Page 127 of Twisted Collide

DANE

Another game.Another city.

Because of the distance and time of tomorrow’s game, we’re spending the night once again.

The plan is to go to dinner and then sneak Josephine into my room.

It’s not ideal, but I can’t imagine spending the night without her.

Her presence calms me, and I’ll need that now more than ever, seeing as we are playing the Empires tomorrow.

They are a team to be reckoned with, but since we met them last year for the Cup, they are even more so.

Everyone thinks we’re a shoo-in. Well, everyone except the assholes who are most likely betting against us.

Like all of New York.

I start to pace my hotel room; I’m having a hard time keeping still. Another reason I need my little hellfire. If she were here, I couldwork out my energy.

Fuck.

Now I really don’t want to go to dinner.

Lifting my arm up, I check my watch. It’s only seven, and dinner isn’t until seven thirty.

I’m about to text Josephine to see if she’s still with Molly when the hotel phone rings.

Strange. No one ever calls me on that thing. I walk over to the phone and pick it up.

“Hello.” The confusion is most likely evident in my voice. Either that or I sound like a grump, as Josephine likes to tell me.

“Good evening, Mr. Sinclair. There’s a package for you at the front desk.”

My brows draw in. Why would anyone send a package to me? Especially since I’m in New York. But then I think about Molly. Maybe it was her. She does tend to drop off stuff I need; maybe she’s too busy hanging out with Hellfire and gave it to the concierge.

She should have just given it to Josephine and made my life easier and a hell of a lot better.

Only one problem with that plan—Molly doesn’t know about Hellfire and me. Second problem, she’s way too observant not to see the signs if I asked her to have her bring it up.

Yep, nope. Bad idea.

“Can you have someone bring it up, please?”

“No problem, sir. It will be up shortly.”

I hang up the phone and walk to the other side of the living room in my suite. Grabbing the whiskey decanter, I pour myself a glass and wait.

I’m halfway through my drink when the knock sounds against the door. I don’t bother placing my glass down. Instead, I walk with it to the door and open it with my free hand.

An employee from the hotel is carrying a small, nondescript envelope. Interesting. Maybe not from Molly after all.

I reach into my pocket with my free hand, grab a wad of bills, and tip him before taking the envelope and shutting the door.

Even stranger is when I look at the white envelope, and the only thing written on it is my name. In neat uppercase letters.

I furrow my brow. The handwriting looks familiar, but I can’t place it.

I place my glass down and rip it open. Inside is a single photograph. One from a long time ago.

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