His Vengeful Game: The Bankrupt Heiress

The heavy doors of the Viper Room opened again.

Every man in the room turned to look.

Alaina stood in the doorway. Her black lace bodysuit was soaked with filthy alley water. Mud dripped from her bare legs, and blood trickled from her scraped palms.

Tucker wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Get out! You smell like garbage!"

Alaina did not look at him. Her dead, hollow eyes were locked entirely on Hardin.

She walked forward. Her high heels clicked against the floor, leaving muddy footprints on the pristine carpet.

She stopped right in front of the glass table.

Without a single word, Alaina bent her legs and dropped heavily to her knees.

Her bare knees slammed directly onto the sharp shards of a broken glass that had fallen earlier.

The sharp glass sliced deep into her skin. Dark red blood instantly welled up and soaked into the carpet.

Alaina did not flinch. She did not even blink.

Tucker and Hicks froze. The room went completely silent.

Alaina tilted her head up to look at Hardin. Her voice was a dry, raspy whisper.

"I will sign it."

Hardin's hand tightened around his whiskey glass. His knuckles turned bone-white. For a fraction of a second, a flash of raw, agonizing pain tore through his eyes as he looked at her bleeding knees.

But he buried it instantly. His face hardened into a mask of pure cruelty.

He let out a short, dark laugh. "Now? You are too late."

Hardin leaned forward. He reached out and pinched her muddy chin between his fingers.

"The fifty million bridge loan is gone. I pulled it an hour ago. Your family is officially dead."

Alaina's pupils dilated in pure horror. She reached out with her bloody hands and grabbed the edge of his suit jacket.

"Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "They are going to cut off Ashton's hand. You have to save him."

Hardin looked down at her bloody hands staining his expensive wool jacket. He slapped her hands away.

He reached into his inner pocket. He pulled out a small, stiff piece of paper with the logo of a Swiss bank.

He held it between his index and middle finger. He let it drop.

The paper fluttered down and landed directly on Alaina's wet, muddy face before sliding off onto the floor.

It was a cashier's check. A bearer check. The amount printed on it was ten million dollars.

"This is the price for your body tonight," Hardin said, his voice devoid of all humanity. "As for your brother's hands, that depends entirely on how well you perform."

Tucker sucked in a sharp breath. Ten million dollars for one night. Hardin was treating her like the most expensive whore on the planet.

Alaina stared at the check on the floor. Her soul was being crushed into dust.

She closed her eyes. A single tear fell. She reached her trembling hand out to pick up the paper.

Just as her fingertips brushed the edge of the check, Hardin's foot came down.

His heavy leather shoe stepped directly onto the check, pinning her fingers to the floor.

He pressed down. The hard leather crushed her delicate bones. A sharp, blinding pain shot up her arm.

Hardin looked down at her from his throne. "Use your mouth."

The air in the room vanished. The humiliation was so extreme it felt like a physical weight crushing her skull.

Alaina's body shook violently. Her stomach heaved.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. A spark of wild, desperate fury ignited in her dead eyes.

She yanked her hand back, ignoring the pain in her fingers.

She grabbed the half-full glass of whiskey from the table and threw the liquid directly into Hardin's face.

The amber liquid splashed across his eyes and dripped down his sharp jawline.

Before anyone could react, Alaina snatched the check from under his shoe, scrambled to her feet, and ran out of the room.

Hardin did not wipe his face. He sat perfectly still, letting the alcohol drip onto his shirt.

Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a dark, obsessive smile.