My mouth tightened at the thought, my palms stinging as I dug the tips of my nails into the ragged flesh there, and I looked away from the mirror.
I’d had compliments about my appearance, and I knew they were true. When I’d found sanctuary in West Orange, at the Satan’s Sinners’ MC compound, the only territory I knew my father would never dare infiltrate, the only place that, in his eyes, would truly sully me, I’d been popular. So popular that it had scared me.
I’d been a virgin when I went there.
Nyx, the club’s Enforcer, had actually popped my cherry without even realizing it. He’d also popped my heart, because I’d loved him for nearly as long as I’d been at the compound. When he’d told me that no other brother was allowed to have me, I’d thought he was claiming me.
I was wrong.
He hadn’t made me his Old Lady, just his slut.
Turning me into a walking vagina once more, except this time, I was less of a commodity without my hymen.
After he’d claimed Giulia as his Old Lady, and I was no longer under his protection, everything had changed. His brothers got the go ahead to have me when he was done with me, which had about broken me, and I’d ended up giving Sin a blowjob to get him away from me.
When I hadn’t been able to put out, I’d known my time at the club was over. Then with Dog, I’d outright rejected his advances. When he’d punched me in the stomach as punishment, he’d just fast forwarded things.
I was back home.
Back where I never thought I’d be again, and I was only welcomed because Father had almost died. I wished he had. Wished we’d buried him, then, maybe, we’d be free.
The desire to reach into my vanity to unveil my box of freedom was a strong one. To lift that lid, to stare at the gleaming metal, to sink it into flesh and to let my pain and anger run free with my blood, but I was going to the stables today.
That had to be catharsis enough.
Storming out of the dressing room, I grabbed my purse, which rattled with its contents, and slung it over my shoulder so that the strap settled between my breasts.
Peering out of the door to my bedroom, I saw that the coast was clear from relatives—there was a guard sitting on a stool at the other end of the landing, but he didn’t count—and I headed out.
The grand staircase was worthy of a mansion back in Moscow, one that had seen the Romanovs themselves wandering down those grand sets of steps, but it led to a home that belonged in a thrift store. An expensive one.
Cheap tack was everywhere, which had me wondering what on Earth my father was thinking. Mama had tastefully decorated this place to suit a man of his standing. Svetlana, in barely no time at all as his wife, had ruined that and turned it into a tart’s paradise. Mama’s style might have been out of date, but by comparison to this mess, it was a dream.
Mouth pursing at the thought, I crossed the floor that was carpeted in zebra-print, and made it outside without crossing paths with the wicked witch.
We were the same age, but while my life hadn’t been easy, it had definitely been harder on her. Every time she looked at me, I felt her resentment, but I didn’t understand why.
We were the same.
To the Bratva, we were just cunts to be plowed and filled with seed.
Mama had failed to provide a son, so I knew Svetlana would be used by Father. That was probably why he’d married her. He still had time to beget a son...
Pakhans didn’t tend to be hereditary, but my father had done the Bratva proud. He’d established the Brotherhood on the East Coast in ways Moscow appreciated, and had stayed at the helm for an unheard of amount of time. Moscow’s pleasure and the city’s fear of him meant if he bred a boy child, and managed to live long enough for that son to get to adulthood, my brother might, just might, take over Father’s throne.
God help him.
As I darted across the way to the garage, I took note of my surroundings. The courtyard was still stained with the blood my father had spilled when he’d been shot here—my one regret? The sniper hadn’t aimed higher. Like, at his chest. Or even his skull. That would have solved all my problems.
Sighing with regret, I made it to the garage and headed to a Range Rover without seeing anyone but guards.
I’d gotten used to living without them, had adapted to a life where they didn’t follow me everywhere, but it was a small price to pay.
I was back in the center of the war zone.
Not that I’d have been safe back at the Sinners’ compound.
They’d just been bombed.