The Revenge Games Duet

Yes, my hormones were cuckoo and smoking crack or something that day... month... year... whatever.

“I never said that.” I try to brush it off while keeping my cool.

“Aww… Emmy, did you have a crush on me?” Logan teases, placing his arm around me and kissing my cheek.

“No, you douche, I was merely pointing out your transition from puberty. Now, let’s drink.” I pull away, avoiding this uncomfortable conversation and downing the shot in one go.

My throat’s immune to the burn now, allowing the clear liquid to slide smoothly.

The boys are loud and making a scene while reminiscing about the first major soccer game they played when Ash pissed his pants on the field. Alessandra seems to enjoy the conversation, laughing along with us.

In the corner of my eye, the light of my cell illuminates my purse. It’s sitting at the top, within arm’s reach. Thinking it is Wes, I enter my passcode and see Nina’s name appear.

Nina: Call me NOW.

With my cell in hand, I tell them I need to make a call, moving my way through the deserted bar and outside where the noise has diminished. The air out here is much cooler, the darkness illuminated by the sign on Harry’s bar with one bulb flashing bright.

I dial her number quickly, waiting as the cell continues to ring.

“Emerson, we need to talk.”

“Okay,” I say. “We’re talking.”

“Something’s happened. And before I tell you what it is, I just want to say I’m sorry and you deserve better.” Her voice softens, almost into pity.

I laugh nervously through the receiver. “Let me guess, they canceled the show?”

“No. I just received a call and email from this guy who claims he’s part of that paparazzi mob in Europe who follow the Royal Family. It’s about Wesley.”

“What about him?” I ask, moving further away from the bar.

“He’s been photographed at Rogues. And the photos are not good.”

“Rogues? Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” I raise my voice, frustrated and panicky. The alcohol isn’t helping me, amplifying my emotions and creating a monster ready to unleash.

“A brothel.”

“A brothel?” I repeat coldly. “So what exactly was he doing?”

“Emerson, I’m sorry.”

“Nina! What the fuck was he doing?”

She pauses, and in the background I hear my phone ding. Moving the cell away from my ear, I open the text message and see the photo she sent to me. I almost drop the phone, my hands are shaking and my heart’s pumping so loudly I think it’s going to explode all over the dirty pavement.

His body is positioned behind some woman, cock stuck inside her with some white substance laced all over her ass. There’s another woman in the photo, running her tongue along the other woman’s ass with a sensual gaze lingering.

My posture stiffens—arms rigid and shoulders squared as I stare into the darkness.

How dare he do this to me! I scream internally.

My voice is silenced by my clenched teeth, forcing me to remain quiet while processing my goddamn fucking life and how everything will change.

“Em… Emerson,” Nina yells through the speaker.

“I’m here,” I say just above a whisper while holding back the tears which are threatening to escape and rationalizing the anger that makes me want to rip his fucking soul out and feed it to coyotes.

“This is bad. I just want you to know that I’m in negotiation to keep this under wraps. It’s going to cost us.”