Page 32 of Sinful

I remained silent, locked in my prison. More than anything, I wanted to speak, but the words weren’t there. I hated it, but this was me. I wanted to be someone else. Wishing the words would come when I wanted them to didn’t always work. Sometimes I was able to voice them, which was a huge accomplishment for me. Most times, though, I was stuck in silence.

“Do you think you’re ready to return to classes? As much as I enjoy knowing you’re here and safe, it’s getting hard to keep Sully off my ass. Eventually, he’s going to send word to my father. We don’t want that,” he said thickly.

He was right. We didn’t.

I fingered one of the buttons on his dark button-down.

“Sirena?” he called out. “I wish you’d speak to me. I love the way your voice sounds. It’s so. . . pretty and sweet. I dream of it.”

I shifted closer to him.

He gave me a gentle squeeze as my fingers trailed to his wrists and played with all the leather bands he wore. One had a small rabbit on it. I traced the shape, feeling the soft leather.

I was sure it was made from a poor bunny.

I moved to the next bracelet and ran my fingers along the strange leather. It was sewn together in pieces, the leather different colors.

I stared up at him curiously.

“Do you like that one?” he asked in a rough voice.

I bit my bottom lip. I wouldn’t say I liked it. It simply made me curious.

“Would you like to know the story behind it?”

I ran my finger along the leather again, noting that one piece had an intricate design embedded deep within it.

“When I lived at home, my father made me do things for him. Things pretty little girls like you should never have to witness.”

I swallowed, my heart rate picking up.

“This one.” He pointed to the first bit of leather. “This is from a man who owed my father money. He sold flesh for him. He would keep a chunk of cash with each transaction. Father didn’t like that, so he sent me in. It seemed only fitting that I take his flesh as a souvenir.

I shivered at his words, the nausea at what he meant twisting through my guts like an angry serpent. I jerked my hand away from the bracelet, but he captured my fingers and pressed them back against it.

“The second piece is from a man who ate. . . things he shouldn’t,” he said in that rough voice. He slid my fingers to the next piece.

“This is from a man who tried to touch me.”

Another piece.

“This is from a woman who fucked my father while he was married to my mother. I do not tolerate betrayal. I was able to get to her. My father’s time will come someday as well.”

Another piece.

“This is from someone who tried to buy my mother from my father. My father watched me do this one. He laughed the entire time I hacked the man to bits.”

He continued on, telling me the story of each piece of leather until we reached the last piece. It was a band connected to the others but was solid and wasn’t Frankensteined together like the rest were.

“And this,” he said softly, his voice wobbling. “This is my mother.”

My breath came in a shaky gasp at his words.

“Calista,” he continued in a whisper. “The queen of the Underground.”

He paused. “I’ve never told you the story of my mother, have I? Of my story and how I came to be this way. I know you’re aware of Ashes, Stitches, and Sin’s stories, but mine has alluded you.”

I trembled on his lap. He ran his knuckles along my jaw and turned my face so I was staring into his moss-green eyes.

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