Haunted by Secrets (Shadowed Souls #3)

Chapter Forty Three

Seven o’clock at the Harbor Bridge Casino.

A sign hangs above the door, displaying a bridge logo to match its name. The lavish interior is visible through a set of gold-handled glass doors flanked by security guards. I hesitate for a moment before pushing through, my fingers slipping against the cool metal. As soon as I step inside, the scent of expensive cologne, stale smoke, and alcohol overwhelms me. The room is a dazzling assault of light and sound.

The ceiling is littered with shiny domes across its hand-painted expanse, cameras hidden within, so I can’t see the way they face. Crystal chandeliers illuminate the sea of bodies moving between glossy poker tables and flashing slot machines. The rhythmic clatter of chips being stacked and shuffled lies just beneath the hum of conversation, occasionally interrupted by the triumphant cheers or disappointed groans of gamblers.

Thankfully, Wyatt didn’t force us to stay in the motel all week but moved us to a lavish hotel a few blocks away. Aside from allowing Axel to recover in a bed that wasn’t more metal spring than foam, it gave Thiago a better chance at running his surveillance, sending the boys to circle the casino on various rotations and stake out the place.

Dax headed out this afternoon to acquire me an outfit that would blend in with the casino patrons and afford me a quick getaway should I need it. The jumpsuit is burgundy red, cinched at the waist by a thick belt that hides a wire in the lining. My shoes are flat and lace up in a similar color.

I move forward carefully, my gaze flickering over the people gathered around the nearest roulette table. A woman in a backless red dress laughs, draping herself over a man too focused on his dwindling pile of chips to acknowledge her. His blond waves dance across his shoulders as his chocolate-brown eyes peek back to look at me. I quickly duck my head.

To my left, a group posing as businessmen in tailored suits sip whiskey, discussing stock trades as if they’re not mere college students playing a role. Everyone’s in place, at the ready, in case this all goes to shit. Axel has stayed back with Thiago, watching through the cameras and listening through the mic.

Under the guise of their protection, I manage to turn away from the Souls, the warmth of their stares creeping up the back of my neck. Everything about this place reeks of indulgence, of high stakes and desperation wrapped in a thin veil of elegance. I grip Fredrick’s phone tighter in my hand, scanning the crowd. I don’t know who I’m looking for or where I’m supposed to go.

There are too many eyes here. Some disinterested, some greedy, some watchful. I pass a craps table, my ears catching the dealer’s smooth voice calling the play. I force myself to walk deeper into the casino, keeping my head high and my stride steady even though my heart is thrumming against my ribs.

Guards keep their distance from the patrons, their black outfits blinking between the machines as we travel through the center aisle toward a set of opaque double doors at the other end. This section of the casino is weirdly muted, with only the tinks and clanks of machine levers being pulled or buttons being tapped. No one speaks, merely hunching forward to pull their turn and then leaning back on a huff in quick succession. Ahh, this is where those who are down on their luck and filled with despair come.

Distracted by a balding man who curses and slaps the machine, I feel a presence pass behind my back. Before I can react, a hand clamps around my wrist, a man I’m unfamiliar with guiding me through the crowd. I don’t resist him, allowing myself to be pulled along whilst casting quick glances up to his face. He’s thick-necked and tattooed with a scar that disappears into his black hairline. Within his black suit, he carries the weight that makes people move out of his way. He gives me a look, assessing, before jerking his head to a door at the back of the casino.

“This way,” he says, his voice rough like gravel.

“Who am I meeting?” I ask, not receiving an answer. For all I know, this is the man who’s now pulling the strings I’m caught up in. He doesn’t answer. Just grips my wrist a little tighter and keeps moving. I weave through the maze of tables and past a bar where a bartender watches us with mild curiosity. I could make a scene, but that isn’t the plan. I need answers, and if Meg is here, right here in this very building, then I have to go with him.

He leads me past the main floor, through a set of heavy doors marked ‘ Private’ . The instant we step through, the noise of the casino dulls, muffled by thick walls and expensive carpets. The hallway is dimly lit, lined with doors that I don’t want to know the purpose of.

