Page 3 of Twisted Games of Revenge

I slip my hand into my back pocket, and as he comes at me again, I pull my knife from it and sink it straight into the side of his neck, just how Geovani showed me. His words come back to me.When all else fails, use your knife and hit them right in the jugular.

The asshole’s eyes go wide as he wraps his hands around the knife, a look of pure fear as he tries to pull the knife free with no luck. Blood gushes out of the wound, spilling over his hands. He drops to his knees.

I stumble back, nearly tripping on my own feet. Oh fuck. That looks so fucking bad. I didn’t mean to stab him, I just wanted him to back off. To leave me alone.

Blood seeps out and over his fingers. “You fucking little bitch. You will pay for this. Do you know who I am?” he gurgles, the most disgusting sound I have ever heard.

I retreat further, my heart pounding with fear. I have no idea who he is. Was he sent by Enzo?

“Hey, you!” comes a furious female voice from further up the alleyway, sending a fresh wave of panic racing through me.

Someone saw me.

Chapter 2

Squinting up the darkalley, I catch a glimpse of the same blonde woman I’d been watching inside. Sloane, her face obscured by the shadows as she peers out of a doorway.

Shit. This is bad, Harley.

“He… I…” I stare at the man crumpled on the dirty asphalt in front of me, spluttering as blood drains out of him. Fuck. My heart races so hard I think I might have a heart attack. This is bad. I think I killed him.

Sloane moves in closer, her eyes locking with mine, the intensity of the hazel orbs sending a chill right through me. She’s like a cat, sleek and beautiful but unpredictable. I get the impression she could lash out at me, and I wouldn’t stand a chance. This dude said he was important. Please dear God, don’t tell me he was a fucking Iron Stryker.

My bottom lip trembles. I’m not quite sure what to do, it all happened so fast, and I was just trying to protect myself. But I know that will mean nothing to her if he was one of her men.

She walks right up to him and kicks him over where he has crumpled to the ground, revealing his blood-smeared face. “For fuck’s sake,” she says, sounding more irritated than deadly.

She picks up her phone and dials a number, tapping her toe impatiently as she waits for the call to connect. “I’ve got a situation I need you to take care of. Alley behind the club,” is all she says before disconnecting the call. She looks me up and down, her features softening a little. “You alright?” she says bluntly.

I stare at her, feeling like I’m about to burst into tears at any second. “Y-yeah,” I stutter, anything but.

She props a hand on her hip as she shifts her stance to really take me in. I feel her scrutiny, the shrewd way she assesses every little detail. “This asshole had it coming, I saw what you did to protect yourself on our video surveillance. Impressive moves. Who taught you to fight like that?”

I swallow the lump in my throat trying to find words. “An old friend,” I mutter. Sickness washes over me again when I think of what I did to that old friend yesterday. Geovani trusted me, gave me the freedom I needed, and I lied to him. Instead of going to the safe place he had planned for me, I’m now in a dirty alley, probably about to be arrested for killing a man. Or worse, killed by a gang.

She walks around my other side, the click of her heels the only sound to be heard echoing up the quiet of the alley. “Oh yeah, that friend got a name?”

I shake my head, not wanting to give anything away. I’m supposed to be invisible, that’s the only way my plan can work. What’s left of it now, anyway.

She purses her painted peach lips together and thinks on it. “Just an old friend, well, okay. Good for you. Most chicks I know wouldn’t have the guts to take a dude of his size. I could use your skills around here.” She raises a well manicure brow in question.

“I’m not interested in a job,” I splutter back, not sure if I’m horrified or should be taking her comment as a compliment. Glancing back toward the club, I’m not even sure what kind of job she could be offering. Stripper, escort, bar staff, if she’s after my fighting skills as a bouncer? There is only one option there I would ever entertain and that is if I was desperate. But right now, I’m not. I just need to get the fuck out of here.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

I shake my head again. There is no way I’m telling her my name, fuck that. “If you have this situation under control, I really should be going,” I mutter, moving past her. The last thing I need is anyone recognizing me or her feeling the need to call the Moretti boys if she works out who I am.

She reaches out, gathering my hood in her hand, nearly clotheslining me. “Not so fast, chickee. You killed a cop on my property tonight. If you want me to mop up your mess, the least you can do is tell me who you are.”

My eyes go wide. A cop. Oh God, no! That disgusting creep is supposed to be protecting the innocent people of this town. I look him over again; I should have fucking known. He looks like a slimy pig. “I’m no one,” I say, pulling out of her grip, hauling my hoodie back up over my head and tucking the loose strands of hair underneath it.

She tilts her head, her eyes locking with mine. “Everyone is someone.”

I meet her steely gaze, trying to be just as tough as she is. “Well, I’m not,” I spit back. I don’t have to tell her shit, and she knows it.

She rolls her lips, glancing up the alleyway. “Where you off to in such a hurry? Got someone waiting for you at home?”

Home, now there is a strange concept. The irony of my homelessness is so absurd, I feel like laughing in her face. I lift my shoulder, glancing toward the street as a noisy muscle carscreeches up the road. Anxiety churns in my stomach, making me feel crazy. I need to get the fuck out of here. This chick is asking way too many questions.

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