Page 6 of Hard Game

I flick the radio on and brew a pot of coffee, swiping through my physical to-do list on my phone with a sigh. One screams at me like it does every day.

Smile more.

Then;

Get revenge.

Of the two of them, I’ve got more chances of getting revenge.

You fucked them over. You took their money.

When I left, I knew they would kill me if they found me, so I took the steps to become Maddox Moreno, leaving my family behind.

Because of them.

I grit my teeth and drag my hand through my hair, annoyed with how thick and unruly it is becoming. Maybe I should shave it off.

The news comes on the radio, and I barely listen as I pour my coffee, inhaling the beautiful aroma. Even the scent makes me feel better, more alert, and ready to take on the world.

“A body of a seventeen-year-old girl was found in Lockwood Park; her identity remains unknown. Anyone that was in the area last night at all is being encouraged to contact the police.”

I still, my coffee halfway to my lips.

Tassa was right.

I take my coffee to the sofa, sipping on the scalding liquid and welcoming the pain as it makes its way down my throat.

I should’ve stopped them.

I need to stop them.

I gulp at the coffee this time and my eyes water, a hiss leaving my mouth when I gasp.

Alastor Petrov.

He’s the devil walking—if I believed in such atrocities. There’s no God here. There’s no God anywhere because if there were, the things I’ve seen would never have happened. I have to stop thinking about him and more about the poor girl he killed. I need to think about the ones he’s yet to take. The ones to order. The ones he chooses, like picking a dessert from a menu.

I will take them down.

Every single one of them, and as for Alastor? I’ll figure out a way to destroy him from the inside.

How?

I need to speak to Tassa; she’s been tracking them this past week while also managing to keep her distance. I can’t risk her safety.

I need a plan.

4

LAUREN

Who did she speak to?

I’m still mulling this over as I pull into the precinct later that day, grateful to see my partner has preempted my disastrous state of zero sleep and state of mind by placing a steaming latte on my desk.

Elijah leans back in his chair and studies me, his fingers nervously grazing his chin as I take a grateful sip of my latte. The steamed milk soothes my dry throat, and I nod my thanks. “Was she definitely part of the Lockwood…”

Elijah doesn’t need to finish his question. I know what he’s asking me.

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