Twisted Games: A Dark Gang Romance (Boys of Briar Hall Book 3)

“Are you sure he’s coming?” I asked Becca for the second time, my fingers tightening on the wheel.

I squinted into the growing dawn light outside of her father’s Thorn Valley office building, trying to find signs of life. We were sitting ducks here. It was possibly the worst fucking place Becca could have asked her father’s driver to pick her up, but she’d hung up my cell before I could tell her to make alternate arrangements.

“I’m sure.”

I vibrated in the seat, muttering to myself. “Come on. Come on.”

“Aves…can we please talk about—”

“There!” I interrupted her, jerking forward to point at the sleek black sedan pulling around the building. “Is that him? Do you know the plate number?”

I unsheathed a blade and sat up straighter, watching as the car inched closer.

“No, but…” Becca leaned forward from the back seat, her body fitting easily between the two front seats. “That’s definitely him.”

I relaxed, though not entirely. I could feel Becca’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. Didn’t want her to see how much her betrayal had shattered me.

“You need to go,” I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Do exactly as I said. Your driver has your passport, right?”

I caught her slow nod from the corner of my eye. She’d asked him to bring it during their call.

“Good. Then you go straight to the airport. Go to your dad’s vacation home in Europe—”

“It’s in Paris, you should come—”

“Shhh,” I hushed her sharply, my body flushing with heat. “Don’t say anything else. I don’t want to know where it is.”

“Do you really think they’ll come after me?”

At the fear in her voice, I finally cracked, turning just enough to see the gleam of it in her brown eyes. “I don’t know,” I told her honestly.

She inhaled shakily and cleared her throat as the black sedan pulled up beside the Rover in the empty backlot of the building. “Are you going to be okay?” she asked in a watery voice.

“I don’t know that either,” I admitted. “But I’m done running. It’s time for these Saints to pay for their sins.”

Becca’s grip on the seat tightened until her knuckles were white. “I can’t talk you out of it?”

“No.”

She hung her head. “For what it’s worth…I really am sorry. I should’ve—”

“Should’ve doesn’t help me, Becks,” I snapped, completely unable to keep a leash on myself. She needed to leave now before I became the danger she needed to run from.

Hurt could turn to fury in the blink of an eye, and if I let myself go there…

“I need you to go. Now. Call me when you land, and again when you’re settled in the house, but don’t call from a landline. Get a burner at the airport.”

“Okay.”

I nodded, and she hesitated for only another few seconds before she pushed out the door and shut it behind her, climbing into the back of the sedan. I waited until it left the lot and then followed it, trailing it to the edge of town. Once it left the limits of Thorn Valley, I let the Rover’s engine slow and pulled onto the shoulder, my throat burning until my vision blurred with tears.

I slammed my open palms on the steering wheel, and when the sting settled something inside of me, I did it again. And again.

Until the tears were gone and my palms were red and throbbing. Only then did I even bother trying to slow my breathing. Only then did I do a quick sweep of the Rover for any GPS trackers and then ease off the shoulder and back onto the highway, pulling a tire-squealing U-turn to head down the side-road a few miles back the way I’d come.

Toward the Docks. Where Vick would no doubt already be awaiting my arrival.

I couldn’t let myself think about what I was going to do when I got there. Not about what I would say either. I’d lose my nerve.

I couldn’t lose my nerve.

Fresh, morning mountain air blew into my face from the open window, and I closed my eyes, thinking how easy it might be to just let the wheel go. Let the Rover drift…

The tires jerked, bumping onto the shoulder, and my eyes flew open, hands working to pull me back onto the road, my pulse thudding in my ears.

Fuck.

I jammed the radio button, twisting the volume dial to crank it. Needing to distract myself.

The host of The Edge came on, and I almost changed the station to something that was actually playing music when his next words made me pause.

“If you were lucky enough to catch their show in Lodi, then you might already know what all the fuss is about. Not only did The Bone Man feature a whole new song, but also a whole new voice. The mystery surrounding the man himself has doubled as we all try to figure out who she is.”

“That’s right, Randy,” the other host, a woman, added. “It’s such a unique voice, but one that complemented Primal Ethos so perfectly. A tall order if you ask me.”

Something in my chest tightened.

“And for him not to have even credited whoever it was…” Randy trailed off.

“Do you think we have another mystery singer?”

A laugh. “Definitely possible.”

“All right folks, here it is from Primal Ethos, the live version of his brand new song, Sparrow!”

The opening notes of the song flowed into the Rover, and I was thrust back in time. To that night in Lodi, and as his voice came over the air, that thing that’d been tight in my chest only a moment ago shriveled to dust.

