Page 49 of Wicked Sins

Yeah, fine, I was the instigator…but Candy is—and always will be—the catalyst. I don’t know why Sean did what he did. Why he felt such a strong urge to have her. I mean, honestly, I’m sure she’d have given it up if he’d romanced her a little. Maybe taken her on a date. She’d definitely have put out for him.

But he had to take, instead.

Just how you like it, Jo.

Another sip of beer, a grimace. “I mean, I tried.” I let out a laugh that doesn’t have nearly enough credibility, and hurriedly cut it off. “But that bitch is crazy.”

“You disappoint me, Josiah.”

It shouldn’t, but that statement closes my chest up tighter than a fucking mummy’s wraps. My hand clenches around my beer can, and the soft aluminum crumples between my fingers.

“You could have done something, but you didn’t. She’s your sister, not your enemy.”

I almost laugh, but manage to control myself. I look up. But even after staring at my father for a few seconds, I can’t read the expression on his face.

“You could have stopped this.”

My jaw tightens. I shake my head, but Dad carries on.

“You might as well have held the match, son.” He gives me a sympathetic smile, and that’s when I realize he’s goading me. He wants me to admit that I wasn’t there, that I don’t know if she’s responsible. Saving my own ass along with hers.

But then she’d have free reign of this house again. Her nightly trysts with my father would continue. Our close-knit family would keep growing apart.

So I don’t say anything.

I drink the rest of my beer in silence and toy with my slice of pizza.

I’ve done what I needed; the seed has been planted. No need to go piss on it too.

It should sprout all on its own.

Chapter Nineteen

Candy

I’m in the kitchen, snipping up a slimy pork fillet with a pair of kitchen shears when Wayne and my mother walk past. He used the pressure from the tips of his fingers on her lower back to herd her toward the front door.

I pause, peeking at them from under my lashes.

As part of my punishment for setting fire to my locker, I have to cook all our meals, starting with lunch.

It’s Saturday. I should be watching TV, or reading a book, or hanging out at the mall with my friends.

Yeah, okay, so I don’thaveany friends, but I could have gone and watched a movie or something.

Instead, I’m stuck here answering mundane question after mundane question from the incorrigible Emma Bale while everyone else just does whatever they want to.

I don’t even bother asking where they’re going—my security clearance is a big fat zero right now. Everything—even what time lunch is supposed to be ready by—is apparently on a need to know basis.

“Bye,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.

My mother pauses, turning to face me as Wayne moves past her and into the entrance hall. “We’ll be back by three,” she says, her mouth in a grim line. “Make sure you cook that properly.”

I curl up my lips in what could be taken for a grin—if you’re half-blind. Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step toward me as if she wants to escalate this into a fistfight.

I don’t think I’ll get over what she told me in the pool house, even though it was illuminating as fuck. It explains so much about my childhood that I should be on my hands and kneesthankingher for finally revealing why she hates me so much.

“Get a move on, Diana,” Wayne calls out. “He charges by the minute.”

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