Page 1 of Daddy's Sinner

Prologue

“Matheo,” he begins again. I hate it when he tries to preach to me—I'd take the whips over his hypocrisy any day. It's not just the disdain in his eyes that grates on me; it's the way he looks down at me as if he has no sins of his own. Perhaps that’s why he despises me so much—because I’m a constant reminder of them.

I clench my jaw, struggling to control the simmering rage building inside me. Ignoring the urge to lash out, I meet his gaze with a steely glare. “Save your sermons for someone who gives a damn, Father,” I spit, my voice low and dangerous. His black eyes lock onto mine, the disdain still evident, and the air crackles with tension as he regards me as if I am still a child. My nostrils flare, and I clench my fists, refusing to back down or bend to his judgment.

Father Guzman sighs, turning away to focus on the dead sinner in the tub. How he’s shocked that I turned out this way is truly unbelievable, considering the punishments, the abuse, the lack of love, and the twisted Bible teachings. I was fucked from the very start. He opens his mouth, then quickly closes it. For a moment, a flicker of satisfaction creeps in, but it’s gone as soon as he speaks again and resumes his hypocrisy. I sigh. As usual, the bastard gives no fucks and preaches on anyway. Father Guzman steps closer, his gaze locked onto mine. “The only difference between a saint and a sinner is control over their impulses,” he says, voice low and measured. “You and I walk a thin line. That’s why I saved you, why I made you my student and deacon when I noticed the rot.”

His hand grips my shoulder, firm and unyielding. “Sinners give in; saints harness their desires. I chose you because you can do this, boy. You just need to control that darkness.”

He pauses, letting the silence speak volumes. “That rot inside you is why you’re my successor,” he says, his voice a dangerous whisper. “But you have to master it.”

He lets the words hang in the air for a moment; the silence is heavy and suffocating. Then, with a final squeeze of my shoulder, he releases me, his eyes still locked on mine.

“What we do is important, bringing peace to the demons on earth. And by doing that, we gain absolution from our own demons, Matheo.” I scoff at his words. As if the real reason he saved me isn’t because I’m his child. The same child he created from his sins, a constant fuck you fromhell. It’s almost funny how big a hypocrite he is, preaching about absolution when he’s the embodiment of hypocrisy. And I’m the living proof of his transgression. A bitter laugh escapes my lips. I want to strike him and wipe that smug, sanctimonious look off his face. But instead, I clench and unclench my fists at my sides. At 6'4", I tower over him, and with my build, I could end it all if I wanted to. But I don’t. The years of conditioning and manipulation still have their claws in me.

“You can’t escape your purpose,” he says, voice laced with a dangerous edge. “The mission God has given you. You think you can walk away from this?” He leans in close, his fingers splayed wide in a threatening gesture. “God led me to her. He placed you in her womb with the rot so you could recognize it in others, as I recognized it in you.”

Father Guzman’s hands move as he speaks, the air thickening with the stench of his arrogance. I fucking hate him. My eyes stay locked on his as his thick, gray eyebrows knit together. “You think you can forget everything I’ve taught you?” he demands as if I could ever erase his twisted lessons. As if I could ever forget the pain, the misery, and the lack of love. The beatings and teachings. My lips curl with disgust as I think back to those days.

Father Guzman's voice pulls me out of the past. “Look at her. Does that arouse you, boy?” he asks, pointing to the sinner sprawled in the tub.

The question is rhetorical, not that he’d give me the chance to answer. And to be fair, if he glanced at my pants, he’d see the truth. I’m aroused. Power turns me on like nothing else in this world. Maybe it’s the lack of it growing up that makes me crave it so fiercely as an adult. But here we are, and he is still talking.

“That’s the rot inside you. Tame it, boy. It’s not about being perfect, Matheo, but about striving for control. Your training is a lifelong journey. Soon, you will become a priest, and there's no going back. We have to bring peace and purge the world of evil. We must punish the sinners, not give in to the darkness."