Corvus’ brusque voice flowed through the speakers in surround sound, echoing inside of my skull. “This one’s called Sparrow.”

I jammed the off button before he could begin to sing, feeling sick and hot and freezing cold all at once.

He’d just stood there. Mute while Grey and Rook at least had the decency to speak. To try to work through what had happened, but Corvus became statuesque. A lump of useless muscle and flesh with a brooding aura. He just stood aside and told them to let me leave. I didn’t know what to think about that. The unfeeling, unflinching monster in his stare had shaken me to my core.

But Rook…

He’d wanted to come with me.

The weight of the hard black stone against my clavicle felt almost too much to bear, but still I couldn’t seem to make myself take it off. I would later. When I was alone. And I would find a way to get it back to him. I wanted Diesel to suffer. On some level, I wanted the Crows to as well, but I wouldn’t become the Ghost Rook named me for before returning this last memento of his mother to him.

The Docks came into view as I rounded a corner in the bending road, and I flinched as warm orange-hued light blinded me. The sun cleared the horizon, and its reflection glimmered off the rippling waters of Spirit Lake, practically burning out my fucking retinas.

My mouth went dry as I pulled into the lot, searching for another vehicle. A police vehicle. But there was nothing. Not even the standard issue undercover sedan I’d thought he might arrive in. He was smarter than I gave him credit for then, not parking anywhere near here.

I cursed myself for not having that same foresight. This was Saint property, after all. I assured myself they wouldn’t be coming anywhere near here with weeks still until the next full moon party, and put the Rover in park, sitting there while it idled for a minute, letting the calm lake and the warmth of the sun on my itchy, blood-spattered skin bring me a measure of peace.

For a second, I could almost pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened at all. My best friend hadn’t been plotting behind my back. Diesel hadn’t tried to kill her and me. My guys…

No, not mine.

They were never mine.

Sighing, I stepped out of the Rover, realizing I was barefoot and trying to remember when I’d lost my shoes. Back in the warehouse, no doubt. The sharp gravel bit into the soft soles of my feet as I made my way to the dock, until it was replaced by the sharp prick of splinters instead.

I couldn’t bring myself to care about either. At least the sting with each step reminded me that I was still alive. And living girls could have their vengeance before they became dead girls.

The weathered barn-like door creaked and groaned as I pushed it to one side, old green paint flaking off the wood. Inside it smelled of stale liquor and regret. Across the floor stood the low stage. Atop it, discolored leather sofas languished in the shadows. Desolate. Thrones without their kings.

I could picture them there so clearly. I had been standing just over there when I noticed them watching me that night. How their dark eyes had glittered with malice and a hunger so deep it roiled in the pit of my own stomach.

Forcing myself to look away, my jaw ticked as I turned my attention to the narrow doorway at the back of the warehouse. Standing ajar, it allowed the morning sunlight to filter into the space, along with a welcome breeze off the lake that carried with it scents much less assaulting than the ones currently cloying up my nose.

The shuffle of boots over wood outside and I knew that he was already here. Had likely been waiting a while. Why else venture out into the open unless it was to get away from this stink?

Just in case, I moved with quick, careful steps to the raised stage and snagged a broken bottle, careful not to let the glass ring against the wood. I couldn’t bring myself to take the gun I’d stolen from one of Diesel’s men back in Nomansland. If I were being honest, I hardly knew how to use one, anyway. I’d left it in the Rover, wiped clean of my prints.

It was a small miracle I hadn’t accidentally shot Corvus when I was aiming for the pavement near his feet to show him I meant business.

My throat went dry, and I methodically tried to force a burning swallow, nearly coughing.

“Ava Jade?”

Officer Vick’s distinct tone filtered into the warehouse, and I managed to somehow both relax and stiffen anew at the sound of it.

My fist clenched around the bottle neck as I made my way to the back exit and out onto the narrow deck surrounding the pier. I lifted my free hand to shield my eyes from the sun as it washed me in warm bright light. Officer Vick stood against the railing, next to a hold in the rotting decking that I had on good authority was made by Bitchface Brianna’s fat ass feet.

It was easier to focus on that than look Vick in the eye.

“You won’t be needing that,” Vick said, his index finger indicating the broken bottle clenched in my fist.

My nostrils flared as I forced my clenched fist to relax, dropping the bottle near the door, close enough that it would still be within reach if I needed it.

“Glad you came,” Vick continued unprompted, turning to rest his forearms on the edge of the railing overlooking the morning lake. A foolish move if you asked me. It looked about five seconds from giving under his weight.

