Page 9 of Daddy's Sinner

What kind of game is she playing?

Needless to say, I’m hooked.

“Well,” I murmur, leaning in, “I could suggest something lighter—perhaps romance. Forbidden.Sinful Love—a taboo story about a priest and a nun.”

She blinks, caught off guard. It’s the book she had just been engrossed in, and I can see a flicker of surprise in her eyes. However, she quickly composes herself, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

“Sounds interesting,” she says, her tone casual, her eyes giving nothing away. “You’ve read it?” she asks, her voice a whisper of disbelief.

I nod, a devilish grin playing on my lips as her gaze flickers back to the book she abandoned moments ago.

“Yes,” I reply. “Tons of twists and turns. A little forbidden.”

“Twists and turns, huh?” She raises an eyebrow, giving the book in her hand a speculative look. Judging by how my little sinner carries herself and dresses, this book might be too R-rated for her taste. I feel it’s onlyfair to warn her. “It’s dark and sinful. You sure it’s not too… sinful, too dark for you,princesa?”

She pauses, her eyes lingering on mine for just a moment longer, the corners of her lips curling into a coy smile. “I suppose I can handle a bit of sin,” she says, her voice laced with subtle flirtation. But even as the words leave her lips, I can see her mind drifting elsewhere, her gaze slipping away from mine.

I extend my hand with a grin. “I’m Alex, by the way. And if you can handle a bit of sin, you might just be in for an interesting read.”

She takes my hand, her touch lingering just a bit longer than necessary. “Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Marisol,” she says, her voice a mix of warmth and distance.

Before I can think of what to say next, she’s already moving on. “I should get going. Have a good day,” she adds quickly, pulling her hand away from mine as if the contact burns. There’s something in her eyes—an urgency, maybe even a trace of regret—as she turns and walks briskly toward another part of the bookstore.

I stand there, rooted in place, my hand still tingling from where hers had been.What just happened?Her name, Marisol, echoes in my mind, her voice still lingering in the air like a song I can’t forget. My thoughts whirl, trying to make sense of the brief encounter, trying to understand why I feel this overwhelming need to follow her, to keep her in my sight.

Before I can decide what to do, Victor reappears, striding over to her with an easy confidence that makes my skin crawl. He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and presses a kiss to her forehead. From a distance, it might seem like a tender gesture, but I don’t miss the way she stiffens, the slight recoil of her body as his fingers brush against her exposed skin. She smiles, but it’s forced, her eyes betraying the unease she tries to hide.

What’s really going on here?My gut twists with suspicion, the possessive urge to protect her flaring up again. They exit the shop together, not buying a single thing, but I’m not done with her—not yet. I refuse to let this be the last time I see her.

I grab the three books she had been drawn to, holding them like fragile pieces of her. As I pay and exit the store, I spot them walking toward a small adobe house. My heart pounds with each step as I trail them, my mind racing with possibilities.Who is she, really? And why am I so obsessed with a woman I don't even know?

The sun blazes down on the dusty street, but all I can see is Marisol—her smile, her hesitation, her fear. And as I follow them, I make a silent promise to myself:She will be mine.

I hang back, half-hidden in the shadowy nook of a confectionery shop across the street. The words ofSinful Loveecho in my mind as I watch them. The disquiet in Marisol’s eyes, even from this distance, speaks volumes—repulsion mixed with resignation. I see her tense as Victor’s hand settles on the small of her back, his fingers digging into her hips. He wants her, and if this is affection, it’s possessive, suffocating.

The look on Marisol’s face is unmistakable—she’d rather be anywhere else.God, I want her anywhere else too, preferably with me, in my bed, away from him.Her eyes dart in my direction as if she can sense me watching, but I’m hidden from view. She casts one final, almost pleading look my way before they enter a house, greeted by a younger woman dressed in white from head to toe and a man in a cheap church suit.

What the hell is she walking into?The thought gnaws at me, twisting my gut.She should be with me.The possessiveness, the need to protect her, burns like a fire in my chest, but all I can do is watch, helpless as they disappear inside.But not for long,I promise myself.I’ll get her out of this. She’ll be mine, and I’ll keep her safe.

I creep around the house, searching for a vantage point until I finally find one. Inside, the woman in full covering meticulously measures Marisolwhile the other man, clutching a Bible, prays over her. Victor, now dressed in a white robe, sits on a couch, legs crossed and his gaze never leaving her. I’m baffled by what I’m seeing, but Marisol’s dissociation is unmistakable. She’s checked out, gone somewhere deep within herself as the man in front of her tugs at the lace of her dress. The white fabric slips off her shoulder, exposing her bare skin. The woman steps aside, handing Victor a paper with the measurements.What the fuck is going on here?

The younger man, still reciting verses, cups Marisol’s breast with a sickening reverence. His voice is calm, almost soothing as he continues, “But I would have you without carefulness. He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord.”

Victor nods in approval, his eyes dark with something twisted. “Our Lord demands purity, obedience, and sacrifice. We cleanse our bodies to prepare for the Lord’s work. Marisol, you are chosen to lead us, to be the vessel through which the Lord speaks.”

Fucking cult,I think, my blood running cold. They’re brainwashing her, twisting Marisol into some kind of prophetess. My heart pounds, a mix of rage and fear clawing at me. I want to break through the window, rip her away from them, and burn everything to the ground. But I’m frozen, helpless, forced to watch as the horror unfolds. Watching the workings of their Dove. The man continues, his hand still on her breast, “You are the daughter of Lilith, the mother of all living, the vessel of God’s will. Through you, we shall be redeemed.”

No,I think, the word a silent scream in my mind.They can’t have her. She’s mine, not theirs. Mine to protect, to hold, to claim.But she’s standing there, motionless, her mind a million miles away while they continue their twisted ritual.

Victor’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. “We must ensure that our flesh is pure, that our desires align with the will of the Lord. Only then can we be free of sin.”

This is insane. They’re using her, twisting everything she is, everything she could be.My fists clench at my sides, the need to act almost overwhelming. But I can’t yet. Not without a plan.Hold on, Marisol. I’m coming for you. Just hold on.

As Marisol’s father finishes the verse, he rises from the couch. His eyes lock onto her with an expression I can’t quite decipher—a mix of pride, but there’s something else, something darker. A look of hunger, as if he already knows how this will play out.She is his.

He walks over to her, places a hand on her shoulder, and dips his chin slowly before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. The woman in the corner remains, staring down at the floor.

Suddenly, my stomach churns as a veil of realization descends upon me. Marisol is going to be raped. Confusion floods my mind, and every instinct screams at me to burst into that room and take her away. But I’m paralyzed, gripped by a twisted sense of resignation as I stand there, watching.

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