Page 20 of The Secrets of a Sin

Grinning, I shake my head lightly but sorrow courses through me as I soak in our surroundings. A moldy basement that smelled of death was our home. A simple bulb hanging from the ceiling was our source of light. An old Lowe's bucket was our toilet. Stacked cardboard boxes were our beds. And the padlocked door was a reminder of who we were and where we belonged.

We were his prisoners. His toys. His fucked-up version of family.

But he would never be our father.

He was just some sick fuck who orphaned us.

“You think I’ll get married one day?” She asks with a hopeful gleam in her eyes that nearly kills me.

“Yes. Someday far, far down the road.” I tell her what she wants to hear because it will be a damn miracle if we make it out of this basement alive. The shovel was going to be our escape, and one day when I become strong enough, I’ll save us.

I’ll kill the bastard.

“I love you, Ar…” She begins to tell me when the sounds of the locks on the door start to creak. Her body stiffens next to mine, and I quickly grab onto her hand to reassure her that I am not going to let anything bad happen to her. The door slams open, and I can already smell the booze lingering down the stairs before his large frame comes into view. He wobbles down the last step with a sinister smile and glances back and forth between us.

“Who’s ready to play?”

* * *

“Sir.” A quiet voice interrupts the trance I’m in, brushing the back of my arm with a light touch. I instantly repel, forgetting for a moment where I was and why I was here. My eyes catch a small woman in a habit with her fearful eyes locked onto mine as she takes a cautious step away from me. “The memorial is about to start.”

Fuck.

Peering around me, I notice I’m outside in the courtyard, just feet away from where Phoebe was found. A cigarette was dangling from my fingers while I found myself staring at the poorly cleaned concrete that still showed the residue of splattered blood. It was almost as if they stopped halfway through cleaning and said, ‘fuck it’. My heart clenches, aching in the worst possible way as I take a strong hit of the cancer stick. Phoebe was gone. Dead and my soul couldn’t grieve the way it needed to. Despair and sadness were pushed aside; all I felt was a fiery rage burning within my veins as I blew out a puff of smoke.

Whoever did this was going to pay. I wanted their blood. Their tortured cries as I ravaged them one body part at a time. I want them to suffer just as I have.

“We were hoping you’d say a few words on Phoebe’s behalf.” The Sister cuts in, causing my fingers to squeeze the cigarette till it snaps in half. Spinning around, so we're now face-to-face, my heated stare meets hers.

“Well, I was hoping that when I came out here, I wouldn't have to stare at the half-assed cleaned blood of my sister. But I guess we don't all get what we want to do, do we?” I drop the rest of the cigarette onto the ground, not bothering with looking at the stunned expression on her face as I stalked past her. I didn’t even want to be here. I didn’t want to listen to random people talk about my sister as if they knew her or pretended to give a shit about her. She was so much more than this school. She had hopes, aspirations to fucking be somebody, even after everything she’s endured. She was so strong and so damn resilient. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she wanted to come here. We weren’t even catholic.

Hell, we weren’t even slightly religious. But she begged and pleaded that this was the place that she needed to be at and I, being the short-tempered man I am, reluctantly agreed. Without questioning their morals, the curriculum, the fucking teachers.

Nothing.

I walked into Principal Welch’s office and essentially signed papers that, unknowingly at the time, would be the reason Phoebe died.

Passing the frightened Sister, I make sure to glance my heavy eyes down her short frame waiting for the sharp gasp to escape her delicate lips and fuel me for what I’m about to undergo. And, sure enough, she gives me exactly what I’d hoped for. With a wide grin, I stroll past the ground Phoebe was found on and like a switch, my outrage returns.

Opening the doors of the church, I step inside and watch as all eyes land on me.

So many fucking women. Or girls, I should say. Young, damaged girls who watched me as if I was something foreign to them. Surely, they weren’t that deprived of men here that they’d be drooling themselves into a stupor over the sight of me?

Every pair of eyes that I feel on me chars my skin. The mixed emotions in the room were enough to cause my head to burst up in flames. Pity, lust, sadness-it was all maddening to the point I wanted to turn right back around and leave. But I had to do this. I needed to do this because someone in this church could be the cause of this. They could be hiding among the mass of girls, blending in with their godly ensemble and youthful faces, but underneath their disguise could be a wicked human being who belonged in the pits of hell. Or someone far more sinister. Someone who was trusted to protect and educate but lured Phoebe in.

No one has been absolved.

Every goddamn person in this church is a suspect and, if I have to go through each student and teacher, I’ll do so with a fine-tooth comb. Or a knife to their throat. Whatever way gets me answers.

At a leisurely pace, I amble up the aisle meeting Principal Welch’s cold stare that has me grinning ear to ear. For a woman in her mid-forties, she was sure nice to look at. An ample chest, a good handful of dark hair to grab onto and an expensive silver band around her finger that made her even more tempting. But unfortunately for her, I wasn’t interested in fucking someone so desperate that they felt the need to shove my hand down their damp panties. Perhaps if I weren’t mourning my sister's untimely death or over the fact her murderer was still on the loose, I would’ve fucked her the way she deserved. But now, I had my sights on someone far more tempting and forbidden. Even if I wasn’t going to overindulge myself, there was nothing wrong with sampling.

Standing beside Principal Welch was Father Henry. Dressed in a vestment, he was the closest thing to God I’d ever get to. He stood with power and all things holy as his beady eyes took in my dark ensemble, and I could already sense the gears turning in his head as if he already knew what kind of man I was and what I was capable of doing. But he had no idea what torment and suffering I’ve been through, nor was he able to see all the scars and burns that now sheath my body. My grim past has carved me into the man I am today, and if it hadn’t been for Phoebe, I don't know where I'd be. But this wasn't about me. This was about her.

“Arsen, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Father Henry nods with his hands clasped around the long pectoral cross that adorns his neck. I’m assuming my presence was too profane for the Father as I watch his slim fingers tighten around the silver. A small grin rose on my lips, and I couldn't help but chuckle on the inside.

“Father Henry. Likewise.” I give him a nod, and then my eyes drift over to Principal Welch, who is observing us with her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. Slowly, I let my stare trail down her navy-blue blouse and conservative black skirt that has my mind racing with wicked ideas that involve her filthy mouth and my cock. With all this pent-up energy that is coursing through me, any pussy would do at the moment. Even if all I could think about was a certain "forbidden" pussy and all the ways I'd ravage it. Fucking Charlotte and her soft caramel hair and those perfect damn lips.

She was a curse of a woman.

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