“Is Meg here?” I demand. Again, no answer. Just a low grunt as he stops in front of a door at the end of the hall. He opens it, and I’m ushered inside. The room is nothing like I expected. No hostage tied to a chair. No ransom exchange in progress. Instead, a blackjack table dominates the space, its felt surface pristine beneath the glow of a hanging pendant light. Nine chairs surround it, and only one is occupied for now.

A dealer stands behind the table, shuffling a deck with practiced ease. He’s an older man, dressed sharply in a black vest and tie, his face unreadable. Along the far wall, three more men linger. They certainly look the type to have been Fredrick’s men, their necks marked with prison numbers and their faces molted with similar scars to the man who retrieved me. Standing in smart suits with their hands clasped behind their backs, each one has a pistol tucked into their waistbands. A shiver of unease trickles down my spine.

I’m nudged forward by a hand between my shoulder blades. “Take a seat.” I resist at first, turning back with more defiance than a girl who is grossly outnumbered should.

“I came here for Meg. Name your price, and the cash will be delivered in minutes.” I announce, somehow managing to keep the quiver out of my voice. Wyatt has been working on obtaining money for a few days, unsure of how much we’d need but wanting to make sure there is a sizable amount ready. The task has renewed his sense of purpose, and for once, I think I might have actually seen hope flare in his green eyes.

The man chuckles tauntingly, his hard face splitting into a grin that doesn’t look natural.

“I said there was a price, but I didn’t mention money.” My gut plummets, but at least I’ve learned something. He is the man from the phone. This time when I’m forced towards the seat, I take it since my legs are about to give out anyway. If I pretend really hard, I can almost convince myself that this is a dream. A trick of fantasy where I get to play a role and leave unscathed. That’s the only way I’m managing not to break into pieces.

Four chairs sit to my left and three to my right. My stomach tightens at the prospect of who might be joining me, or will it all be ex-cons who believe I owe them something? I glance at the dealer as he continues to shuffle his pack of cards ominously, and then to the men along the wall, taking it all in. Every detail, every possible exit, which concludes at the closed door at my back and another beyond the dealer. At some point, I will need to relay this all back into the mic at my waist, giving Thiago everything he needs to tip off the police.

The longer I’m made to wait for someone to make a move, for anyone to say something , the more my leg twitches, bouncing up and down.

“Who are we waiting for?” I ask no one in particular, and it falls on deaf ears. I’m subjected to watching the dealer flicking cards hand to hand, doing tricks with his experienced fingers that draw me into a trance. It’s easier to focus on him than the men leering over me. A lone woman in a lion’s den. They could do whatever they want to me, and there’s nothing I could do to stop it.

Was it stupid to come into this room alone? Definitely. Did I have a choice if I’m to put this all behind me and save my twin finally? Not at all.

If the positions were switched, Meg would be here, head raised and a string of curses flying from her lips. She’d sacrifice herself without a second thought, and that’s without having a group of men who love her endlessly just beyond the door. At Thiago’s code word, they’ll storm the room and save me. I have to force my lungs to expand, reminding myself that I’m not truly alone. I have an out; I just hope they can get here quickly enough if the time arises.

I become more wound up, tightening myself into a knot so that when the door behind me bursts open, I flinch at the intrusion. Twisting, I’m temporarily stunned at the mass of bodies pushing their way inside, invading the room and stealing all of the air in my vicinity. Men are shoved into the chairs all around me, black fabric bags whipped off their heads, but I already know what I’ll find. A pair of green eyes find mine across the table, a note of apology held within them. A sinking feeling threatens to drown me as I look around, one by one, my men coming into focus.

“This wasn’t the deal,” I blurt out, stuttering over myself. “You said just me.” A booming chuckle sounds from behind, the man that brought me in gripping the back of my chair and jerking me back roughly.

“That’s exactly right. I said just you, and look who we found.” One last henchman shoulders his way into the room, gripping the hood so tightly around his captive’s head that it’s a wonder if he can even breathe. A shaky hand hovers over his ribs as he shuffles in, his lower half still in flannel pajamas.

