Vain (The Seven Deadly, #1)(5)

“Sophie Price,” someone yelled outside the big steel door that was my cell. I could just make out the face of a young cop in the small window. The door came sliding open with a deafening thud. “You’ve made bail.”

“Finally,” I huffed out.

When I was released, I stood at a counter and waited for them to return the belongings I had walked in with.

“One pair of shoes, one skirt, one set of hose, one set of...,” the guy began but eyed the garment with confusion.

“Garters,” I spit out. “They’re garters. God, just give them to me,” I said, snatching them out of his hands.

He carelessly pushed the rest of my belongings in a pile over to me and I almost screamed at him that he was handling a ten-thousand-dollar outfit like it was from Wal-Mart.

“You can change in there,” he said, pointing at an infinitesimal door.

The bathroom was small and I had to balance my belongings on a disgusting sink.

“Well, these are going in the incinerator,” I said absently.

I got dressed sans hose, returned my ridiculous jumpsuit and entered the lobby. Repulsive, dirty men sat waiting for whatever jailed fool they bothered to bail. They eyed me with bawdy stares and I could only glare back, too tired to give them a piece of my mind.

Near the glass entry doors, the sun was just cresting the horizon and I made out the silhouette of the only person I would have expected to come to my rescue.

Standing more than six feet tall, so thin his bones protruded from his face, but with stylish, somewhat long hair, reminiscent of the nineteen-thirties, clad in a fitted Italian suit, stood Pembrook.

“Hello, Pembrook,” I greeted him with acid. “I see my father was too busy to come himself.”

“Ah, so lovely to see you too, Sophie.”

“Stop with the condescension,” I sneered.

“Oh, but I’m not. It is the highlight of my week bailing you from this godforsaken pit of bacteria.” He eyed me up and down with regret. “I suppose I needed to get the interior of my car cleaned anyway.”

“You’re so clever, Pembrook.”

“I know,” he said simply. “To comment on your earlier observation, your father was too busy to get you. He does want you to know that he is severely disappointed.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I shall try harder next time not to get caught.”

Pembrook stopped and gritted his teeth before opening the passenger door for me. “You, young lady, are sorely unaware of the gravity of this charge.”

“You’re a brilliant attorney, Pembrook, with millions at your disposal,” I said, settling into his Mercedes.

He walked around the front of the car and sat in the driver’s seat.

“Sophie,” he said softly, before turning the ignition. “There’s not enough money in the world that can help you if Judge Reinhold is presiding over your case again.”

“Drive, Pembrook,” I demanded, ignoring his warning. He’ll get me off, I thought.



My house, or I should say, my father’s house, was built a year before I was born, but it had since been newly renovated on the outside as well as the inside so although I may have grown up in the home, it barely resembled anything like it did when I had been small.

It was grotesquely large, sitting on three acres in Beverly Hills, California. It was French Chateau inspired and more than twenty-eight-thousand square feet. I was in the left wing, my parents were in the right. I could go days without seeing them, the only correspondence was out of necessity, usually to inform me that I was required to make a dinner appearance, and that was usually by note delivered by one of the staff. I had a nanny until fourteen, when I fired her for attempting to discipline me. My parents didn’t realize for months and decided I was capable of caring for myself after and never bothered to replace the position.

Freedom is just that. Absolutely no restrictions. I abandoned myself to every whim I felt. Every want I fulfilled and every desire was quenched. I wanted for nothing.



Except attention.



And I got that, I’ll admit, not in the healthiest of ways. I won’t lie to you, it felt gratifying...in a sense. I was rather unrestrained with my time and body. I wasn’t different from most girls I knew. Well, except the fact I was exponentially better looking, but why beat a dead horse? The only difference between them and myself was I kept them wanting more. I used many, many, many boys and tossed them aside, discarding them, ironically, like many of them did to so many other girls before me.

This is what kept them baited. I gave them but a glimpse of my taste and they tasted absinthe. They were hooked by la fée verte as I was so often called. I was “the green fairy.” I flitted into your life, showed you ecstasy, and left you dependent. I did this for fun, for the hell of it, for attention. I wanted to be wanted, and my word, did they want me. Did they ever.





CHAPTER TWO





Pembrook wound through the cobblestone drive of the palatial estate.

“Drop me off at the service entrance,” I told him. I wanted to avoid running into my father if possible.

He snorted. “I have to see your father.”

“Oh,” I said.

Pembrook had his own parking space in the last of the twenty ports off the carriage house. That’s how often he visited our home. As much as it pains me to say it, Pembrook was like an uncle to me. Whenever I filled out paperwork for visiting physicians, as it was considered beneath us to visit an office, under the tab “who shall we contact in case of an emergency,” I always, always, always put Pembrook.