Page 8 of Sinful

I leaned back in my seat and folded my arms across my chest. “Calm down.”

My father closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just… I worry about you. So much. Your uncles are worried too. After what happened to her, none of us can bear to think that the same thing might happen to you.”

“It won’t. I have something Mom never had.”

He opened his eyes, brows lowering into a frown. “What?”

“Guns.” I smiled thinly. “Multiple guns.”

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Christ,” he muttered again, shoulders drooping. He looked back up at me. “You didn’t answer my question. What makes you think you’ll find something to prove it was the Covenant? Even the FBI couldn’t find anything to pin them.”

I knew I’d find the truth, but I couldn’t tell my father—or anyone else—exactly how I planned on making that happen. If I did, they’d probably call the cops or have me committed to a fucking mental hospital.

“I have my ways,” I said.

Dad didn’t even seem to hear my response. He was looking over my shoulder, eyes unfocused. “It still astounds me thatthose bastards actually got away with it, even with your witness testimony and the fact that anyone with so much as half a brain cell can see it was them,” he said. “For people who claim to eschew the modern world and all our laws along with it, they sure as hell know how to game the legal system.” He paused, eyes snapping back to meet mine. “You want to know something, son?”

“What?”

“Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I actually wonder if witchcraft is real, andthat’show those Covenant bastards get away with all the shit they do. There really doesn’t seem to be any other explanation.”

“I think we’ve all thought that from time to time,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “But they’re just people. People who are about to get a fucking wakeup call.”

Dad sighed. “You’re really still going to try and get into Alderwood?”

“Yes.”

“There’s nothing I can say or do to convince you otherwise?”

“Nope.”

Another sigh. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t give in. You’re just like your mother,” he said. “She was strong and tenacious. Stubborn, too. Never gave up on anything. That’s one of the many reasons I loved her so much.” He briefly paused again, eyes misting over. “But it’s also the reason she died. I don’t want to see the same thing happen to you.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said firmly. “I’ll be careful.”

“You damn well better be.” He raised his brows. “Anything you need at all, and I meananything,you call me. If I can’t answer for some reason, you call one of your uncles instead. You hear me?”

“Yup.”

“All right.” He downed the remainder of his coffee and stood, peering out the picture window. “I should probably head off before that rain starts. I can already see some threatening clouds out there.”

I saw him off, and then I walked around to the back of the house and stepped down the shrub-lined garden path. A metal hatch lay on the ground in a large clearing at the end.

I pulled the deadbolt across and lifted the hatch, swinging it over to rest on the grass. Then I descended into the darkness, using my phone to light the way. Once I was at the bottom of the stairs, I fumbled on the wall to find the switch. Seconds later, the space was flooded with harsh fluorescent light.

I took another step, peering around with a satisfied smirk.

This space was the real reason I’d had all those construction workers up here over the last couple of years. It was originally a small wine cellar, but I’d hired the contractor and specialists to extend it into a multi-roomed bunker. I made it seem like I was a nutty doomsday prepper who wanted a secret underground lair to retreat to when things got too hot out in the real world. None of the guys asked any questions beyond the scope of the project, anyway. I paid them too much for them to do anything but hold their tongues and build exactly what I wanted.

The right part of the main space was small, with a work desk and photos lining the walls. On the left lay a door to a dark side room I’d set up with a mixture of toys and torture devices.

A thick pane of unbreakable floor-to-ceiling glass stood a few feet back from the main space. Beyond that was a soundproof chamber with a concrete floor and a heavy door that could only be opened with a keycard. Inside, it was meagerly furnished with a bed, a toilet, and a sink.

I pulled out one of my keycards to ensure it was still working, even though I’d already checked at least ten times over the lastfew months. The light on the access panel flashed green, and there was a soft hiss as the lock released.

I entered the chamber, sat down on the narrow bed, and looked around, imagining what it would be like to live in such a sparse shithole for weeks on end.

Soon, I wouldn’t have to imagine it, because I’d see the reality of it playing out right in front of me, courtesy of the prisoner I intended to take.

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