Page 4
The pulsing bass line of the music seemed to reverberate through the very walls of La Nuit électrique , one of Paris’s most exclusive nightclubs. Multicolored lights flashed over the sea of bodies swaying on the packed dance floor, a blur of sharp angles and sultry silhouettes. The air smelled of expensive perfume, sweat, and the faint bite of spilled liquor.
It was obviously the place where people came to be seen and rub elbows with the young and beautiful. Marissa and her friends couldn’t have been more thrilled to be there.
Sloane wished she were anywhere else.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the VIP table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The black sequined dress she’d borrowed from Marissa clung awkwardly to her curves, the hem riding higher than she was used to. But unlike this morning at the café, she couldn’t insist on wearing her own clothes. Nothing she owned—since all the money she made working for the family went back to the family to pay her debts—would’ve been good enough for a place like this. So, Marissa had tossed Sloane one of her own dresses with an exasperated sigh.
Sloane had spent the entire evening pulling the little black dress up or down. When she pulled it down to cover more of her legs, it showed too much of her cleavage. When she tugged it up to get more coverage on her breasts, she was sure it showed her panties.
Marissa, on the other hand, was wearing a dress that showed too much skin all the way around, but she wasn’t letting it faze her at all. Perched at the edge of the booth, she tossed back her champagne, laughing too loudly at something Danielle or Courtney said. Her designer minidress sparkled under the lights, a not-so-subtle reminder of its exclusivity.
None of the three women had spent much time talking to Sloane once they got here; they were too busy dancing or flirting with whomever caught their fancy. Sloane had already seen Marissa’s party pills come out, so she knew it was going to be a long night, a notion reaffirmed as the three of them headed out to the dance floor.
Sloane made her way to the bar to buy a bottle of water—the drinks here were out of her price range, and Marissa and company had very definitely not offered to buy her any cocktails. Not that she’d be partaking anyway. Somebody had to make sure Marissa found her way home.
Sloane was trying to get the bartender’s attention when the scent of too much expensive cologne tickled her nose, threatening to make her sneeze. She tried to move away, but a voice followed the scent a moment later. “You’re not from around here.”
She pulled back, startled to find a man so close to her. He was handsome in a sort of slicked-back way that didn’t appeal to her at all.
She gave the man a tentative smile. “What gave it away?”
“Would you be offended if I said everything?” Sloane forced out a laugh, and he leaned in again. “I’m Pierre.”
“Sloane.”
His smile slipped for a second, but it was back so fast, she was sure she imagined it. “Are you here for business or pleasure?”
The word pleasure rolled off his tongue so seductively, she knew he was a playboy. The love-them-and-leave-them type. Not something she was interested in at all, but…no harm in enjoying the attention for once.
“Actually, I’m working.”
Pierre’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t think heiresses worked.”
Sloane laughed loudly, looking away when Marissa’s eyes snapped to her. Even in the dim light of the club, she could see the flash of irritation in her look then curiosity and lust as Marissa’s gaze found Pierre.
“I’m not an heiress. I just work for one.” She pointed over at Marissa out on the dance floor.
Funny how quickly a few words changed things. Pierre leaned away, taking his heat and interest with him as he studied Marissa. “You look very similar to your employer.”
Sloane took a sip of her water. “Yeah, we get that a lot.”
He offered her an apologetic smile, but his attention was obviously now caught on Marissa. He had an agenda, and it didn’t involve the hired help. “It was nice chatting with you.”
“Sure. Bye.” She didn’t even have it in herself to be polite.
Less than a minute after he left Sloane, Pierre and Marissa were wrapped up in each other on the dance floor, bodies moving to the beat while hands roamed. Something in Sloane’s heart clenched.
It wasn’t that she wanted him—she just wanted that .
Passion. Desire. The urge to press herself against someone else and see how far it could go. To have someone crave her in the same way.
But she didn’t want it with a guy like Pierre, who was obviously just looking for a step up with someone like Marissa.
