20. Paris
Paris
I’ve never been nervous around other women until I’d been kidnapped.
Even though I didn’t have many friends before the Russians took me, I had a lot of confidence in my looks, personality, and my intelligence.
I’ve never compared myself to another woman because I felt fine in my own skin.
Despite not having money or much of a social life, I had a job, and I was working toward my degree.
I’ve come a long way from how I grew up, and I was proud of myself for all I had accomplished. Now all that self-esteem is gone.
Nikita found fault in everything—my weight, my clothes, even my hairstyle was always subject to his constant criticism, which left me feeling small and insignificant. I’m sure that had been the plan all along.
Nothing was ever good enough even when he decided everything about my life down to the most basic stuff like what color nail polish or lipstick I wore.
And now that I’m sitting here in front of two of the most beautiful and accomplished women I’ve ever been around. I’m certainly comparing myself to them.
The insecure feelings he cultivated in me are stirring inside me and I don’t like it. Nikita broke something inside me. And I don’t know if that can ever be fixed.
Oya and Alana are trying to do everything they can to make me comfortable while I’m staying at the clubhouse.
I don’t know if it’s because Logan asked them to, or they are doing it on their own.
I guess it doesn’t matter since it’s giving me the chance to get outside, which at first everyone had been against. Alana has a way with King, and he finally gave us the go ahead, as long as we had some of the guys come along with us.
Both women are friendly and have treated me with nothing but kindness, but I feel so out of place around them. They seem to have their shit together where I’m just trying to survive to the next day.
“How are things at the clubhouse?” Oya asks. “We heard you had a little run in with one of the girls.”
She’s Saint’s woman or old lady as he calls her. According to Logan she’s a professor and more than fourteen years older than Saint. The age gap is shocking at first, but she and Saint seem to be extremely happy together so who am I to judge.
She’s very tall for a woman, with locs that trail down her back. She’s in a long maxi skirt with intricate swirl patterns and a black fitted t-shirt. She has long necklaces around her neck and gold bangles on her arms that jingle every time she moves. She reminds me of an artsy bohemian.
“Even with the run-in, it’s better than being with the Russian’s.” I take a sip of tea to help calm my nerves. “I’m not going to complain.”
“Some of the girls get a little bitchy especially when they believe the guys are theirs,” Alana says, then rolls her eyes. “But Logan will make sure it’s taken care of.”
I nod even though I’m not sure what that means. But I don’t want another run-in with anyone including the women at the clubhouse.
“You guys come here often?” I ask, changing the subject.
We’re at a local hangout spot called Embers. Since the guys had club business, Oya, and Alana invited me out for brunch. It’s not necessarily a place I imagine these two women to frequent. Embers isn’t a dive bar, but it’s not a luxury dining spot either.
The patio where we’re seated is decorated beautifully with vibrant, multicolored umbrellas, large potted plants overflowing with flowers of all colors, and twinkling fairy lights that are shining even though it’s sunny today.
However, they both seem like women who would frequent fancier establishments like five-star restaurants or country clubs even though they seem at ease here.
But they are also the old ladies of Sinners, so I guess Embers wouldn’t be too far out of their comfort zone.
It’s the first time I’ve been out of the clubhouse since the Pakhan’s men broke into Logan’s penthouse looking for me. Of course, we git permission from King, and we came with no less than five Sinners for protection. But it’s the price I have to pay for a little freedom.
“All the time,” Oya says with a wide smile. “Saint bought it a few years ago. Technically this is where we had our first date. It’s where the guys bring us if we just want to hang out in a laid-back atmosphere.”
“So, you’re really doing fine at the clubhouse?” Alana asks.
“You don’t have to hide anything from us,” Oya follows. “We know what you’re going through.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think you do.”
Oya and Alana exchange a glance before turning their attention back to me, their expressions unreadable. “What has Logan told you about us?” Alana asks.
“Nothing really. Just that both of you are King and Saint’s world.”
That causes both women’s faces to brighten with huge, radiant smiles. I can imagine, while they may be King and Saint’s world, they love them just as much.
“The reason I ended up at the Sinners clubhouse is because I happened to be involved with a made-man from the mafia and passed along some information to Grimm, the prez of the Sinners’ Las Vegas chapter.
” Alana takes a sip of tea, then sits the glass on the table.
“He asked Dylan to protect me. During that time, I ended up falling in love with him, but we still had to deal with the mafia, my ex-boyfriend, and one of the club girls before we were finally happy.”
Damn, just by looking at her you never would have guessed she would be involved with someone from the mafia. But being connected to a one percenter motorcycle club isn’t much different is it? Both move outside the law despite the legal parts of their organizations.
“Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.”