If he fell and smashed his thick head on one of those rocks down below at least I wouldn’t have to tell him jack squat. The thought burned through my mind, and I had a sudden intense urge to push him. To force those weather-weakened boards to crack under his weight and send him toppling over to the treacherous and rocky waters below.

As though he could feel my intent, Officer Vick shifted, turning back to face me while taking a step away from the railing.

“You look like shit.”

I shook my head, remembering all at once why I was here.

The sting of their betrayal hit me all over again, just as crushing as it had been when it was fresh, barely five hours ago.

Had it really only been five hours?

It felt like more…

And less…

I grimaced, grinding my teeth as I lifted my chin to meet the officer’s stare.

He lifted a brow, and for a beat, I had to wonder how truly terrible I must look. Barefoot. Clothing torn and bloodied. Hair a rat’s nest sans rats on my head. Saying I looked like shit was probably a compliment.

“So,” Vick began again. “What do you have for me?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but a stopper in my throat made it damn near impossible to speak. I swallowed hard, wondering where exactly I should start.

I had my phone tucked into my panties. Did Officer Vick and the other shitforbrains cops down at Thorn Valley PD have the tech to recover the videos Grey deleted off my phone?

They might.

Or would my intel be enough?

Diesel had been clear that the Deadwood was full of bodies. Several he’d put there himself. They were bound to contain some of his DNA. Or at least some slugs that might match his gun.

I could come clean about the diner incident. He’d promised me immunity. I could feel Rook’s phantom hands on me, holding me tight. Holding me close. Pressing the barrel of a gun to my temple as I helped him rob the joint.

No.

I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of dizzying vertigo making me thrust a hand out to the railing myself, to find my balance.

“Ava Jade?”

“Just…just give me a minute,” I said, speaking for the first time, my voice a hoarse, cracking whisper.

I cleared my throat, blinking as a wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to fight not to double over and vomit on Vick’s shoes.

“Take all the time you need,” Vick crooned, and I flinched back as he moved close, a hand outstretched. I smacked it away, standing straight.

“Don’t touch me.”

He lifted his hands, eyes going round. “All right.”

His close standard-issue sport’s jacket reflected the light and I squinted to see him better. He looked a little rougher around the edges than I remembered in the daylight. Scruffier. More gaunt in the face. His hands thick and callused. Different than each time I’d seen him before. Once at night and once in the shadows of the trail just off campus at Briar Hall.

It somehow made him seem more human. Relatable. Like he was just a regular guy who might’ve seen some shit—been through some shit—himself. And I remembered he said the reason he wanted to bag the Saints so bad was personal. Did they take someone from him like they’d taken Becca’s mom?

Like the Kings took my dad?

I sighed.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said in a low voice. “The Crows and their father are monsters. Murderers.”

My skin bristled.

“The world will be a better place without them.”

“You’re wrong.”

The words were out of my mouth before I could trap them and shove them back down my aching throat.

I shook my head, my chest hot and swelling with each breath as they became heavier.

Officer Vick narrowed his eyes at me. “I am?” he challenged, a muscle in his jaw straining.

“The Crows are fucking idiots. Total assholes. And I can’t say a single kind thing about their father except that he loves his sons more than anything in this world, but no. I don’t think the world would be a better place without them.”

I remembered the feel of my blade as it slit across the throat of Frank the butcher. The man who broke one daughter’s arm and starved the other. The Crows found justice for the broken and oppressed people of Thorn Valley. Without them, those little girls would’ve continued to suffer. How many other pieces of trash had they cleaned from these streets?

How many lives had they saved?

Just as many as they’d taken?

More?

It didn’t matter, I realized with a start.

I fell back a step.

I didn’t have to do this.

They’d betrayed me. They didn’t care for me the same way I had begun to care for them, but that didn’t mean they deserved this. I could just leave. Disappear like I should’ve done from the start. Leave them to their nest of cruelty and vengeance. To their father.

I could still try to take Diesel down, but it would hurt them and I…

Despite everything, that was the last fucking thing I wanted to do.

Physically, I wanted to crush them. Drive over them with a fucking tank. But this?

I couldn’t do this. It went against everything I stood for.

What I could do was cut a deal for my freedom with Diesel. He didn’t want me anywhere near his sons; he’d made that clear as crystal. But he also couldn’t risk losing his son’s devotion by killing me without just cause or provocation. Hell, I’d bet the bastard would even pay me to leave, rendering Aunt Humphrey’s inflated bank account completely useless to me.

I could even negotiate for Becca’s life.

