Page 15 of Wicked Sins

“Yes, that’s obvious.” He shows me his teeth, and then whips around and hurries back to his sister. She’s hugging herself, her face contorting around a fresh volley of choking sobs.

“I thought she was allowed to swim.”

“Not by herself,” Josiah throws back over his shoulder.

“I said I was coming.”

“Shut up and bring me a towel,” he says.

I’m so freaking angry, I can’t think of a comeback. With a strangled yell, I pivot and stalk into the pool room after yanking at the glass doors a few times.

Josiah doesn’t look up at me when I shove a towel in his direction. “Here.”

“You don’t ever come out here unless someone’s with you, got it?” Josiah’s telling his sister.

My stomach turns over at the steel command in Josiah’s voice. I expect Emma to start crying anew, but all she does is swallow a sob and nod furiously at her brother.

Josiah’s black eyes swivel up to me. “And Candy doesn’t count.”

Emma’s still nodding.

I scowl at him. “I didn’t mean—”

“Not interested,” he mutters, draping the towel over Emma’s shoulders and scooping her into his arms.

Then they’re gone, and I’m left standing beside the pool like an idiot.

Suddenly, I’m not tired anymore.

Suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about the row-upon-row of bottles I spotted in the pool house bar as I’d passed them to get a towel from the closet.

Hands in fists, I charge back to the pool house.

You know what’ll put me right to sleep? A nice big glass of wine.

Chapter Six

Josiah

Iget Emma dried and dressed, and stream one of her favorite animated movies on the flat screen. I’m still replaying the shocked look on Candy’s face as I head to the kitchen to make Emma some hot chocolate.

She was literally just standing there, watching my sister drown. What the fuck is wrong with her?

Milk sloshes into the mug. I make a mess on the counter when I shove it into the microwave to warm it up.

How many times have I told Dad we need a pool cover? He’s always too fucking busy to get someone out here to quote us. Maybe I should do it. At least then it might actually get done sometime this fucking year. Same story with the damn CO2 sensors. I mean, after what happened with Mom, you’d think safety would be his first concern.

The microwave beeps. I tip a sachet of hot chocolate mix into the steaming milk, and glare at the clumps that immediately form.

They refuse to disintegrate, no matter how much I stir.

Fuck it.

When I get back to the TV room, Emma’s asleep. I grab one of the throw blankets hanging over the back of the couch and drape it over her. Her cheek is ice cold when I press my knuckles to her face, but I’m sure she’ll warm up soon enough.

She’s just as stubborn as me sometimes. Stubborn and impatient.

I take a sip of her clumpy hot chocolate as I stare down at Emma’s angelic face.

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