Page 12 of The Sinner's Bargain

I picked at the tattered edges of my wounds. The raw skin stung but had already started to scab on both palms. They would eventually heal and become thin, white scars like the others.

I sighed and glanced up at an oil painting of two men in frilly collars hunting a beautiful, red fox in the distance. One held a musket, the barrel smoking as if recently fired while his friend gripped his shoulder with one hand and laughed. A small mountain of colorful carcass lay at their feet. Their plumage splattered crimson.

I loathed the monstrosity.

Even as a child, the scene chilled me as I sat outside my father’s door, waiting to be acknowledged. I wondered if my last — my only — act of rebellion should be to toss the thing into a fireplace. There were at least five all over the house. By the time it was spotted, the foul depiction would be ashes.

But I wouldn’t.

That wasn’t me. I had no fight. No backbone. Years under Mother’s ruthless reign had properly and thoroughly scrubbed me of any and all voice. I didn’t think I would know how to fight back even if I was given the chance. Not without recognizing that punishment would be swift and without mercy.

I caught my fingers before they could dig clean nails into flesh again. They trembled as I unfurled the stiff joints. My breath wheezed across the curves of my ribs, jagged and scared even to my own ears. A deep part of me knew Mother couldn’t possibly know I was thinking of misbehaving, yet I gritted my teeth over the rise of nausea building in my throat.

“Stop it. Stop it. Stop it,” I whispered to myself, willing the chills to subside before I was sick outside my father’s door.

Mother would beat me senseless. Then she would make me clean it.

I took another breath.

“Naya!”

The snap of my father’s gruff bark shattered my attempts to self-calm. My body reflectively flinched before I caught myself and rose to my feet.

Heavy curtains of sunlight illuminated the sparsely decorated chamber, lancing off gleaming white marble and creating a blinding glow that momentarily stung the eyes. I winced at the attack, despite being prepared for it. My watery gaze drifted to the side view of the gardens that could only be seen from Father’s office. The small corner overlooking an empty pond. I always wondered what else was there if I could find the courage to get closer.

I redirected my thoughts before they could show on my face and focused on the small, round man standing menacingly over the phone on his desk. His small hands pressed into the wood on either side of the device and he loomed close as if trying to intimidate the thing into complying.

“Hello, Father,” I said softly from the doorway.

A thick finger was lifted to silence me. My father never even glanced away from the phone on his desk. His focused attention stayed on the device as if it owed him money.

“The money will be there. Tell Ripken I need just enough to cushion me until after the game. He knows I’m good for it,” he told it.

“Joseph, you already owe Ripken. He’s going to want that paid before he spots you anymore,” came the disjointed voice from the speaker.

A muscle coiled in Father’s cheek, creating a ripple beneath the folds of skin. Impatience bunched between his heavy brows as he bent even lower at the waist to address the machine.

“I will have the money by tonight, Gordy. Enough money to pay for everything in full. I just need—”

“No can do, Joe. We’re running a business here. You already owe us a lot. We’re not covering you for more until you show some good faith, okay? I get it, you’ve been a customer for a long time, but we’ve been good to you, too.”

Father huffed. “Gordy, you know my daughter’s about to marry into the Brixton family, right?”

I winced as I was brought into the conversation as if I wasn’t standing right there.

“Joe—”

“Jarrett Brixton,” he said again as if the name alone had the power to sway the man’s decision. “Who I have on good authority from the man himself is about to sign a massive contract with Lacroix. They’re best friends. Known each other for years. Practically brothers. Do you know what that will mean for both of us? That’s a seriously handy connection, don’t you think?”

The voice on the other end sounded resigned and tired when he exhaled. “Look, I get it, but if you didn’t already owe for the last two races, I’d say no problem, but you’re two in the hole and already behind. Now, you come in tonight and do what you say and pay off your loans, done. We’re good. We can talk new business, but as it were right now, anyone else, we’d already have Little Billy and Mac paying you a visit at your lovely home. You get what I’m saying? So, I’ll write here that you’re coming in tonight to square up, okay? Don’t let me down, Joe. I vouched for you, and I’ll take it personally if you go back on your word ... again.”

The line went dead, and Father stabbed the disconnect button. He continued to glower at the device as if it had personally betrayed him. Seconds cracked around us in sharp snaps I could almost physically count. But I remain still and quiet, so careful not to disrupt his thinking.

Father didn’t hit. He left the violence to Mother. That was her specialty. Father was worse. He was indifferent. I was one of his paintings, there in passing and occasionally in need of correction by someone else, but unmemorable in his life as a whole unless I could somehow be used to sweeten a deal. He was never allowed to sell me or let anyone else touch me. Mother would have his head, but everyone liked a pretty girl they could grope under the table.

“Unbelievable.” He muttered at long last but caught himself and glanced in my direction as if only just remembering I was there. “What are you doing? Where’s your mother?”

“I’m not sure, sir, but you asked to see me?” I murmured.

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