Page 14 of A Sinner's Saint

I watch as my brother’s knuckles turn white while his hands grip the steering wheel. “Vin, did he… did you…” He shakes his head. “Why didn’t you tell one of us? We would have stopped it,” he says, his voice breaking.

Pity. Loud and clear.

I frown at him.“If I told any of you, he would have made you all do it too.” That was my father’s threat. He always said that if I told them, he’d take them there and make them do what he made me do. “I didn’t want that to happen.”

I can see the horror on my brother’s face. His eyes water. I fucking hate this. I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want the nightmare to touch any of my brothers. It’s bad enough I have to live with this shit. They don’t need it. They deserve better.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know. I should have known.” Gabe’s words are choked out. There’s so much remorse in his voice. I can hear it. He’s the fixer of the family, now more than ever when everything feels like it’s falling apart. He will go to any lengths to fix whatever problem we have.

“You weren’t ever supposed to know,” I tell him, doing my best to keep my tone neutral, remain unaffected. “This isn’t your fault, Gabe. And I’d prefer if it stayed between us.”

“You know we need to tell Gio,” he says, which is the last thing I want to do. Our eldest brother has enough on his plate right now. He does not need my shit added to it.

“Why? What good will that do? He’s finally settling down, finding happiness. He deserves that. He does not need to take on burdens that are not his to bear. Neither do you,” I grit out.

“This… I think you should see someone,” Gabe suggests.

I almost laugh at the thought of sitting on a sofa, complaining about my life to some fucker with a bunch of letters after his name. “What? Like a head quack? Pass. I’m fine. I’ve dealt with it.” What I need is to change the subject. I haven’t had a smoke all fucking day. I’m way too sober to be dealing with this shit. “Did you find anything there? At the house?”

“You mean other than a fucking child brothel and a heap of sick fucks? No. Not a fucking thing,” Gabe growls.

“Where are we going?” I stare through the windscreen, trying to figure out where he’s taking us. It’s not in the direction of home.

“The warehouse. Marcel has that fucker Hamish hanging like the rotten pig he is,” Gabe says, and I can feel myself pale. I don’t want to be anywhere near the fucker who managed that house.

He never saw me. He didn’t know my father was taking me there. Something I knew for a fact after I overheard a conversation I wasn’t supposed to know about once. They were discussing Hamish—my father and someone else—talking about how they gave the old man the day off whenever it was my turn to make an appearance.

Does that mean I don’t want to kill the son of a bitch? Fuck no. He sells little kids to sick fucks, allows them to use and abusechildren for their own pleasure. I want to slaughter him like the filthy pig he is.

“Why am I here?” I finally ask Gabe when he pulls to a stop at the warehouse.

“Because I thought you’d want to do the honours.” He smiles at me.

Does he really think he’s doing me a favour? I don’t want to face the man who benefited from the abuse of little kids. From my abuse.

I don’t respond. I silently follow Gabe into the warehouse. I learnt from a young age not to ask too many questions. It’s kill or be killed. Simple as that. I trust my brothers. I know they wouldn’t put me in harm’s way. But there’s always that little doubt in my head. My own father sold me to my demons, after all. What’s stopping my brother from doing the same?

The moment we walk in, I seehim. Hanging from a rusty old butcher’s hook that’s hanging in the middle of the warehouse. I can’t be in this room. I can’t be around him, knowing what he’s done, who he is. It makes my stomach turn.

So I do the only thing I can do. The thing that will get me out of here the quickest. I pick up a pistol, aim it right at the fat fucker’s head, and pull the trigger. Then I turn back around and set the pistol on the table, knowing my brother will make sure any evidence I was here will never be seen again.

“It’s done. Can we go home now?” I don’t wait for an answer. I’m already walking out the door.

“Yep,” Gabe says, and then I hear his footsteps behind me. As soon as we’re in the car, he turns to me. “You good?”

Am I good? No. I’m not ever going to be good again. I will never get past this. I’ve accepted that. What I won’t do is bring others down with me.

“Yep,” I lie.

I can see he wants to push. He wants to continue the conversation. Thankfully, he gets a message telling him we need to get home. Santo is losing his shit. Again. Looks like we’re on babysitting duty all night. My brother is not coping with the grief of losing his fiancée. Not that I blame him, or hold it against him. I will do whatever I can to help. I just wish I could ease some of his pain. I know I can’t, though.

When we get home, I go straight up to my room. I need a smoke. I need to fog my mind as much as I can. Sitting out on my balcony, I light up a joint and scroll through my phone. There’s a message from Cammi.

Cammi:

So this is weird. For me anyway. I know you said I can call or message whenever I felt the urge. And, well, I feel the urge right now. Anyway, it’s stupid and I don’t even know what I want to say.

I smile and hit dial next to her name. She answers after the ringtone sounds out three times. “Hey.”

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