They both laugh. “My life has always been unpredictable, especially having poor taste in men. However, since Dylan, I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” Alana says.
“And what’s your story, Oya? If you don’t mind telling me. How did you become involved with Saint?”
“Well as you know, I’m a professor, but during my divorce I decided I wanted to get a tattoo to celebrate, and I ended up in his shop.
Of course, I tried to resist whatever was between us because of the age gap, but Gavin is persistent.
Anyway, I had some trouble with my ex-husband who was a powerful politician, so the Sinners came to my rescue in that situation.
So, you see, we aren’t that much different from you. ”
“If you ever need someone to talk to don’t hesitate to reach out to us,” Alana says. “We’re not saying we know exactly what you’re going through, but you don’t have to go through it alone.”
“I appreciate that.”
I do appreciate them trying to let me know I’m not alone but as of right now, I think I’m fine keeping my feelings close to my chest. If it gets to be too much, I’ll for sure vent to them since they offered.
A familiar laugh mixes among the other ones and my entire body stiffens as I squeeze the glass in my hand.
“Paris, are you alright?” Oya asks.
My eyes shoot to hers and concern etches her face. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in then blow it out. I jump to my feet startling them, as I angrily look around. “Where the fuck is he?”
“Who?” Oya asks.
She’s standing beside me now, gripping onto my arm.
“My piece of shit brother. He sold me to the Russians.”
She calls my name, but her voice fades to the background when my eyes land on him. The pounding of my heart drowns out all other sounds as months of anger, hurt, and rage consumes me.
Although he’s got addiction issues, he’s been with his company for more than eight years as a financial analyst. But his issues keep him from having the life he wants. The more money he tries to get the worse it gets for him.
Both Oya and Alana are calling my name, but no one’s going to stop me as I storm towards him.
He’s all smiles as he chats it up with three other men in business suits like he has no care in the world.
Like he didn’t sell me to the damn Bratva.
There’s no way in hell he’s going to get away with this.
When I reach the table, his laughter dies down as all conversation ceases, leaving an expectant silence heavy in the air. His eyes widen briefly before he wipes away all traces of emotion. He takes a sip of whiskey from the rocks glass, then sits it back on the table.
“Can I help you?” one of the men he’s with asks. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”
He’s nice to look at, with his chiseled jawline, tanned skin, and model perfect hair. But not like Logan. He doesn’t have good looks or the rough around the edges appeal.
“You bastard! Look at me!”
My brother avoids my gaze, his eyes darting away, and his silent rejection fuels my anger. He looks so much like our father. Both had the same dark hair, similar builds, and smooth brown skin; however, his eyes are strikingly different. His eyes are the same hauntingly green as his mother’s.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but this is a private meeting,” the man sitting to Kurt’s left states. “If you don’t leave us alone, I’ll have the staff call the police and have you escorted off the property.”
Someone snickers from beside me and that’s when I realize I’m not alone. Both Oya and Alana are to my right and left, and some of the Sinners who escorted us here are also standing around me and behind Kurt.
“Maybe your business partners would like to know about your addictions and what you’ve done to me since you don’t have the decency to look me in my face,” I say with deadly calm.
My brother jumps to his feet and lunges for me, but he doesn’t get close because some of the Sinners grab him as he struggles against their holds.
“It was fucking three years, Paris!” he screams as they continue to hold him. “All you had to do was play nice. Now they want to kill me!”
The once lively patio is now eerily quiet; only the distant rumble of cars as they pass and a faint, muffled hum of music from the bar breaks the silence. Some people have their phones out recording of course, while others look on like they’re watching a prize fight.
But I can care less. This is my brother, and he threw me to the fucking wolves because he can’t be a damn adult. My body rattles with so much rage as I take a few steps until I’m standing right in front of him. Before I know it, my palm lands against his face, the pain traveling up my arm.
“Play nice! You son of a bitch! They took everything from me! Everything!”
He glares at me but doesn’t say anything. What can he say? I already know he hates me. He has to, if he can just give me over to a predator like Nikita, but I didn’t believe he hated me this much.
“You’re dead to me,” I say as I try to get to him, but someone holds me back. “I hope you get everything you deserve.”
“They’re going to kill me!” he shouts. “All because of you!”
I shake my head as realization sets in. Nothing will make him take responsibility for what he’s done to me. He believes everything wrong in his life is because of someone else and I’m not exempt from that. He used me, like he used everyone in his life to get what he wants. Blood doesn’t matter.
“I hope they do.”
“You fucking bitch!” he screams.
Without saying another word to him, I leave the patio despite Oya and Alana calling my name. I just want to curl up in Logan’s arms and forget the one person who should have protected me, just gave me to some of the most awful people without a second thought.