The Revenge by Tijan

This recent article came out the day after Hoda’s body was found. The police were able to piece together how she had been involved. They explained that she received a call from an unknown number. Security footage found her walking outside her apartment building, where she was forced at gunpoint to get into a nondescript van. After that, they could only guess that she’d been an unwilling participant in Calhoun’s attempt to kidnap his grandson. From their questioning of some of Calhoun’s men left alive, their orders had been to kidnap Chase Bastian and to execute Kash Colello if given the chance.

I shuddered at the plans Calhoun must’ve had, to try it once again. Then this article came out and, well, my world wasn’t falling apart anymore. Besides grieving someone I wasn’t sure if I cared about or not—but still grieving that she had been pulled into my world’s chaos and destruction—I decided it was time to find out who the hell was behind Inside Daily Press.

The result shouldn’t have been shocking.

I hacked into Quinn’s old phone, since she wasn’t using it anymore, and sent a text.

Meet me at Octavo. Friday night. 9 p.m. Back booth under the stairs. I’ll explain there.

Then I waited.



* * *



“Why are we here again? You know Kash isn’t too happy we’re not at one of his establishments.” Matt sidled in next to me at our booth.

“We’re here because she’d never go to one of Kash’s establishments.”

We’d been here enough. I picked this booth because until you actually slid into the one side, you couldn’t tell if anyone else was sitting in it. She’d see my side profile, and I was hunched over, so I was hoping she’d see a female trying to hide her identity and guess the wrong person. But she’d slide in, and voilà, there would be Matt.

“No, I’m not,” Kash said.

We weren’t Team Batt right now.

Matt groaned. “Still saying this. I am not a fan of Team KaBatt.”

I grinned.

“Tough shit. And you’re in a nightclub whose owners I do know, but I don’t know them well. I can also say that you will not be attending this nightclub without myself in attendance again.”

“But—”

“Ever again, Matthew. These owners have Mafia affiliations, and that’s all I’m saying about that topic. Drop it and tell me instead the plan of what you’re saying to this reporter.”

Matt snorted again. “She is not a reporter. She’s barely even a blogger. She’s—”

She slid into the booth at that very second, and froze, hearing Matt’s voice.

She took me in, took in Matt.

I didn’t think she saw Kash yet.

She started to bolt.

She got as far as the edge of the booth before Kash was there, and he was glowering down at her. She’d worn a white silk shirt, her hair was plaited in two braids. She almost had a schoolmarm look going on, with her glasses, her red lipstick, and the black skirt she had donned for this meeting.

She froze again, head up, mouth hanging open, before she cursed under her breath. “Oh, no.”

“Slide in.” Kash’s command was not an option.

She gulped before she did what he said.

Matt started, because I knew he would. “Oh, fuck indeed. Camille Story, aka Quinn’s bitch, aka Hoda’s puppet master, who probably gave her name up to Kash’s grandfather.” He leaned forward, hissing, “You got her killed. Take ownership of that.”

Her eyes got bigger and bigger, the more he talked. She also got smaller and smaller in the booth, until she was almost shrunk half under the table. “I am not. What?” She pushed back up. “The only person I gave Hoda’s name to was Quinn. What she did with it, that’s on her. Not me.”

“Right. You’re so innocent.”

“I’m not saying I’m innocent, but what do you expect? Your family tried to ruin me. You tried to ruin Hoda. I know you ruined Quinn—”

I burst forward. “Quinn is guilty! She tried to have me killed. You’re on the wrong side here if you think you’re some vigilante blogger.”

She startled, pushing her glasses back up.

She looked at Kash, who was scowling at her. Then at Matt, who was also scowling, but he had more of a glare, and he raised his eyebrow at her.

“Are you serious?”

Matt snorted. “You’re unbelievable. All that evidence. Calhoun’s men killed your friend! Don’t you care?”

“I feel bad about Hoda, but this is war. And in times of war, there are casualties—”

“Would you like to be one?”

The question came from Kash, and it was said quietly, but damn, chills down my back.

Camille was feeling the same, because I caught the shiver before she swallowed once again. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” said Matt.

“Yes,” said Kash.

“Dude! She probably has a recorder on her.”

Kash looked down, picked up her purse, and dumped it out on the table.

“Oh my God! That’s personal property. You can’t do that.”

Kash was starting to look through her things. “Report me.”

She sat back, her eyebrows pinched together and her whole mouth pursed. “I’m not okay with this, with any of this. You are going through my things. You are threatening my well-being. You are holding me here against my will…”