It would be a win-win-win.

Even if it felt more like losing everything right now.

“Do you really believe that?” Officer Vick asked, incredulous at my admission. “That the world wouldn’t be better off without men like them in it?”

“Men like them…” I trailed off, sticking a hand down a tattered hole in my dress to retrieve my cell phone from where it was pressed hard into my hip bone. “Other gang members? Maybe.”

Officer Vick eyed my phone, unable to hide his lusting after it. He was practically drooling, the dog.

He watched as I pried off the back, the metal warm to the touch from my body heat, and popped out the sim card.

“But other gang members aren’t like them. No one is.”

I snapped the sim. Vick’s mouth opened in a silent, horrified gasp. I pressed the busted pieces into my fist with the phone and reeled my arm back.

Vick lurched forward, but he was too late. The phone whistled through the air, dropping, dropping, until it plunked into the soft waves of the lake and a weight the size of fucking Texas took its boot off my chest.

I sighed.

“I’m sorry,” I told Vick as he clutched the railing, scanning the little white-capped waves for any sign of the device. “I can’t help you. And Vick?”

I waited for him to look at me, the skin between his almost unibrow pinching.

“Don’t ever contact me again. If you do, I’ll tell the Crows all about you. Where you live.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line.

“What kind of car you drive.”

“How—”

I lifted my hand to stop him. I wasn’t finished. Anyone with half a brain could use a name to search for an address. And anyone worth their salt could have a pleasant little run past said address to scope it out, thus finding a personal vehicle, plate number, and a hot-rod red tricycle in the driveway.

“Don’t approach me again and you have nothing to worry about.”

Vick took a moment to compose himself, his gaze drifting to the open doorway at my back like he couldn’t wait to leave.

“I understand,” he replied.

A loud clap echoed within the warehouse at my back, and I whirled, dropping to the ground to snatch up the bottle and roll back, putting distance between myself and the doorway and even more space between Vick and me.

The clap came again, louder this time, followed by another, and another as the shadowy form inside the warehouse came closer, their steps awkward and stilted, until eventually he stepped into the light.

Diesel St. Crow emerged from the bowels of the Docks, inhaling deeply through his nose as a breeze brushed over us from the lake. He continued his slow clapping as he turned to face me, seeming to be completely unperturbed by the police officer at his back.

The police officer who seemed wholly unsurprised to see Diesel there. No, not just unsurprised, but like he’d been expecting him. Like he knew him.

My mind reeled at the scene before me, trying to read between lines I’d somehow missed entirely.

“Thanks, Colin,” Diesel said, jerking his head to Vick who gave a quiet nod before departing with one last glance in my direction, something like a smirk playing on his lips.

He removed his jacket as he left, revealing arms covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoos. The sharpened fleur-de-lis sign of the Saints in solid black on the back of his left biceps.

What. The. Fuck.

I held Diesel’s stony gaze, trying and failing to read what was going on in that twisted head of his. Noticed how fucking pale he was. No doubt thanks to my blade work.

Before I could form the beginning of a laundry list of every curse word in the dictionary and then some, the floorboards inside the warehouse creaked again and the Crows stepped out behind their father.

My pulse skittered before pushing back to a strong, steady rhythm as tangling tendrils of guilt, fear, and murderous intent wreaked havoc on my nervous system.

Diesel stopped clapping, but it was the Crows I couldn’t take my eyes off no matter how much I wished I could. Jumping from the pier myself began to sound like a pretty damn good idea. I liked my chances.

My eyes darted to the lake, judging the distance.

“Don’t,” Corvus said.

My teeth clenched.

He had no right to look so damned betrayed. None of them did.

They started this shit. They roped me in. Pushed me into a corner. What did they expect?

But still, the hurt in their stares stabbed into me like knives, making it harder to breathe.

“I have to admit,” Diesel said, a flicker of his concealed rage crossing his face. “This wasn’t how I anticipated things going down.”

“We had a deal,” Rook growled, his hulking form vibrating beneath his leather jacket.

Diesel’s upper lip curled into a snarl before he spoke again. “So we did.”

The man hobbled forward, and I worked hard to stand my ground, bottle at the ready, checking him over for anything that looked even remotely like a concealed weapon.

He lifted a hand, his face back to an unreadable mask.

One I’d like to peel from his skull with the broken edge of the bottle in my hand for what he did.

“Welcome to the Saints, Ava Jade.”

I looked at his outstretched hand. At his sons watching the exchange like they could force me to take it through sheer force of their will.

The bottle clattered to the decking at my feet, breaking.

I turned and walked away.