Page 35 of Sinful

“My father forced my mother into marriage,” I said in a soft voice. “They attended Mayfair together. She was beautiful. A singer. A scholar. A model. Hair like spun gold. Eyes green like emeralds. When I was a young boy, I’d stare at her beauty, mesmerized by it. I’d never seen a woman so beautiful in all my life.” I thumbed Sirena’s bottom lip. “Until I met you, that is.”

Her soft, warm breath blew across my thumb.

Fuck, I wanted to devour her.

And maybe that monster she’d let out earlier. I’d love them both to fucking death without a second thought.

I pushed those ideas from my mind, deciding I needed to speak to the guys about what I’d witnessed with her. Ashes hadn’t been overreacting the other day when she’d tried to go naked out the front door.

She really had snapped.

I tabled those thoughts once again and focused.

I cleared my throat.

“My mother never willingly loved my father. He demanded it, but she was strong-willed. A fighter,” I continued. “I was born out of hatred and rape.”

Sirena’s colorful eyes filled with sadness and pity.

“Do not pity my origins, specter,” I warned. “I do not.”

She bit her bottom lip and remained silent.

“My father wanted an heir. Needed one. He wanted a son, of course. Men are stronger than women in his world. I came into the world born of hatred, yet my mother loved me despite it. I grew with her guiding me. When I was five, my father bought me a rabbit for my birthday. I loved that rabbit. I was young, but I knew what love was. My mother had taught it to me despite the dark world we lived in.”

I let out a soft breath, hating this next part.

“For my sixth birthday, my father gave me my first hunting knife. He commanded me to kill my friend. When I refused, he beat my mother in front of me. She told me to stand my ground. To defy. I did, my body shaking with fear. He would kill my mother, though. He knew how much we loved one another. Perhaps he was jealous of the small family we’d made without him. Unable to handle watching my mother being beaten, I knew I had to make a choice. My mother or my pet.” I paused, inhaling, the ugly memory stirring my hatred. “We ate my kill for my birthday dinner. I threw up the entire night, my broken mother consoling me in her bed.”

I paused, focusing my mind to continue.

“After my sixth birthday, my father began my training. Weapons. Fighting. Killing. I killed my first person when I was six and a half,” I murmured. “A man. I didn’t know him. My father’s men held him down in a white room. My father stood over my shoulder and whispered into my ear, ‘Pathetic. Disappointment. Weak. Dante, you’re fucking weak. No one will ever love you. Your mother will grow to hate your weakness.’His words hurt me. Angered me.” I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. “I was young, Sirena. I didn’t know how to control myself. I didn’t know how to ignore the pain he inflicted on me. So I took my knife and pushed it through the man’s throat. It wasn’t easy. He screamed so fucking loud until it gave way to gurgling. His blood stained my hands. My clothes. The white room. For once, I felt a freedom I’d never felt before. A way to express my anger.An outlet.” I breathed out. “My father made me pick the part I liked the most on the man. I chose his arm. He had a tattoo of a skull on it. My father made me carve off that part of the man. I did so, then. . .” I sighed. “He taught me to eat everything I killed. It started with the rabbit.”

Sirena’s soft fingers brushed along my cheek. I took her hand in mine and kissed each delicate finger, my throat tight.

“I did not mourn that man’s death nor the end of my innocence. I didn’t know how to. I was a child. I knew it was wrong, but it made my father proud, so I took refuge in that, hoping he would be kinder to me and my mother. I embraced that freedom and let myself go. It upset my mother. She fought with my father. He hit her. Hurt her. My hopes were crushed. When I was nine, she defied him by trying to escape with me in the dead of night.” I let out a sad laugh.

“We didn’t make it to the front door before he was on us. He dragged us back to my mother’s bedroom, where I was forced to watch her punishment. Beaten. Stripped naked.Fucked.”

“‘Do you love your mother, Dante?’my father screamed at me.‘Do you love her?’”

I stared at Sirena, noting the sadness swimming in her colorful eyes. Telling my story wasn’t something I ever longed to do, least of all to her because I knew she was someone who felt too much, and god help me, I didn’t want her to hurt. I didn’t want her to pity me or feel sorry for me. I didn’t deserve that from her.

“He screamed that at me on repeat until I answered and said I did. He made me move closer. He said it was a lesson in love.”

My throat tightened more. The words were hard to say, the memory still raw and bleeding even after all these years.

“H-he said he’d kill her if I-I didn’t. . .” my voice trailed off. “I couldn’t lose my mother. I loved her. She was my whole world. My protector. She lay in that bed, her eyes barely open, her face swollen and bruised.” I released a shaky breath. “She was so cold. She didn’t fight the punishment. She let it happen, but I remember the tears that mixed with her blood as I did it. As I-I. . .” Fuck, saying the crime was painful.

Sirena’s brows were knit so tightly.

I could do this.

My mother would tell me that speaking my feelings would heal me. It had been many years since I spoke of my feelings in such a way. I figured my soul was an ugly scab that would never heal, truths or not.

“I beat her,” I whispered. “He told me to pick my weapon. The only thing I had was my belt from my pants.” I cleared my throat. “Her blood. Her tears. Her-her body. He forced me to hurt her. He guided my hand. He said it was a glimpse of my beginnings. He said it would make me stronger. I still remember the way she sounded as I cried from my position. The pitiful, soft cries. The way she reached for my hand when it was over to hold me. To comfort me.” I shook my head, hating the fucking memory.

“When father was satisfied with my job, he pulled me away from her and finished her punishment. She didn’t make the same noises for him that she’d made for me. For me, she’d given me muffled cries of pain. For him, she screamed.” I paused. “I didn’t want to hurt my mother that day, specter. Don’t run away thinking that. I simply had the sampler my father wanted me to have so I could be damaged further by his sickness. So I could see my future. So I could have a taste of power. The next day, he gifted me Stitches, my broken and torn brother. It made life easier. I had someone besides my mother because looking at her made me sick to my stomach. What I’d done was wrong, but I was a selfish boy wanting to keep my mother with me. Wanting to save her and always have someone who would love me no matter what.”

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