Sloane dreamed of being needed so much that her partner would hate every moment he was separated from her. Someone who would do anything to make her happy, who would never look at another woman again like he looked at her.
If Marissa wanted Pierre, she could have him. He definitely wasn’t for Sloane.
She let the music steal her thoughts over the next couple hours as she waited for Marissa and her friends to wear themselves out. She had no clue how long had passed since Pierre had traded her for Marissa, but when she ran to the bathroom for a break, Marissa followed right behind.
Sloane managed to be civil. “Having a good night?”
Even sweaty and high as a kite, Marissa was still gorgeous.“Incredible. Pierre’s stunning, isn’t he?”
Sloane didn’t respond, and Marissa’s smile grew. Her sister took her time readjusting her boobs, making sure they sat perfectly before fluffing her hair. “Pierre just invited me out back for a… smoke . Be back soon.”
Sloane knew what that meant. Marissa would find an alley or a closet or a car to play in. She and Pierre would hook up, and she’d come back smelling like sex. If it went well, she and Sloane would go home. If it didn’t, Marissa would search for someone else to sate herself with.
“Be safe.”
The bathroom door swinging shut was her only answer.
After checking her own appearance— jet lag chic , as expected—Sloane headed back to the VIP area. She sat, only to find Marissa’s clutch under her legs.
That was weird. It was not like Marissa to forget it.
The small purse didn’t have any valuables but contained things like condoms, personal wipes for cleanup, and Marissa’s favorite pills. The things Marissa never went into a hookup without.
Sloane grabbed the clutch, gnawing on her teeth as she debated her options. She wasn’t interested in watching whatever debauchery Marissa was getting into, but knew she couldn’t do nothing. If Marissa ended up pregnant or with some STI, undoubtedly, it would be blamed on Sloane.
She weaved through the throng of people, spotting Danielle and Courtney on the dance floor with their own hookups, but couldn’t see Marissa anywhere. She picked up her pace and pushed open the club’s heavy door, stepping into the cool Parisian night.
The street was quieter than the chaos inside, but her pulse pounded in her ears. She scanned the sidewalk, her gaze darting between parked cars and dimly lit alleyways. When she didn’t see anything, she walked a little farther, turning into a dark backstreet around the corner, trying to figure out what she was going to say to Marissa when she interrupted them. Marissa would be livid, regardless if Sloane was only trying to save her from herself.
When Sloane saw them, she froze. This was not at all the situation she’d been expecting.
Half a block away, Pierre and another man were struggling to shove a wobbling figure into the back of a black van. Marissa’s sequined dress caught the light, her arms flailing as she screamed against a hand over her mouth.
“Marissa!” Sloane shouted, her voice piercing the quiet.
The men’s heads snapped toward her. Without thinking, Sloane sprinted toward them. Pierre cursed in French and barked an order to his accomplice. The other man moved toward Sloane, his broad frame blocking her path.
“Let her go!” Sloane yelled, adrenaline making her brave. She swung Marissa’s purse at the man, the heavy metal clasp striking his arm. He grunted in pain but grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she cried out.
Pierre joined him, yanking Sloane by the shoulders. His earlier charm had evaporated, replaced by cold efficiency.
“Thanks for saving us the trouble of having to come back and get you.”
What?
Marissa, still struggling, managed to kick one of the men in the knee. The accomplice stumbled, and Sloane took that chance to elbow the man holding her in the gut. He doubled over, but Pierre regained control of the situation quickly. He backhanded Sloane across the face, sending her reeling. Pain exploded behind her eyes as the world tilted sideways.
“Put them both in the van,” Pierre growled. “We’re already behind schedule, and the Kozak brothers will be mad.”
Sloane felt strong hands lift her as darkness threatened to close in. She thrashed weakly, her vision swimming. She could hear Marissa’s muffled sobs and the van’s engine roaring to life.
“Help!” Sloane screamed, but her voice was weak, drowned out by the revving motor.
The last thing she saw before the van doors slammed shut was the Eiffel Tower in the distance, its lights glittering like a cruel, unreachable beacon.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4 (Reading here)
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37