The Sinner's Club [18+] Complete

chapter seven.

PARANOIA IS A strange thing. It makes you question everything and everyone. The slightest movement of shadows. The sounds of birds and cars and the settling of houses. It makes you doubt your acquaintances and neighbors and strangers alike.

I wake up in the middle of the night, and I swear I can see that same black Rolls Royce lingering on the street outside my apartment, like a bad omen haunting me.

My phone rings at various hours of the day, and there's only heavy breathing on the other end of the line.

"For you," Cynthia tells me, handing me a black box with a ribbon wrapped around it. "It was left for you by a client."

"I don't want it," I tell her, thrusting it back towards her.

She frowns and says, "Don't worry, it's nothing gross. I had security check it out, like I do with any gifts left for the performers."

"I don't want it," I insist, pushing it back into her hands. "Thank you though."

"What do you want me to do with it? Look." She unwraps it and opens the box, revealing a necklace and matching earrings. Thick rubies glint from the silver setting.

They are objectively beautiful, but all I feel is sick.

"Give it to one of the other girls," I say, and walk away, clutching my stomach.

I catch a taxi home at night, walking swiftly from the curb to my apartment building. As I stride down the hallway, the collar of my jacket pulled up high around my jaw, I finally feel my shoulders unbind. I unlock my apartment and step inside, slumping back against the closed door, flicking it locked behind me. My heels thud against the floor as I kick them aside, my feet sinking into the soft carpet of my apartment.

Usually, when I am home, the fear finally ebbs away. But tonight, the coil of anxiety stays in my stomach. I hate feeling like this with such a passion. Shrugging off my jacket, I flick on the light switch.

My entire body freezes.

"Hello, Gabi." Dario sits on the high-backed armchair in my living room, one leg crossed over the other, reclining back calmly. Behind him stand two tall men, dressed in black suits. Each has a gun strapped to their hip.

My body has turned to ice. Unmoveable, utterly cold. I can't move, can't think, can't breathe.

"It's good to see you again," he says, inclining his head forward. His strange eyes watch me closely, taking in my body with careful calculation. "I missed you."

Bile rises in my throat. My eyes burn with tears that I won't allow to fall.

"I left you a gift at the club, but I noticed another dancer wearing it," he continues, lifting a hand and running his thumb beneath his bottom lip. "You didn't like the necklace and earrings? I thought red was your color."