Page 49 of Taken By Sin

I look for Sin through the crowd of faces, but everything melts together. I have to lean in close and talk loudly for Max to even hear me. “Where is he?”

He gestures his glass of bourbon upwards, and the perfectly square ice clinks against the crystal. “He’s in the lounge, possibly in an important meeting.” He narrows his eyes at me. “He may fire me. You know that, right?”

I slink my arm through his, unsure of anything at this point. “I won’t let him.” I grin, rushing him to the stairs.

He halts me and guides us to a modern black elevator that swiftly takes us up. As the doors slide open, I observe the stark contrast of the upper level. Gone are the dancing bodies and flashing lights; instead, this space is bathed in a red glow, with no flickering lights, only a subdued ambiance. The music envelops us, offering a more welcoming vibe.

A more upscale, Sin-like bar is operated by a man in a tailored suit. This time, I decide to order something—a Shirley Temple. It’s served in a crystal glass, bubbly clear soda mixed with sweet red syrup, two cherries float in the ice. Although I’m underage, I know I could easily order alcohol here; however, I’d prefer nothing to dull my sparkle. “It’s so fancy here," I tell Max.

“This is where he holds meetings with high-price clients.” Maxwell looks around, scanning the empty space. “Will you be okay with me running to the bathroom really quick?”

I nod, and he sets his glass on the bar top and heads the opposite direction. I don’t need a bodyguard to walk around up here.

As I make my way opposite of him, down the long corridor peeking into the elegant rooms as I go, I look for him. One of the areas has men in suits, discussing something at a long table, but Sin isn’t there, so I keep moving.

The next has women and men, dancing and drinking. Sparklers sizzle in bottles around them. They’re celebrating something, and it looks like a really fun time.

The last room, the one draped with a black velvet curtain houses Sin. I haven’t gone in, but I hear his rich accent over the music. He’s talking to someone, mentioning a deal. A few men mumble, their words indecipherable.

I wouldn’t want to interrupt an important meeting, but I hear a woman giggle and can’t stop myself from entering.

Sin is on a black couch, a drink in one hand, and a woman sitting on his lap.

Our eyes lock, and for a fraction of a second I note a hint of fear in his gaze, but just as quickly it morphs to anger.

“What is going on?” I mutter, unsure if he can hear me over the chatter of men, laughter from her, and the music.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her blonde hair swaying as she turns her beautiful gaze on me. His hand is on her thigh, lazily stroking her tan skin.

I tilt my head, trying to understand what I’m seeing. But who am I to think I’m special? Why would our moments together mean anything to him and everything to me? “Could we talk outside?” I ask him.

Sin doesn’t move an inch, but rather places his hand higher on her leg.

I shouldn't have a private conversation here, but my sadness is churning into pure rage. “Did it all mean nothing to you?” I croak.

Sin rolls his eyes, looking at the men to laugh like I’m some silly girl. “I couldn’t give a single fuck about you,” he sneers, his words slicing through me like venom.

“I… Um—” Max rushes in as I fumble for my words, and he apologizes profusely for my interruption.

“Quit stuttering.” Sin waves me off. “Maxwell,” he beckons him, “kick this one-night-stand out of my club.”

I don’t fight—what’s the point? Instead, I allow Max to bring me downstairs, through the mass of dancing people who seem to be having way more fun than me.

Before we even step outside, I have already made my mind up about Sin.

I won’t be treated like this again.

TWENTY-ONE

Who does he think he is?

I didn’t want Sin to see me cry; I couldn’t bear it, but the moment I stepped back into the guest room at his stupid house, I allowed the tears to flow freely.

Axle is in the bed, letting me hold him and sob.

Why does Bria have to be gone? Why does she always have to be gone.

Maxwell attempted to comfort me, not even sayingI told you so.I wasn’t expecting of all things a woman on his lap, but I should have known better. I pull out my phone, noting no missed calls or text from him. Not that I would have replied, but a sorry would have been nice.

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