His Vengeful Game: The Bankrupt Heiress

The loud crash of the cart hitting the table shattered the quiet atmosphere of the Viper Room.

The men on the leather sofas stopped talking.

The man who had spoken stood up. He walked over to the cart, his face twisted in annoyance.

Under the red spotlight, Alaina saw his face clearly. It was Tucker. He used to be a low-level lackey who followed her brother around, begging for scraps from the Gay family.

Tucker leaned in close. He squinted at Alaina's heavy makeup.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. He threw his head back and let out a loud, obnoxious bark of laughter.

"Hicks!" Tucker yelled over his shoulder. "You are not going to believe this! Come look at the mighty princess of the Gay family!"

Another man stepped out of the shadows. Hicks. Another former parasite.

Hicks walked up to Alaina. He raised his hand, his fingers stained yellow from cigar smoke, and roughly grabbed her chin.

He tilted her face from side to side, inspecting her like a piece of meat.

"Well, damn," Hicks whistled, his eyes dropping to her exposed chest. "How the mighty have fallen."

Alaina jerked her head back, tearing her chin out of his grip. Her stomach churned so violently she thought she was going to throw up.

Tucker reached out and ripped the plastic nametag off her chest.

"Lexi?" Tucker mocked, reading the tag. "That is a great stripper name, Alaina."

Alaina grabbed the handle of the cart. She turned around to run back to the door.

The two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, blocking the exit with their massive bodies.

"You do not leave the Viper Room until the guests say so," Hicks sneered.

From the deepest, darkest corner of the massive circular sofa, the sound of ice clinking against glass echoed again.

"Bring her here."

The voice was low, cold, and carried absolute, terrifying authority.

Alaina's lungs stopped working. Her blood literally froze in her veins. Her legs felt like they were made of lead.

Tucker and Hicks immediately stopped laughing. They stepped aside, bowing their heads slightly in respect.

The man in the shadows leaned forward. The red light caught the sharp, cruel angles of his jaw.

Hardin Dyer.

He was wearing a black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. He held a glass of whiskey in one hand. His dark eyes stared at her with the cold detachment of someone looking at a dead insect.

Alaina took a step backward. Her spine hit the cold, hard wall of the room.

Hardin swirled his drink. "Well, Miss Gay? Are you not going to pour the guests their drinks?"

Tucker grabbed Alaina's shoulder. He shoved her forward, forcing her to stumble toward the low glass table.

He pushed down on her shoulder, forcing her to bend over the table.

The tight lace bodysuit stretched dangerously across her back, exposing even more of her skin to the room.

Alaina's hands shook violently as she reached for the heavy bottle of Louis XIII.

She moved toward Hardin's empty glass. Her hands were trembling so badly that the heavy crystal bottle slipped.

A splash of the amber liquid poured over the edge of the glass and landed directly onto the toe of Hardin's polished leather shoe.

The temperature in the room plummeted to zero. Tucker gasped and took a step back.

Alaina's face went completely white. Panic seized her throat. She instinctively reached for a napkin to wipe it away.

Hardin kicked her hand away.

He raised his foot. He pressed the hard leather toe of his shoe directly under Alaina's chin, forcing her head up.

He looked down at her heavy makeup and her trembling lips. A storm of violent, dark emotion raged in his eyes.

"Is this why you tore up my contract?" Hardin asked, his voice a lethal whisper. "So you could come here and sell yourself to anyone with a wallet?"

Alaina bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted her own blood. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.