SIXTY-TWO.

ACE.

I follow Holden and Royce down to the wine cellar, standing back as they tie him down to the metal chair screwed into the middle of the room.

Wicked tries to fight both Holden and Royce off, and he manages to land a few good punches before he slumps in his chair, giving up.

Dipping his head with his chin touching his chest, Wicked glares up at me through his long lashes, snarling at me like a deranged animal.

“Leave us,” I order once they have secured Wicked in the chair. “And close the door on your way out, then make your way to the front of the Club. Holden, you watch the front door and Royce, stand guard by my office door.”

“Yes, Mr. Ripley,” they reply in unison, taking the stairs two at a time.

“One day, I pray, I will understand why you have done this to me.” Wicked sneers, slashing through the tension in the room.

“I didn’t deliberately do this to hurt you, Wicked.”

“Bullshit.” Wicked hisses maliciously and stomps his foot against the ground, giving the impression that he