Page 75 of Sinful

“I don’t care if you’re sorry, Rosamund. It’s too late for that now,” he said, eyes narrowing. I’d never seen him look so furious before. “This is all happening because of you!”

“I’m sorry, Papa,” I repeated.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” he shouted, advancing toward me.

“Yes, Papa. It’s my fault. What happened to Miranda was all my fault.”

My chin suddenly snapped upward, and my eyes flew open. Sebastian had stopped lashing me, and he was standing right in front of me, one hand gripping my jaw. “What did you say?”

“It was my fault,” I choked out. My eyes dropped to the whip dangling from his right hand. “I deserve this.”

“What do you mean?”

My head lolled forward, eyes closing again. I was exhausted from the vision the Entity had placed in my head.

Sebastian stepped behind me and hit me with the whip again, alternating between hard and soft strokes until I was a whimpering mess. “You said what happened to my mother was your fault, and that you deserve this,” he ground out between lashes. “Tell me what it means.”

The lashes still hurt, but they felt good at the same time, because some deep-down part of me knew I really did deserve every single one of them. I couldn’t remember why, because it was all a blurry, foggy mess, but that culpable feeling had latched onto me with its sharp, venomous fangs, and I knew it was right to do so. I’d done something terrible all those years ago, and this whipping was divine penance. A punishment that would cleanse my soul.

“Oh,” I moaned, head lolling the other way. “More. Please…”

“You want more?” Sebastian reached around with his free hand to feel between my legs. I knew he’d find me soaked again. “More punishment?”

“Yes,” I gasped.

He slowly dragged the tassels of the whip over my already-stinging back, and I moaned as the painful sensation twined with the blissful knowledge that the Entity’s hands were working through Sebastian’s. It felt so good, agony and arousal melding together to create an intoxicating blend that overwhelmed my senses, leaving me craving more and more of the exquisite torment.

Sebastian drew back and lashed me again, across my upper back. “Tell me the truth,” he growled. “Tell me what happened that night.”

I tried to say something, but it was all too overwhelming now, and the words wouldn’t come. My vision started to blur again, the edges darkening and closing in like a tightening tunnel.

A tunnel…

Was I there? Had I dug it after all? Was I crawling out of this prison? Or was I tunneling down to Hell?

I had no idea. All memories and rational thoughts had abandoned me. My head felt light, almost detached from my body, and I let out one final moan as a rush of disorienting dizziness hit me.

With that, everything went black.

19

Sebastian

I chuggedmy fifth coffee for the day as I maneuvered my car along the winding mountain road, the caffeine barely keeping the fatigue at bay. Yet another work emergency had demanded my presence back in the city, six fucking hours away, so I’d spent more than twelve hours driving over the last day and a half.

Most of my work in the hospital’s legal department could be done online if necessary, but sometimes, a Thorne signature was needed, and with my father still caught up in Montreal, I was expected to step in. The result? No fucking sleep for me for a whole day.

There’s no rest for the wicked.

My mother used to say that all the time. She meant it in a joking sense when she was tired from work and still had other stuff to do, but in my case, it was no joke. I knew I’d grown into a wicked man. A son she wouldn’t be proud of, if I was being totally honest with myself. But I was going to get her justice one way or another, even if I had to lose my soul in the process.

I tossed the coffee cup aside and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, eyes straining to stay focused. The skies were darkening with thick clouds, and mist was obscuring theroad ahead, making it increasingly difficult to see, even with the headlights cutting through in thin, hazy beams. If I wasn’t careful, I’d crash. Happened all the time in this area. But I couldn’t let it happen to me. I was the only one who knew where Rose was locked up, so if I died, she’d die too.

Cell reception finally returned after a bend in the road, and a chirpy voice from the dash informed me that I had four voicemails.

“Play messages,” I barked at the automated system.

The first was from Jesse.

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