Page 13 of R Is For Revenge: Part One
“None that interested me.” His tone is clipped. He’s done talking about that shit.
I stare at the court for a long moment, debating. Normally, I keep this sort of thing locked down, even from the others. But Huxley? He’s the one person in this circle I can’t bullshit. He’s seen me at my worst, and he’s the only one who never askswhyI burn bridges—just makes sure I don’t get burned in the process.
“Harold Horner’s daughter walked into my club Friday night,” I finally say.
Huxley’s brows lift, but he doesn’t look shocked—just intrigued. “The same Harold Horner you gutted five years ago? That Harold Horner?”
“The one and only. She’s calling herself Jules Harper now. Says she’s new to the city. Applied as a server.”
“Server. That’s gotta be tough for her coming from that kind of background.” He whistles low. “And does she know who you are?”
“No. Doesn’t even know we’re… connected. She doesn’t recognize me, doesn’t know the past.” My jaw tightens. “But I knew her the second I saw her. Same eyes as her old man.”
Huxley studies me for a beat, his expression unreadable. “So what’s the play?”
“The same as always,” I say, the words cold and steady. “She’s the last thing he has left. I’ll take that, too. Slowly. She’s the only thing he managed not to lose when I burned down his fucking empire. And when I takeher, it’ll finish the job. It’ll break him.” I grimace and glance away. Maybe then I can move on. Live a life that doesn’t have me looking back.
Huxley tilts his head. “And you’re sure about that? You don’t even know what their relationship’s like. For all you know, he barely speaks to her.”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s a selfish bastard, and men like Harold always need something. Someone. She’s the last thing tethering him to any kind of life. He might not give a damn about anyone else, but I’d bet everything I own he’s still holding onto her. And when I take her away? It’ll kill him long before the booze does.”
Huxley’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t argue. “Revenge by proxy,” he murmurs. “Classic Beckett.”
I grip the handle of my racquet tighter, jaw flexing. “This isn’t about her. It’s about him. She’s just… leverage. The final nail in the coffin.”
“And you’re okay using her like that.”
“I’m okay with it.” She’s a fucking Horner. She means nothing to me.
Hux says nothing, but I don’t like the look on his face. He sees too much.
“Let’s play.”
Huxley serves, the ball slamming against the back wall, but I barely feel the competitive edge this round. My mind’s already elsewhere.
On Jules. On Harold Horner.
On how easy it’s going to be to twist this situation until it cuts deep enough to finish what I started five years ago. By the time we call it quits—Huxley taking the win by a single point—I’ve already mapped out my next steps.
In the locker room, I shower, change, and scroll through my phone while Huxley debates which overpriced smoothie he wants to grab on the way out. Brent’s name is at the top of my contacts.
He answers on the first ring. “Boss?”
“I want the new girl on the floor tomorrow,” I say, pulling on my watch. “Jules Harper. No back-of-house shifts, no rotating through the kitchen. I want her visible. Preferably in VIP.”
Brent pauses. “VIP’s a lot for someone still training. Cassidy’s easing her in?—”
“She’ll manage,” I cut him off, my tone even but final. “Put her in Cassidy’s section if you’re worried. And make sure if our boy Grant King shows, he keeps his hands to himself. If he’s got an issue, he can take it up with me directly.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“Not yet.”
I hang up, sliding the phone into my pocket as Huxley strolls back over with a neon-green smoothie and an amused expression.
“Adjusting the board already?” he asks, eyes flicking to my phone.
“Just setting the pieces in place,” I reply.
