Page 10 of Playboy’s Purgatory

“Hey, Playboy,” Lola purrs as her lips graze my ear. I almost flinch away from her, but I hold myself steady.

It’s a skill I’ve picked up after years of being an enforcer for the club. You can’t flinch. You can’t let people see past the mask when it’s in place. You can’t let a weakness be your downfall.

“You’re not supposed to be here today, Lola,” I admonish her, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“I know,” she titters and brushes her long blonde hair back behind her shoulder, “but I know you’ll let me hang out, at least for a little while.” She looks at me with pure indulgence in her blue eyes; blue eyes I’ve seen in another woman as well. She pouts. “Won’t you?”

“As long as you behave yourself,” there’s a slight warning in my voice, but it’s mostly filled with amusement.

She laughs, the sound light and coquettish, while eyeing me with sin in her eyes. “Of course,” she assures me, but I don’t believe it for a second. “You know I love family days like this,” she muses, a contented sigh in her voice, “it’s nice to see a family that actually chooses to show up for each other and have each other’s backs.”

Thankfully, she’s true to her word and keeps a low profile as more people fill the yard. I catch Ryker talking with surprising excitement with his woman, Ezra, and our VP, Snake, and his Old Lady, Graycie. Our Prez says something about a playground, and I almost let out a low groan.

If he’s trying to knock up his woman too, we’re going to have more kids running around here than I’m comfortable with before I know it. I like kids just fine, but I’m not sure a motorcycle club is the best place for them to grow up.

Then again, it was different for the club brats like Ryker and Snake when they were growing up. They had moms to show them what it means to come home. Rumble did his best with me and all the Old Ladies kept their eyes on me and treated me like their own. Still, on those nights as a kid when I wished for a mom to tuck me in, it never happened.

When Lola saunters off to grab a few beers, I don’t even watch her go. Scratch nods as he takes a swig of his beer and sits next to me. He glances in the direction Lola went, but I don’t bother looking.

I don’t need to.

Lola is all about performing. Normally, I don’t mind being her audience—and only her audience. I’m just not feeling it today.

Her words from earlier about family come back to me and I frown slightly. She’s told me plenty about what it was like for her growing up. The thought of it makes my blood boil.

It reminds me of everything she’s told me about Lara and growing up in her family. At least I had people who had my back; Lola didn’t have anyone.

I remember what Lola told me the day Lara opened Bunz Out. She came to me with tears in her eyes, her voice low and rough with her grievances, “She always has to make a big show out of everything. She’s always been that way. Every test and every school event, it was always about her.”

“Opening a business is a big deal,” I tried to reason with her. Up to that point, Lola had only made small little comments about Lara, not even admitting to being sisters at first. I had no idea back then how much Lola suffered in the shadow of her sister. I kept my voice soft, having seen the shadows in her eyes which only appeared after Lara moved to Dogwood Ridge, “You don’t think she should celebrate it?”

Lola took a deep breath and I watched her face. I didn’t see any jealousy there, only resentment. “You’re right,” she finally sighed. “It is a big deal. Maybe I’m just living in the past too much. It’s hard not to when every accomplishment I ever had was eclipsed by her. It felt like I walked the gauntlet every day, never knowing when I would be forced to compete while just existing and never being understood.”

“What did your parents say about her competitiveness?” I couldn’t help but ask the question, officially curious.

Because it wasn’t just about how she grew up. I was also trying to answer questions about a mother I never got to know.

Lola’s laugh was bitter and the last of my judgement about her feelings toward her sister evaporated. Inexplicably the sound made me want to hug her. I didn’t, but I thought about it.

“They always favored her. She was so perfect. I don’t think they meant to have me, and I was more of an oops baby with us being only eleven months apart,” Lola said the words with a shrug as casual as you can be, as if it were perfectly normal.

Something inside me ached with recognition.

I’ve learned so much more about how Lara treated her sister. Whenever something went wrong for Lola, that’s when, miraculously, rumors would start, the worst being about her being unstable. Any issues between the sisters were blamed on Lola, who was expected to take it because Lara was exceptional.

Everyone inflated that damn chick’s ego. All at the sake of Lola and whatever life she was trying to carve out. She had no one in her corner.

Then, the more I saw Lara, the more I could see it happening in the same way right in front of me. Everyone treats her like a damn treasure around town.

It makes my fucking blood boil. Which is why I snipe at her, unable to keep my feelings about her to myself any longer. She never backs down and usually is willing to get in my face about whatever I’ve spouted.

There’s always a warning mixed with disappointment and anger in her voice. It always makes my gut twist.

At first, the feeling made me back off again.

Then I found Lola drunk one night.

Her eyes were glassy as she looked up at me. “Today’s an anniversary,” the words were slurred.