Page 6 of Twisted Games of Revenge

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes.

She stands and walks around to the other side of her office, glancing at the wall of images. “Don’t be. Pia did this to herself, thinking she could trust him. She knew better. Another girl who worked for me disappeared just a few months ago, Macey Carnell. She was an aspiring singer, working a few shifts here as well to make ends meet. She had amazing talent and tits, the regulars loved her. Came in on the Friday, excited for some new opportunity she’d been offered. Some charity event run by Valentina Moretti. By Sunday, no one could contact her anymore. She just vanished. Then a week later, her body arrivedon the back doorstep of the club with a note just for me. All it said was:Reconsider.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s been trying to get me to sell The Raven’s Nest to him for years, and in the last twelve months since Alessandro and the other Moretti boys have come into more power and he has been shunted out, he’s been trying harder. He used to come here every single week without fail. But after what he did, I can’t turn a blind eye to this shit anymore. He’s been banned here. I’m still working on my brothers to get him banned over at The Precinct as well, but they haven’t yet. Jagger thinks it’s better if he has some control over him. I’m not exactly sure what their arrangement is.”

“Do you think that is where he met Pia? I had a meeting with the boys at The Precinct a little while ago and she was there.”

“She worked for my brother for years. Harley, she wasn’t just a friend, she was like a sister to me. I have known her my whole life.”

“I’m so sorry, Sloane. Enzo gave me the creeps from the first time I met him, but I had no idea what he was capable of then,” I admit, remembering the engagement party and the way he slapped me across the face when I tried to stand up to him.

She shakes her head, seeming to snap out of a trance. Then she moves to where her drink was left, chugging the remainder of it. “He’s a monster, that’s for sure. And he needs to be stopped.”

“He does,” I agree.

“I’m going to help you. Together we will eliminate this asshole so he can’t destroy any more lives.”

I can’t help but smile back at her. For the first time since my papa was killed, someone is listening to me and actually wants to help.

“Tell me, Harley. Who exactly is Alex Moretti to you?”

I sigh, not sure how to explain. “It’s a long story, one I will need about ten more of these to get through.” I laugh, holding up my drink.

Chapter 3

Last night I hadGeovani’s words rattling round in my head, about not trusting anyone. I left the bar with Sloane, jumped in her Porshe, and had her bodyguard drive us to her apartment about a five-minute drive from her club, on a street that bordered with the more upmarket part of town.

After hearing which shitty motel I was staying in, she refused to let me stay there another night alone, so I grabbed my backpack and got out of there. The thought of going back to that shitty motel alone after what happened seemed like a terrible idea, so I left. But now in the light of day, I’m not sure it was the best idea. I mean, I’m not dead yet, nor am I lock up against my will. But what did I agree to last night by allowing her to help me? All I know about her is that she and her brothers run one of the gangs in this town and she has a passionate hatred for Enzo Moretti. But that doesn’t mean I can or should trust her. Even if we both want the same thing.

This morning, as the sun gently peeked through the sheer curtains, I slowly woke up in a queen bed fit for royalty. Findingmy blade still safely tucked under my pillow, I breathe a sigh of relief as I stare up at the ceiling, trying to wake up. Dressed in the most exquisite silk pajamas, I marveled at their elegance, feeling like a true queen myself. Sloane is the classiest biker chick I’ve ever met. Not that I know any of them, or really any.

I should have slept like a baby in the lap of luxury, but I didn’t. Every time I slightly drifted off, I saw that man’s eyes as he choked on his own blood and eventually died. I would wake in a hot sweat then be awake again for way too long. It was a terrible cycle that’s left me feeling on edge and wrecked this morning.

If one of the boys were with me, I would have slept like a baby, safely embraced in their strong protective arms. I can't help but wonder what they’re doing right now. Did they read my text message? And if they did, how did they react? Did Alessandro go postal? Or could they accept it for what it was? Either option makes me feel awful because I already miss them.

Deciding there is no point in lazing about when I have a man to track down, I throw back the covers and pad over the plush carpet. When I open the door to Sloane’s spare room, I’m hit with the tasty smell of what could only be fresh pancakes. My empty stomach growls loudly. I track the fragrance down a short hallway and enter the impeccably designed kitchen. The kitchen is decked out in all black marble; the glossy black cupboard doors shine with their gold handles, adding a touch of elegance. The building on the outside looks to be fairly dated, but this place has been freshly renovated.

“Morning.” I yawn, running a hand through my tangled curls.

Sloane turns toward me, holding a spatula in her hand, her lips painted a vibrant shade of red this morning, and a warm smile gracing her face. When the hell did she have time to shower already and put on a full face of make-up? “How did you sleep?” she quizzes me.

“Not the best night’s sleep I’ve had. It had nothing to do with your stunning spare room and everything to do with my fucked-up flashbacks of last night,” I admit, slouching down onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

She looks me over and purses her lips. “You need to learn how to block all that shit out. It’s the only way to survive.” She turns back to her task, flipping the pancakes.

“How do you do it?”

“Honestly, I have been numb to this cruel world for so long I couldn’t even tell you.” But the haunted look in her pretty eyes gives her away. She’s got plenty of demons just lurking under the surface. She’s just better at hiding them than I am.

“Can I help you make us some coffee or set the table?” I ask, remembering my manners and feeling guilty about relying on her generosity.

“Mugs are on the top shelf, pods in the first drawer. I take my coffee black.”

I chuckle. “Of course you do.”

She looks back at me, like what. But then shrugs like she knows her obsession with the color is over the top.

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