“Apologizes for the delay,” a new lacky says to who I assume is his boss. “We had to retrieve this one from the hotel.” He whips the hood from Axel’s head, and I briefly close my eyes. No . Our only saving grace is that, since they’ve clearly been tracking us while we were tracking them, they don’t appear to know about Thiago. He’s not one of our gang and hasn’t been with us since the beginning.

My fingers seek their way to the belt at my waist, needing to feel the trace of the wire. Needing that reassurance, or else I'll succumb to the panic attack rising within me.

Shoving my chair back beneath the table, the thug’s mouth lingers by my ear. “You didn’t follow the rules, so neither will I.” Then he’s gone, pacing around the table, strong and smug.

I sit there, back straight, and reassess our situation. From my left, Huxley, Dax, and Wyatt are forcibly held in place by the men who brought them in. On my right, Axel and Garrett hang their heads forward, resigned. The two empty chairs at the end of the row haunt me.

“I suppose an introduction is in order,” the scarred man continues. He rolls his neck, seeming all too pleased with himself. “I’m Harrison, and I’m the man you’ll be dealing with from now on.”

“What happened to Fredrick?” I ask, my position in the center giving me the confidence to be our spokesperson. I was all geared up to get these answers anyway. Harrison rolls his thumb over the chunky gold rings on his thick fingers.

“He grew soft.” I hold his sharp gaze, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t seem inclined to offer anything without being prompted.

“So you’ve taken it upon yourself to take over his grudges? We haven’t done anything to you.” Under the table, Wyatt nudges my knee in a warning. The man holding his shoulders sees the shift in movement and yanks Wyatt back into the chair, hissing to be still. Harrison appears amused by the scene.

“Fredrick grew soft,” Harrison repeats like a mantra, justifying to himself why he put a bullet through Fredrick’s skull, “but he wasn’t stupid. Imagine a scrawny addict who came into a jail, no connections or leverage. A man so weak, he needs to empower himself by picking on little kids. Yet somehow, he managed to work his way through the ranks without ever lifting a hand. By convincing those stronger than him to do his dirty work. He was good with his mouth, and he gave himself some sort of importance.”

The henchmen in the room grunt their agreement, grave looks passing their faces. They clearly agree, looking to Harrison as their new superior. He thrives under attention, and I note that him overthrowing Fredrick was only a matter of time. Harrison is too much of an alpha to be ordered around, and he’s too involved in his story to realize that we don’t really give a shit.

“We all bought into it—this scheme that would sate our inner monsters. We’d have all the money we could think of when we robbed the Hughes of their wealth, and after that, all members of the family were ours to do whatever we pleased. The only person off limits was precious Avery. I must say, I can see the appeal.”

His dark gaze roams over my body, leaving me feeling naked despite the covering of my jumpsuit. I fight against covering myself, pretending I’m not intimidated. Around me, all of my men are painfully rigid. Harrison makes a scene of licking his lips and continues speaking, a gritty edge to his voice now.

“Fredrick promised us blood. I’ve spent years becoming invested in his vendetta, listening to how we’re going to implode your perfect little family,” Harrison cuts a look to Wyatt. “And once we’re released, a group of insolent college kids have us running around the country like fucking idiots. Of all the times we could strike, and Fredrick told us to hold off. He didn’t want revenge, not really. He wanted a second chance, and that’s not what I signed up for.”

“You signed up for money. I have duffle bags of it ready to go; all you need to do is say the word.” Wyatt juts out his chin. The veins in his neck are taut, his fingers clenched around the seat beneath him. He’s trying to draw the attention away from me, taking over as the leader he was born to be.

“Do you?” Harrison grins. Axel makes a choked sound in the back of his throat and with it, drains Wyatt of his resolve. My teeth clamp down on my tongue in an effort to hold back my groan. They retrieved Axel from the hotel where he was guarding the money. Those duffle bags and our leverage are long gone.

“He’s got the money. Now he’s out for blood,” Garrett mutters, his head still hanging forward. Dark hair flicks forward to cover his eyes, dread leaving his limbs limp. Harrison clasps his hands, a sharp sound sending a ripple of winces through us.

Without waiting for an answer, Harrison unsheathes an old-style revolver from his waistband and places it on the table, facing Wyatt. “Shall we get on with it, then?”