Page 113 of Lethal Lover

He’s right. Ivy is here for me. The job at hand means I need a certain kind of girl to bend to my will.

I can taste her name on my tongue. The sickeningly sweet coating and the bitter center colliding all at once.

Ivy is the exact kind of girl the depraved who play in the depths of the Broken Angel sex clubs want.

“Henderson won’t be easy to get.”

I lift an eyebrow at Malone.

“Plenty have tried. Broken Angel has a lot of information and…blackmail worthy stuff that’s kept him alive.”

“You want something.” I pose it as a stamen, not a question.

“Yes.”

That’s all he says. I don’t push.

In ten minutes, Cooke will hit the floor. Malone will feed off the chaos. And I’ll make my next move.

I’m not bothered by the untouchables. And I’ve known of the fucked up shit that happens in the bowels of Broken Angel.

I don’t give a fuck.

That’s not my reason either.

No. My reason is simple.

Revenge.

A finely spun web of revenge I’m finally ready to serve.

And timing?

It’s everything.

I excuse myself from Malone, move through the party goers, and catch Cara’s eye.

Her little gift, in exchange for taking care of a debt, looks like a favor to me. It isn’t. At all. It’s pure manipulation on my part.

Information is an important commodity. One I horde. And when another Knight—the one I’ve known the longest, Orion—started sleeping with a college student, I got curious.

Cara isn’t his type. But she has family issues, gambling debts I’m not even sure Orion knows about,

But I made it my business to run into her, to help her. Especially when I discovered who her friend at college is.

That’s around the time I decided to say yes to the Broken Angel job, for two reasons.

One is directly tied to Henderson, that rat fuck.

The other? Well now, that type of revenge is very different.

The honeypot.

The pretty girl with the hair like dark caramel. The one who shifted the energy in the room just by walking in.

Ivy Gardner.

She’s no longer the skinny annoying kid sister of my long-gone best friend. No longer the little fourteen-year-old with the crush on me. No longer the girl I rejected when she tried to kiss me all those years ago.

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