irishman eyes me skeptically, his disdain apparent. And he shares a look with his twin that tells me I’m not getting past them.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, my ears ringing a warning as my senses tell me someone else is approaching from the main part of the club. And I cast a sidelong glance in that direction, ready for anything.

“I’ll handle him.” The deep voice rumbles across the reception area. I’m stunned to find Harper stepping forward to claim responsibility for me.

The last time I saw him, he was on the business side of my knife—and I definitely didn’t take it easy on him. But it would seem he’s not holding it against me.

Instead, he jerks his head in the direction he expects me to head.

“You bloody well better,” the first twin says, crossing his arms over his hulking chest. And his twin mirrors him.

With a curt nod of appreciation toward Harper, I stalk past the red twins into the brightly lit club. There, at the base of the tiered restaurant seating, is the bullpen where I tackled Vinny off his chair after I saw him put his hands on Mel.

A slow smile curls my lips as I recall the feel of his nose giving beneath my knuckles. If only my brothers hadn’t hauled me off of him that night. None of this would have been necessary.

Then again, maybe Mel never would have agreed to come to New York with me if it hadn’t.

My stomach plummets at the thought.

Since I found her letter, my emotions have been in shambles. I don’t know what to make of our relationship anymore. What part of it was true, and what was a lie? Was any of it real? I don’t know. I’d like to think so, to imagine she could envision a future with me. But her carefully worded note has me questioning everything.

What I do know is that I can’t let her marry Vinny.

I know his kind.

That bastard will use her up and spit her out.

And Mel is worth so much more than that.

She deserves a full and happy life.

“You’re an idiot,” Harper states flatly as he guides me to a door at the back of the club, one hidden well by a wall of mirrors.

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