Darkness consumed his eyes, chilling me to the core. His voice, harsh and unforgiving, matched his iron grip on my shoulder. “I tamed the decay within you,” he hisses, drawing closer. “Embrace your atonement. Reject your wicked impulses. Remember, I rescued you from yourself.”

I grin at his words... Like father, like son. Rotten to the core.

My jaw clenches as I catch the look of disdain that still remains in his eyes. It enrages me; I want to kill him. I should have ended it right there. Truthfully, I wanted to, but I didn’t. Maybe it was conditioning or the fact that he’s right—his teachings did teach me to control the urge to spill blood. That control is the only reason why he’s still breathing.

Not that I’m a saint. I still spill blood, but with the purpose of delivering penance to evil. The rot inside me? That’s my inheritance from him and my mother.Lucky me. I was born with the rot, the fruit of my creator’s sin.

As I stand there, locked in a staring match with the man who taught me control, I can’t help but think about the hypocrisy of it all. Here he is, casting judgment on me and my flaws when he is just as tainted as I am.It’s ironic.

I tune out the rest of his words, not giving a fuck about what else the old man has to say. I cock my head slightly to the side so he can see the annoyance, the lack of interest painted on my face. Thankfully, he notices the disconnect and releases his firm grip on my shoulder, leaving a cold spot where his warmth had been. His stern eyes now soften with a hint of sadness, perhaps even regret. But I know better than to trust any hint of emotion, especially from him, the master manipulator. Not that I care, but he was, after all, the man who taught me everything I need to know about deception.

“Matheo,” he tries again, his voice softer now. I roll my eyes, trying to show some annoyance, though it feels pointless. Even my indifference doesn’t stop him. Father keeps going, preaching like always. “Iunderstand your anger, but this path we’ve chosen requires sacrifice and understanding.”

“Understanding? Sacrifice?” I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “What do you know about understanding? All you’ve ever done is control and manipulate. What do you know about sacrifice?”

He steps closer, and I feel the urge to recoil, but I stand my ground as he responds. “I made you strong, made you what you are, boy. Prepared you for this world. Without me, you would have been lost.”

“Without you, I might have been free. Dead, maybe, but free,” I snap back, my voice a low growl, my blood rushing in my ears. The air between us is charged, every word a potential spark to ignite the powder keg of resentment deep inside me. And he must notice the change as his eyes harden again, the brief moment of vulnerability gone as he backs away.

“Freedom is an illusion, Matheo. We all serve something greater than ourselves. Even you.”

“I serve no one,” I hiss, stepping closer until we’re eye to eye. Well, almost eye to eye. “Not anymore.”

“Don't spurn my guidance, Matheo. Don't waste the gift I have given you.” He runs his wrinkled hand down his face, his voice weary. “Once you become a priest, there will be no turning back from our duty—to bring peace and rid the world of evil. Don’t be so insolent.”

Insolent. His words echo in my mind, disgust and anger swirling together like a tempest. I see the truth in what he says, but also the hypocrisy of it all.

“You want me to be a saint while you hold onto your sins?” I retort, standing tall with my fists clenched. “Hypocrite! You saved me, yes, but you’ve also kept me trapped in this game. I’m just a puppet, pulled by your strings!”

And that was the truth—he didn’t save me that night or kill my mother out of love. He was hiding his transgressions, purging his sins. And he thought he’d found his lifelong puppet. Hell, even I believed it when I was younger. But that train has long left the station. I fucking hate him, hate my mother, and hate the twisted world they’ve built for me. But I don’t say anything more. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me act like a child throwing a tantrum.

Father Guzman's expression hardens, cold fury flickering in his eyes as his jaw clenches. “You will not disrespect me, boy. Remember where you came from. I have given you everything.” With that, he backhands me so hard my lip splits open. Despite our height difference, his hand always finds its mark. The sharp sting ignites a wave of anger, but I refuse to show any signs of weakness.Fuck this asshole.

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