Twisted Hearts

TWISTED HEARTS TWISTED INTENTIONS BOOK BOOK 3 SAVANNAH RYLAN Copyright © 2023 by Savannah Rylan All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Created with Vellum CONTENTS 1. Dalia 2. Dalia 3. Lance 4. Pike 5. Dalia 6. Blade 7. Dalia 8. Lance 9. Dalia 10. Blade 11. Dalia 12. Lance 13. Dalia 14. Pike 15. Pike 16. Lance 17. Blade 18. Pike 19. Blade 20. Dalia 21. Lance 22. Pike 23. Lance 24. Dalia 25. Blade 26. Lance 27. Dalia 28. Pike 29. Blade Epilogue More Books by Savannah Rylan About the Author 1 DALIA “Goddamn it, Dalia, you make a hell of a blue motorcycle, you know that?” I peered over my shoulder and tossed one of my many loyal customers a playful wink. “Only for you, handsome.” He tipped the rest of his glass up. “Two more for the booth over there?” I spun around and scooped up his drink. “You got a good tip in it for me?” He grinned. “Don’t I always?” I dumped the ice out of his cup into the sink. “Give me five minutes and they’ll be up.” He rapped his knuckles against the bar top. “You’re the best, babe. Thanks.” I blew him a kiss as he walked away. “I only get this way through you guys!” “I love it when you say shit like that!” I barked with laughter and set out piecing together two more drinks for the tipsy duo toward the stage. Every Friday night, we had live music in the bar, and I made sure to work because it wasn’t as if I could sleep through the damned thing. Living above my place of work had its perks. Especially when my boss loved staring at the spread of my hips. I knew what I looked like, a big girl with thick tits and thighs that rubbed together. I knew what kinds of thoughts raced through their minds after a couple of drinks at my bar. And I most certainly used it to my advantage. “Hey, luscious!” I snickered, slapping my rag over my shoulder. “Anyone ever tell you that I hate that nickname, Bryce?” I sent out the two blue motorcycles with my runner for the evening before yet another loyal customer came belly-upping to my bar. “You know what I like,” he said. “Ah, a margarita with a beer tipped up into it?” “And float me an extra shot of tequila.” I winked at him and pulled a glass down from the rack above my head. “Sounds like a rough day on the job.” Bryce snickered. “If only my wife were as intuitive as you are.” “Maybe she should know your drink order. That might help.” He barked with laughter, but it almost sounded cynical in its origin. “She can’t even figure out how to put on her lingerie half the time. I don’t think she’ll stand a chance with my drink order.” “Well, you can always come here.” He slapped a twenty onto the counter. “That’s why I do. Two drinks, and a tip. Thanks, Dalia.” I threw the contents of his drink into a blender then blew him a kiss. “Always, Bryce.” I mean, what the hell was a high school drop-out like myself supposed to do, anyway? Work in a grocery store my entire life? It wasn’t as if anyone would take a chance on my intelligence without at least a G.E.D. And a girl had to pay the bills somehow. I wouldn’t have it any other way, however. The Mule was my home, especially since I lived in the studio apartment just overhead. I loved this place, and it had accepted all of me from the very beginning. Which was more than I could say for any physical person in my life. Including my own mother. “There you go,” I said, handing Bryce his drink. I slammed the top of the beer bottle against the counter, using my hand to shield the crack as the bottle cap flew off. My customer clapped his hands and whooped, as if he were at a circus or some shit. Then I tipped the bottle up quickly enough to slam it down into the blended mango margarita. I took one of my stirring spoons, turned it over, and poured a shot of tequila right over the top of the drink. “Enjoy,” I said with a smile, “and plug your ears.” He put his hands over his ears and I drew in a deep breath. “LAAAAAAST CAH-AAAAAALL!” Deep down inside, I was ready for the night to dwindle down. While I didn’t mind closing, I hated the way my mind raced as the bar dwindled from packed to nothingness. It made me wonder things I didn’t like pondering, like whether or not life had more for me than slinging drinks six times a week just to pay bills. I mean, sure, I had a good thing going with reduced rent upstairs, but it wasn’t as if I didn’t know why. My landlord, who just so happened to own the bar as well, loved staring at the sway of my hips whenever I came or went. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew the way he looked at me. And while my mother always taught me to “use what God gave ya,” I didn’t want to follow in her footsteps. I didn’t want to prostitute myself for money and luxuries. Not much for high school dropouts in this world, though. I don’t know. I did my best to try and not compare myself to my mother. But with her dropping out of high school around the same time I did, it was hard not to. I watched men come and go from our house, leaving scores of money she used to treat us