The Sinner's Club [18+] Complete

chapter twenty-seven.

WHO AM I? When the need to survive—something that has defined my life since I was a child—is stripped away...what's left over?

I'm not sure.

I feel empty. And listless and directionless.

Sitting on my couch, Phoenix curled up a few feet from me, I stare down at one of my records. I was given it years ago by a random man selling them on the street. He thought I was pretty and handed me this record, by a band I'd never heard of before and have never heard of since.

It's my most listened to record.

"Where are you headin' to, sweetheart?" the man had asked, a cheeky gleam in his eye.

"I don't know," I had admitted.

"Well, no worries. I'm sure you'll find wherever it is you're meant to be."

But I hadn't. Sin City was certainly not where I was destined to be. Stuck in this apartment isn't either.

There's a knock on my door, and my heart leaps—with excitement or fear, it's hard to tell.

It must be Viktor.

I smooth down my hair as I hurry across to the front door and yank it open.

Nate stands on the other side, hands resting in the pockets of his expensive, woolen coat.

My stomach bottoms out. It's been three days since I last spoke to Viktor, yet it feels like a small eternity.

"I'll try not to be offended that you look so disappointed to see me," Nate says, the slightest hint of amusement on his face.

I turn away from him, walking back further into my apartment. He closes the door behind me and locks it.

"Viktor told me what happened," Nate states, heading into my kitchen and opening the fridge. I don't know if he's looking for food or just checking that I have some.

My eyes narrow. Viktor isn't exactly an open book, and he certainly wouldn't share details of our relationship.

"No he didn't."

"No," Nate says on a sigh, turning to face me. "He didn't, and it's starting to piss me off. He's in a foul mood and you've shut yourself away like an agoraphobic cat lady." His eyes ping to Phoenix, who is sitting up now, tail whipping from side to side like he would like to claw Nate's face off.

"It isn't so enjoyable to be on the other end, is it?" I ask.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

One of my eyebrows rises. "Wren?" I prompt. "Your eternal misery over her?"

Nate scowls at me, eyes darkening to black. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I have been in a terrible mood for three days now, but I must say watching Nate deny his extraordinarily obvious feelings for Amelia Wren does bring me some amusement.