The Sinner's Club [18+] Complete

chapter twenty-five.

MY FEET DRAG as I walk into the nightclub. I feel sick to my stomach with anxiety and confusion and a million other indistinguishable—but equally overwhelming—emotions.

Reaper is speaking quietly with another security guard, but walks toward me when he spots me.

We haven't spoken in days and the truth is, I miss him. But I also can't stop thinking about Nathaniel showing up at my place last night and the things he said.

"Hi." My voice is more timid than I'd like it to be. Reaper's glare is intense, but I know none of his anger is directed at me. He reaches up and pulls out the mic from his ear, letting it hang over his shoulder.

"That man from the other night—the potential investor—you haven't seen him since, have you?" He asks me, crossing his arms over his chest as he stops in front of me.

I shake my head. "No, not at all. Why?"

His mouth flattens. "Saw him hanging around the club late last night. It was well after you went home, but I just wanted to check."

"Maybe we should call the police," I suggest, though I'm not sure how receptive the people in this club are to law enforcement.

"We can give them a heads up, but we don't have any evidence that he's actually committed a crime. Besides, the police in this city are fucking useless." There is a note of bitterness in his voice that makes his hatred of the cops sound personal. "If you see him, you need to tell me."

"I will," I say. "I promise."

There is a moment of silence where I think one of us ought to walk away and end the conversation, but instead we both linger, drinking the other in. His jaw ticks in frustration or some similar emotion as he seems to consider what to say.

"I miss you." It slips out of me and I immediately wish I could take the words back, swallow them or suffocate them out of existence.

He steps forward, his arms falling to his sides, hands clenching into fists. "Amelia..."

My gaze is stuck to his, the ice in his eyes melting the longer he stares down at me.

"Wren!" The bark of my name makes me flinch and step back. Cynthia is frowning at me from beside the bar. "Nathaniel wants to see you in his office. Now."

Oh God.

I cast a final look at Reaper, and then move past him to trudge toward Nathaniel's office.

It is a death march. All I can think about are the words he whispered to me so fervently last night in his drunken stupor.

It's like you're in my bloodstream. How the hell do I get you out?

I feel the same way; how on Earth do I scrub Nathaniel from beneath my skin?

Outside his office, I take in a deep breath and then raise my hand and knock.

"Come in."

I open the door and step inside, half expecting him to still be the drunk version of himself that I first saw last night.

But he is normal Nathaniel—neat, gelled-back hair, impeccable suit, and clean shaven face.

He sits comfortably in the chair behind his desk and studies me, an ink fountain pen in his hand.

"Wren," he greets and I can't discern the tone in his voice.

"Hungover?" If he thinks I am going to just forget about what happened and move on, he's dead wrong.

His mouth twitches with annoyance. "If you're looking for an apology–"

"I'm not quite that naive. You wouldn't even know how to apologize."

He taps the pen against the wooden desk in a steady, irritated beat as his eyes narrow. "I looked over your proposals for the new franchise."

My shoulders straighten. "You did?"

It is not often that I get to feel accomplished or proud of work that I've done, but the work I put into the franchise felt different. Like it mattered, somehow.

"Your ideas were...suitable."

Eyebrows drawing down, I take a step forward. "What does that mean? Are you using them or not?"

He says nothing and my frustration grows.

"What am I doing here, Nathaniel? I was entertainment, then I was serving drinks, then I was working on the new franchise—when will my debt be paid? How long do I have to keep being your circus monkey, going from pointless job to–"

"You're done working here," he interrupts and my mouth stays open in shock.

"W–what?"

"I'm done with this arrangement." He stands from behind his desk, doing up the button on his navy suit jacket. "But that doesn't mean that your debt is paid." He steps around the desk and comes toward me, his eyes traveling down my body in a slow, purposeful perusal. Heat blooms in my stomach and spindles out, down my arms and up my neck, filling my cheeks with a flush that I am sure is obvious.

"Well then..." I sound breathier than I should. "What's the new arrangement?"

He stops barely an inch from me, the toe of his shoe touching the toe of mine. His dark eyes study my face and then dip down to my lips and stay there. "One night."

Confusion and arousal are a deadly mixture. I have no idea what he's talking about. "What?"

"I want one night...with you."

His words process slowly, like my brain is loading or translating them into understandable terms. As comprehension finally dawns, my heart picks up its pace, rabbiting away in my chest at an alarming speed.

"Nathaniel–"

"I meant it when I said you are driving me insane, Wren," he snaps, voice biting and sharp-edged. "I need this out of my system, I need you out of my system." His head slowly lowers closer to mine and I find myself subconsciously leaning upwards, my lips parted and aching for his. "I want you for one night and then..." He pauses and swallows, his throat moving as he does. "And then you never have to see me again."

Why does that thought not bring the joy it should, but rather a shocking douse of dread?

I have to pay off this debt, I tell myself. I cannot have it hanging over my head forever. All it does is distract me from my sister and building a future for her.

"One night?" I whisper and he nods slowly.

"You're mine for one night, and your debt is paid. You'll be free."

Freedom has never before come at such a high cost.

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