His Vengeful Game: The Bankrupt Heiress

Hardin pulled his foot back. He leaned back into the leather sofa, his face an impenetrable mask of ice. He wiped his hands on his slacks, a subtle, dismissive gesture that made Alaina feel like absolute dirt. Tucker watched Hardin's reaction. Assuming Hardin wanted to see her completely destroyed, Tucker stepped forward. He grabbed a fresh, unopened bottle of Louis XIII and slammed it onto the glass table. "Since you spilled Mr. Dyer's drink," Tucker barked, pointing at the floor, "get on your knees and lick the liquor off his shoe." Alaina's head snapped toward Tucker. Her eyes were wide with pure, unfiltered shock. Hicks laughed loudly. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and threw them directly at Alaina's face. The heavy stack hit her cheek and burst open. The bills rained down around her feet. "Ten thousand dollars," Hicks sneered. "Just get on your knees and use your tongue." Alaina stopped breathing. Ten thousand dollars. The image of her father's pale face in the ICU flashed in her mind. The heavy weight of the hospital bills crushed her chest. She slowly turned her head and looked at Hardin. She searched his dark eyes, begging him silently to stop this insane humiliation. Hardin just stared back. He slowly lifted his glass and took a sip of his whiskey. He did not say a single word. He was going to let them do this to her. Alaina's heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. She closed her eyes. Her legs began to tremble. Slowly, agonizingly, her knees began to bend toward the floor. Tucker pulled out his phone, a wicked grin on his face, ready to record her ultimate degradation. Just as her knees were an inch from the carpet, the heavy doors of the Viper Room burst open. The club manager ran in, completely out of breath. "Mr. Dyer, I am so sorry!" the manager stuttered. "There is a guy outside screaming. He says his name is Ashton and he is looking for his sister!" Alaina's eyes snapped open. Her body jerked upward as if she had been electrocuted. Ashton. Her older brother. She shoved Tucker out of the way with a sudden burst of adrenaline. She ran toward the door like a wild animal. The bodyguards moved to block her, but Hardin raised one finger. The guards instantly stepped aside. Alaina sprinted out of the room, down the hallway, and burst through the back exit of the club. The cold rain hit her instantly. She ran into the dark, filthy alleyway behind the club. Next to the overflowing dumpsters, she saw him. Ashton, the golden boy of the Gay family, the Harvard graduate, was pinned face-down in the muddy puddles by two massive thugs. His expensive suit was torn to shreds. His face was covered in blood and mud. In his fist, he tightly clutched a few crumpled, bounced checks. One of the thugs raised his heavy combat boot and stomped down hard on Ashton's right hand. Ashton let out a blood-curdling scream of pure agony. "No!" Alaina shrieked. She threw herself into the mud, grabbing the thug's leg to push him off. The thug backhanded her. Alaina flew backward, landing hard on the rough pavement. The skin on her palms tore open, mixing blood with the dirty water. "Your brother owes the underground bank three million dollars," the thug spat down at her. "If he does not pay tonight, we chop off his hand." Ashton lifted his bruised, bloody face from the puddle. He looked at Alaina, taking in her cheap makeup and her revealing lace bodysuit. Tears washed the mud from his eyes. Slowly, Ashton pushed himself up. He got onto his knees in the filthy water, and he bowed his head to the thugs, begging for his life. Watching her proud brother beg in the mud, something inside Alaina permanently snapped. Her spirit shattered. She realized that serving drinks in a club would never save her family. The hole was too deep. Alaina pushed herself up from the ground. Her eyes were completely dead, hollowed out by despair. She turned around and walked slowly back toward the club's back door.