“So,” Chantelle says, skipping into my apartment later that night.

Of course, she doesn’t knock, she doesn’t have to. She’s like part of the furniture. She just comes as a part of me. Where I am, she usually is. What’s mine is, more often than not, hers, too. That’s fine with me. I enjoy her company and, mostly, she makes me laugh. She’s the best friend a girl could ask for, and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.

My family isn’t exactly what you’d consider the best family to be raised into. My mother is spoiled, my father is a bit of a dick, and my sister, well, it embarrasses me that we’re related, let alone that I have to take claim to her. She’s selfish, cold, and the cruelest human being I’ve ever met. I’m not sure how, considering we were raised the same and I managed to keep my morals. Sure, I can be selfish when I need, and I don’t take a lot to heart, but her ...?

She’s a different kind of evil.

So, it’s safe to say Chantelle is the only family I have.

And I adore her.

“You’re never going to believe it,” I tell her, eyes wide, rushing over.

“What? What? Share with me, woman!”

“The man who owns the house, the one looking for a maid, is a biker!”

She stares at me for a second, and then blinks. “A what?”

“A biker. You know, like leather jackets, motorcycles, clubs. Biker.”

“Oh, my lord,” she squeals. “I paired you with a dirty old biker? That’s classic.”

“No, no, no,” I tell her, grinning. “Not dirty and old.” I lean in close. “Fucking hot.”

“What?” she squeals, jumping backward. “Okay. I need to sit down. This just keeps on getting better. Share more. Hot. How so? Tell me everything.”

We both sit on my old, faded, baby-blue sofa that’s probably breeding its own type of semen it’s been fucked on that much—not by me, of course—but I do enjoy a party here and there, and old blue here seems to attract the best of them.

“So, this gorgeous biker answers the door. And when I say gorgeous, I mean to die for. Dark features, scar on his face, like a freaking God. All broody and quiet. That’s not the best part, the best part is the rest of them that appeared. There were like freakin’ four of them. They’d made a bet to see who could guess how long it would take me to run. Apparently, all the other maids took one look at Mason, the owner, and ran.”

Chantelle grins. “Not you, my tiger.”

“Not me, sister. I waltzed in there, completely fascinated. I mean, bikers! And hot bikers! I needed to know more. And lord, they were so fricking good looking, it hurt my eyes to stare at them. But, you want to know the best part?”

She shakes her head, eyes wide.

“It’s the biker club that one of the members is with Scarlett Belle! You remember reading about that?”

Chantelle’s hand flies to her mouth, and she screams behind it. “No. Freaking. Way!”

“Way!” I chirp. “I kid you not. He was there, and let me tell you, he’s as hot in person as he was on television.”

“Oh, my god! Why didn’t I pretend I was a maid! I need to meet these bikers. I need to know more. I need to know all of it! And, most importantly, I need, like desperately, to meet Scarlett Belle.”

“That’s what I said.” I grin.

“So, tell me the most important part.” She shifts so she’s directly facing me. She places her hands on my knees. “Did you get the job?”

I grin, huge, and nod. “I did!”

“Oh, my god! Oh. This is the best day ever. My best friend is going to be living with hot bikers. Hot. Bikers. And I’m going to get to meet Scarlett Belle. I can’t even right now.”

“I know.” I laugh. “I’m super excited and the pay is excellent. And do not even get me started on the house, Chan. It’s massive. I can’t believe this is happening!”

She claps her hands. “I knew that newspaper fell into my hands for a reason. I knew it! When do you start?”

“Well, I’m going to trial it for a month before I move out of this place and live there permanently. I told him I didn’t want to give up my apartment until I was confident we could work together. He was fine with that. I’ll stay here Mondays and Tuesdays and then stay at the house the rest of the time. Those two days I just have to do basics, the other days I’ll work there, doing things for him, but he’s flexible. He said if I do everything needed then I’m free to go and do whatever I want.”

“That’s awesome,” she beams. “This is amazing.”

I nod, then I lose my smile just a little. “What do you think Enzo is going to think about it?”

Enzo.

The man I can’t get over. The man my heart throbs for. The man I know I should despise. I despise my sister for sleeping with him, so why in the hell can’t I hate him? Because I love him? Because I can rationalize it? I don’t know, all I know is that I’m unable to stop my feelings, and that makes me feel pathetic, insecure, and weak. More than anything, I just want answers from him.

But he is so angry at me.

So angry.

And I don’t know how to get around that. What he did was awful; what I did was worse. I knew he was in trouble with the cops for selling drugs, and I gave them the information in a hot rage that got him locked up for six months. Sure, it isn’t life in prison, but it was enough to get him behind bars.

All because I was hurt.

And now my sister is out there, still skipping around with her nose stuck up in the air, and I’m still here, hurting, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do to fix this mess.

Chantelle’s face scrunches up. “You’re my best friend, Sas, and I adore you but, honestly, screw Enzo. I know you want to pay off his debt so when he gets out he’s fully free, but the fact of the matter is, he screwed Yolanda right under your nose, and didn’t give a shit when you found out.”

“That’s not entirely true, I’m still not sure he actually knew—”

“No, bullshit, no,” she cuts me off. “He played it off, made you feel bad for reacting, made you question yourself, but the fact of the matter is he did it. He chose to do it.”

“But—”

“No, no buts. Stop making excuses. I know what you’re thinking, but you also know he knows better. He knows you. He made a choice. And now he’s fuming because you dobbed him in. I would have done a whole lot worse. He’s in prison, it won’t hurt him, he was getting involved in risky business, it’s not a bad thing he got locked up. As for you paying off his drug debt so he can come out clean, I don’t agree, but I also know you’re headstrong and are going to do it anyway. But I don’t think he deserves it. I don’t think he deserves you.”

She’s right. Of course she’s right. He doesn’t deserve me. But, once again, my stupid heart has other ideas. Maybe I’ll never forgive him or this brutal hurt will never go away, but I need to do the right thing for myself. And I believe the right thing is making up for what I did. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Pay the money, and when he gets out in five months, it can be with a clean slate. What he does after that I guess is on him.

“I know you’re right,” I tell her, standing and walking into my kitchen, grabbing a bottle of vodka and pouring us both a glass, “but I can’t help the way I feel. Don’t get me wrong, I despise the pain he caused me, and I was angry enough to do what I did, but that anger, right now, is just hurt. And it does hurt, Chan. It fucking kills. I see it every time I close my eyes, and I can’t fucking escape it.”

Her face softens, and she takes the glass of vodka. “I know, hon. I know how much it must hurt, and that sucks. I just don’t want to see you waste another second of your life on that scumbag when you deserve so much better.”

“I’ll do this, but I never said I was going to take him back.”

She raises her brows. “If he came running back right now, I’m scared you would.”

The worst part about that? She could be right.

I’m still not one hundred percent confident I wouldn’t take him back.

And I hate myself for that.

Dammit.

I really do.

~*~*~*~