Page 52 of Wicked Sins

There’s a loud clickety-clack to the side. It stops abruptly, and a moment later, my mother’s sickly-sweet perfume hits my nose.

“Wayne?” Her voice is hushed with shock. “What are you…?”

Mr. Bale ignores her. His fingers curl into a fist as he walks over to where Josiah’s scrambling up from the floor.

His son straightens, clutching the rim of the granite countertop behind him as he faces his father.

Josiah sticks out his jaw, eyes blazing above the dark red mark forming on the side of his face. “Do it,” he mutters. “Do it, youfuckingpussy.”

My heart’s galloping in my chest like a wild horse hell-bent on destruction.

Click-clack.

“Wayne, no.”

Click-clack.

Mom appears on the edge of my view, her arm held out.

“There’s a better way.”

I blink dry, stinging eyes and turn to stare at my mother.

A better way to do what?

What?

With a growl that sounds more animal than human, Wayne drops his arm to his side. He steps back, and Josiah steps forward, both his hands clenched.

Is it my turn to get Josiah to stop?

But I guess he realizes there’s no way he can beat his dad. Wayne stands inches taller than him, and he’s wider in the shoulders and waist too. The odds are piled against Josiah.

“You’re right,” Mr. Bale says. He swipes a hand over his forehead, rearranging the lock of dark hair flopping loose. Then he spins and looks straight at me.

I cower under that fierce glare. I even press Emma harder against myself as if I could protect her against him.

Wayne ducks, grabs the shoulder of my hoody, and hauls me to my feet. Fabric burns my midriff before exposing my tummy to the room.

“You disgust me,” he says, glaring first at me, then at Josiah. “Both of you.”

Specks of color mottle Josiah’s skin. His mouth is a hard, trembling line, the whites of his knuckles shining through his skin. “The feeling is mutual,” he says.

Wayne tenses, but instead of giving Josiah another backhand, he smooths down the front of his button-up shirt with big, steady hands.

“That all you got?”

Josiah blinks hard and then narrows his eyes. A frown creases the skin between his dark eyebrows.

“Because I’d suggest you keep something juicy for the therapist.” Wayne takes his phone from his pocket, and ducks his head as his thumb moves over the screen.

Josiah shakes his head, frown deepening.

Wayne puts the phone to his ear. “You’ll each get your own therapist at Happy Mountain.” Wayne smiles, first at Josiah, and then at me.

Happy Mountain? It sounds like a mental institute.

His gaze flashes over me, and I cover myself despite the fact that my hoody is straight again.

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