Page 4 of Twisted Games of Revenge

“Don’t look so frightened, I won’t hurt you. Maybe I can help you instead, if you’re interested. See, you did me a favor tonight.” She bends down and pulls my knife free of the asshole’s neck, studying it. “This motherfucker has been harassing my staff for weeks. And now they can feel safe again. It’s why I was watching you on the monitor, I saw him bothering you earlier. One less problem for me to deal with now. So, thanks.” She offers me a smile, and I think it’s a genuine one. “I think you should come back inside for a drink. I owe you one.”

I was being watched by her. Did she know I was listening in on her and her brother’s conversation as well? Shit, Harley, you need to be more careful. “I really can’t.”

Her smile broadens, reaching all the way to her eyes. “But you can, because I insist.” She waits for me to respond, her toe tapping impatiently again. “Either you come inside with me on your own or Onyx over here will escort you.”

A man steps out of the shadows, making me flinch in surprise. He’s huge, even bigger than Maddox. My guess is at least six-six and built like a fucking brick wall. Not too different to the description I gave this pig earlier. His eyes are dark as the night, and they hold a promise that he won’t be as easily taken down as this guy was. How long has he been standing there listening to us?

I swallow the lump in my throat, knowing I’m truly out of options. “Why don’t we have that drink.” I grin at her, even though my teeth are clenched so tight I might break a tooth.

Pleased, she flicks a long strand of platinum hair over her shoulder and shoves open the back door to her club. She holds it open for me with one of her perfectly manicured hands, whileOnyx waits for the two of us to go inside and then closes the door up tight behind us.

Once inside, I follow her down a short corridor covered in flocked wallpaper in a dark charcoal and black. Her heels click on the polished concrete floor, the sound just marginally louder than my thumping heart. When she arrives at a door, she shoves it open into an office of sorts.

I linger awkwardly in the doorway. “Is this really your club?” I ask when I can’t find anything else to say.

“Sure is.” She smirks at me, and I see how proud she is of herself. She knows she’s a chick in a man’s world.

“Sorry, I just mean, in my experience, everything around here is run by men with way too much power. I thought maybe you ran it for your brothers or something. Put a chick in charge to make the working girls feel more comfortable about taking their clothes off for cash.” I shrug, knowing I’m rambling because I’m so nervous. “Or something like that.”

Amused by my rant, she chuckles softly. “I never did quite fit the mold. But something tells me you don’t either.” She reaches her hand under my hoodie and pulls out a strand of red hair, a small smirk painting her peach-colored lips. “Yeah, I thought I recognized that face earlier, Harley Havardi.”

My eyes go wide, and I blink back at her in shock, worried I might puke all over her fancy Persian rug. I shove my hair back under the hood in a rush. “Sorry, what?” I feign ignorance and laugh it off, as if I don’t know who she means.

Entertained, she moves around to the other side of her sleek marble desk. Taking two glass tumblers, she flicks one up with her wrist, catching it and dropping it to the table before collecting a bottle of spiced rum. “I remember your face from the engagement announcement to Alessandro Moretti in the paper. What is a girl like you doing in my club all alone?” First, she pours rum, then ice, bitters, and syrup into the glasses. Aftermixing them, she gives me one. “You look like you need a drink.” She offers a half smile. “Something harder than lemonade.” She chuckles again, then gestures toward the jade-green velvet sofa in the room’s center. “Take a seat.” There is a no-shit edge to her tone that tells me it’s not a suggestion.

Tentatively, I sit at the edge of the soft sofa, feeling out of place with all her fancy surroundings. A small vase of white roses sits on her coffee table, their sweet smell wafting through the room. The wall behind her desk is filled with black-and-white images; beautiful girls, all of them.

“What’s with the photographs? They relatives of yours?”

It’s the first time since my run-in with her that I see a slight falter in her armor. She glances to them swiftly before coming around the same side as me again, sitting in an armchair, crossing one long leg over the other. She’s the most stunning and interesting woman I have ever seen. But there is an intensity about her that scares me as well. “They are the women I couldn’t save.”

My heart sinks, not understanding what she means but feeling the heaviness in her voice. “Sex workers?” I ask, knowing she might not want to tell me, but curiosity wins out over fear of what she might do if she doesn’t want to answer. She has me here in her office. I’m not sure what else we’re supposed to chat about.

She sighs heavily. “Friends, colleagues, women who all touched me and were taken from this earth too soon.” She shrugs. “This line of work isn’t always the safest. I keep them close to remind me why I do it.”

I stare back at her, wanting to ask so many more questions, but I can see she’s done with that conversation. It hurts too much. But still, she keeps them close to her instead of hiding their faces away. There is something in that.

Her piercing hazel eyes lock with mine. “So, Harley, what brings you into my club tonight? And this time I want the truth, all of it. You sat here for hours on your own, so I know this is going to be good.”

I roll my lips. Not this shit again. “Just wanted a quiet drink alone, is that a crime?”

She raises a brow at my snippy attitude. “Why not drink at your fiancé’s club or at the casino? I’m surprised Alessandro let you out alone at all, knowing that man.”

Oh, she has no idea. “He didn’t. I mean, he’s not my fiancé.” I shake my head, trying to get this right. “I mean, he doesn’t know I’m here.”

She cocks her head. “Oh yeah? That surprises me. The Morettis keep a pretty tight leash on their women.”

“I’m not a pet,” I snap back, disgusted by her accusation. “And I’m not his woman!”

A slight smile touches her lips. “Yeah, I like you. You’re feisty. Have your drink.”

I look over the amber-colored liquid sitting in the tumbler in my hand. It smells divine, but that won’t entice me. “I don’t accept drinks from complete strangers. Sounds like the beginning of a bad horror movie. You’re probably working for Enzo or some shit and you’re about to poison me.” I blink back at her, trying to see what she makes of that. After the two conversations I have heard from her, I know she hates the man, but I want to see what she’s willing to share with me.

“Enzo Moretti. Oh, fuck off. If that man ever stepped foot in here again, he would be leaving with a bullet in his fucking head. I don’t care what the rules are.” She takes the drink she poured for herself and swaps it with mine. “Drink mine instead,” she offers before taking a big swig from the glass she originally gave me. “Something tells me you’re a girl with trust issues. Been burnt in the past, Harley?”

“Please stop calling me that.” I glance into the drink, wondering if I should risk it. But she was about to drink from it, and my nerves could do with something to settle them a little. I’m still shaking from that altercation in the alley. So, I take a sip. It’s smooth and delicious; why have I never tried this before? “You really hate Enzo Moretti?”

Her face contorts in anger. “Who doesn’t? That man has more enemies than allies in this town these days.”

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