Sinful Pleasure | 18+

Chapter 1 - Kez

My father's wife scurried me up the stairs, following right behind me. Yes, father's wife. She wasn't my real mom, but she was a bitch and didn't deserve the same respect people gave her from myself. I looked over my shoulder to see a scowl playing across her young and defined face.

I finally reached my room and shoved the door open, then suddenly I was being pushed forward and falling to the ground. Groaning, I flipped over, and she stood right over me, rolling her eyes and kicking my leg from the threshold.

She leaned down and grasped my chin firmly, "Next time do as you're told, or I won't be the only one kicking you, brat," she sneered, harshly pushing my head back whilst retracting her hand. She fixed her attire as she straightened up and walked for the exit.

Her scowl was quickly replaced with a smile that showed she was amused by her actions. Bitch. As she slowly closed the door, I put my foot out and kicked it shut.

Steadily, I hopped up and moved toward my bed. I plopped down and huffed, laying back on the soft mattress. My thoughts roamed for a while, and I stayed in the same spot, debating whether I should disobey that bitch and leave or stay put.

See, I was sent to my room because people were coming over, and not just randoms. No, they were important and very serious people, and so when my dad had guests coming over he always sent me away, and it wasn't because I'd distract him and his dirty work.

It was so whoever was over didn't know he had a daughter. Apparently, my attitude and behavior were trash, and he didn't want me around misbehaving because I was an embarrassment and he wouldn't allow me to make him look bad. So, what? Who are you trying to impress, father.

That was partly true, my attitude and behavior could be a little reckless, but what did you expect from someone that had been abused and thrown around like nothing their whole life.

Cecelia-the bitch downstairs did most of the damage, but when my dad had a go at laying his hands on me, it felt like a never-ending cycle of being punched.

But, the real reason I spent most of my time stuffed inside these four walls I called my room was because I was...well am, the bastard child-the child that wasn't supposed to be-the child nobody wanted.

My real mom, I had no clue of where she was or if she was even alive, and I wouldn't ever know because to Gabriel; my father, she was what he liked to call a whore. He just knocked her up because they couldn't keep their legs closed. It wasn't my fault, but he blamed me-reminded me of it every day, too. I ruined everything.

Oh, daddy, I'm hurt. Watch me cry a fucking river. I groaned, supporting myself up on my elbows, and watching the handle to the bedroom door rattle. It opened, and there she was, that bitch, again, twirling keys with her index finger as she stepped out to reach for me.

Stepping forward and reaching out for me, she grabbed my arm, and with such force she pulled me up, pushing me through the door. I scowled at her, tugging my arm away, and she chuckled. Without hesitation, she pushed me forward, again, and I almost stumbled down the stairs. Bitch.

"Move faster." Her voice echoed behind me, irritation visible. I rolled my eyes and continued my way down. I didn't even know where I was going or why I was going, I was just going. Suddenly, I heard voices coming from Gabriel's office which made me stop.

I gazed back at her, and she jerked her chin toward the hallway where the office was at the end. I swallowed hard, hesitantly walking further. Guests were over, and I never came down nor was I ever told to.

My pulse was beating faster than before, and in all honesty, I was scared to even look at the large doors before me. "God! you're fucking slow," she whisper-yelled.

Grabbing onto my upper arm, she quite literally dragged me the rest of the way, and I cursed under my breath, wanting to do something petty. But she would've slapped me, and I didn't want to start something that would result in me destroying her things and then getting a beating from dearest dad the second after.

The doors opened and she immediately let her tight grip on me go. I glared at her while she smiled at whoever was in front of us. Yeah, act innocent, princess.

My attention was then hastily snapped to where she was looking when a deep throat was cleared, wanting me to catch their attention instead. I narrowed my eyes and found myself flickering between the people before me.

Three guys. The first sitting opposite my father; brown hair fell just over his forehead, tan skin that complimented his dark blue suit, and a defined jawline you could just lick. His dark eyes fell down my body, and shivers ran down my back. They were cold like ice.

It looked almost like he was disappointed, or maybe bored, but I couldn't tell. I was just getting a vibe I didn't like. Am I boring to look at, dude? My eyes averted to the two standing on either side of him.

The one on the left stood tall with a calm demeanor, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets, looking like he was observing me-taking notes. His hair was black and slicked back with a couple of strands falling out of place, and he too wore a suit, but instead of his pale skin, it complimented his hazel eyes.

I noticed a small tattoo placed above his scarred eyebrow; Santiago sitting on top. It somehow gave him more character, because soon his gaze from my chest moved up to meet my eyes and all that flashed from his was hunger. I forced a swallow, taking my attention off of him.

Now, the one on the right leaned against the desk, his head tilted down, but blue eyes still stared at me. And apart from the other two, he wore ripped jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. Basic. Maybe, but I could just tell his personality was something different.

His hair was black also but with fluorescent lighting it looked blue, and it was kind of all over the place, but it was hot-like rough sex. Oh, god!

Tattoos were visible through the holes in his jeans, and I could see they rode up his frame. His tattooed knuckles were bloody. Did he just come from a fight? Jesus. Silver chains hung from his neck along with more tattoos that were sure to curl behind his ears.

And through the shirt, piercings poked out. Slowly, I looked up and met his eyes again, and he winked, taking the toothpick he had in his mouth between two fingers.

"Stop drooling, girl." My father's mean and low voice sounded, making me shoot my gaze at him. His icy cold glare bounced toward me, and I saw that he was irritated.

When I stared harder I knew exactly what he was thinking. A whore just like your worthless mother. Somebody give me a gun so I can shoot this fucker.

He cleared his throat, tapping a finger on the wooden table. "Now, my debt," Gabriel said, sending a wicked smile my way. That wasn't good. No, it was like his life was about to become the best thing from this day forward. Fuck. Just what have you done now?