Page 20 of Sweet SIN Slaughterhouse

Rolling my eyes, I remind him, “Whinny, I’m not into dicks. You know this. Stop trying. I’m not a challenge you’ll ever conquer, sweet boy.”

He laughs hysterically then winks again, this fucking guy can’t quit, “If you say so, baby Sin.”

Total fuckboy move.

Reaching into his pocket, Winston pulls out my bag of goodies and I nod toward the large table in front of the couch. Walking over, he tosses it down and looks back over, but I cut him off before he can even start. “I don’t need company tonight.”

Sighing as if he is heartbroken, his face saddens, “Have a good night then,” I swear that man can be as dramatic as me sometimes. Dark eyes glance at me, pouting and my head shakes, not giving in before he turns to leave.

Waiting until I hear the front door close, I step over my mess of pixie dust glitter and put my Miley record on,Bangerz, and start it on “Wrecking Ball”. This song really resonates with me. Abi may have wrecked me, but soon I will wreck her.

Wheeling my gold frame with mirrored glass trolley, I bring it with me to the couch. It’s decorated with cute knick knacks like white candle holders with dried blood dripping down the sides, wilted wild flowers, and vintage pearl necklaces draped over them. Reaching for the bottom row, I move the white and gold china teacups with black filigree painted on them to the side and bring the silver serving tray to my lap. It’s mirrored but chippedand rusted, so I won’t see myself looking back at me once playtime begins. Reaching for the baggy of fun which Winston left, I dump out the contents onto the tray, then place the tray onto the coffee table in front of me.

The fine white powder catches my attention first.Cocaine, cocaine, takes away the pain,I hum to myself.

It’s in a small dime-sized bag. Opening the Ziplock, I dump it on the tray and lick the tip of my finger before sampling the product. Rubbing it on my gums, the numbness almost kicks in immediately. This shit’s going to be fun.

Reaching for my silver letter opener and straw, which I always keep on my tray, I begin to cut and divide the coke before snorting it in quick succession up my nostril. It burns, and my eyes water, but it takes effect instantly. I feel so fucking alive!

My eyes shift and notice a gold frame with two smiling faces looking back at me. Except those smiling faces are nothing but fucking lies. Rising to my feet, my heart races and my face scowls. Walking toward the frame on my black glass desk, I grab it violently, and scream, “LIAR!” Before throwing it to the ground, glass shatters and the frame bounces off the floor. My feet move and stand on top of the shards, toes curling as I feel the jagged edges breaking through my flesh.

This bitch is going to pay. In blood, so much fucking blood.

The glass crunches as I walk off it, some still embedded inside of my feet. Bending over, I take anotherline, forgoing the weed altogether. Tonight is not a night to be mellow. Tonight I embrace all eighty-five sides of Sid Sinclair. I’m one dangerous bitch.

A sadistic laugh erupts from deep within.

Putting my phone on speaker, I call Greta. She’s the only one who will understand me right now and what I need to begin to heal.

The phone rings and rings until a snarky, “What?” replaces the dial tone.

I waste no time getting to the point. “Take me to The Ranch.”

“You know I can’t drive.”

Putting on my cute, ‘I need a favor’ voice, I respond, “Rogers! I know you can hear me. The Ranch. Please.”

If they think they are hiding this love affair from me, they are wrong, and I love it.

Greta huffs, “You cheeky bitch. Fine. Be ready outside.” She hangs up immediately, as if she’s annoyed, but she loves our wild adventures.

Snorting one last line, I rush downstairs and head outside to wait for my ride.

Rebound sex is the first step in recovery.

The Ranch was rebuilton the same piece of land it originally stood on. Rylee’s childhood swing was all that remained and is the only sentimental thing left on the property. Whenever I stop by with Greta, she getsnostalgic seeing it. I suppose it’s also the only thing left of Nicole, her daughter who passed years ago at the hands of The Exiled.

Thankfully it’s dark as we pull up to the large iron gates attached to a large stone wall that surrounds the place, along with multiple security guards. This place is more of a fortress than our family compound. The Ranch will never be destroyed by the hands of our enemies again.

Rogers nods, the guards acknowledge him, and the large doors to the promised land open. The driveway is short, with green hedges lining it and garden lights. A large three-story white cement castle greets us. When I say it’s never burning down again, I mean it. Black cast-iron doors and window frames provide some contrast and match the black roof. With portholes and arched windows decorating the top floor, it almost looks medieval with a vintage Victorian flair. Rogers stops the car, meanwhile I lay in the back seat admiring the ‘under the stars’ effect he had put into the roof of his Rolls-Royce. I feel eyes on me, but I don’t look toward them, instead, I simply admire and wait for the doors to unlock.

“You shouldn’t be here in your state. You’re about to be sworn in as their leader, the Diablo. And showing up grieving a lackluster pussy while pinned out on coke is not a good look,” Greta lectures. When Dad isn’t around, she can be rather responsible. How fucking annoying.

Side-eyeing her, I wonder, how did she know?

“Your pupils are blown, dear. I don’t give a fuck whatyou do on your own time but you shouldn’t be out parading your state.”

“I’m allowing myself one night of whatever this is. To get it out of my system so I can just fucking move on, Greta. Please don’t lecture me right now.” I’m slightly annoyed. Why bother bringing me if there was no intent on letting me enjoy it?

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