Page 68 of Wicked Sins

She’s little more than a shape in the darkness, but I stare at her as if I can read her mind. “He’swhat?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “It’s just something I heard.”

I let her go, because what’s the point of hearing more? My body weighs a ton when I slide under the covers, and I lie there like a corpse with my hands folded over my sternum. Strangely, the urge to pick at my scabs is gone. Even my headache’s retreating.

Is it the pill Haley gave me, or is it the fact that I’m starting to accept my fate?

Joah’s always been the perfect son. Me? I’ve never once done anything right. I thought living with the Bales would be different. If I didn’t want for anything, then I could be perfect too. The perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect version of Candace Furey.

I guess I’m just a fuck up after all.

A warm tear trails down my temple and soaks into my hair. Then another. Another.

My physical pain is gone, and thank God for that. But I still wish I had something to take away this mental agony.

Like that delicious, creamy liqueur Mr. Bale used to pour for me.

I close my eyes and picture myself back in his study. We’re playing a game of chess, and I’m winning. Sipping, sipping on that beautiful crystal tumbler. And he’s smiling, his handsome face beaming with pride.

I put down my glass and sit forward on the seat to take my next move.

A large hand closes over mine, stopping me. I look up, and smile. Mr. Bale is beside me. He squeezes harder and harder and harder, until it’s as if my bones are breaking.

I scream, but no sound comes out. I rush to my feet, but then I trip and fall.

And keep falling, falling, falling.

A hand appears from nowhere, grabs my hair, wrenches me up.

Joah’s face, that same angry look in his eyes that he always has when he sees me.

No…not angry.

Concerned.

Why is he so concerned? He hates me.

There’s pain again, but it’s coming from inside. Deep inside, between my legs. An aching, throbbing, stabbing pain. Joah’s face morphs into his father’s. The pain changes, becomes something else.

My incorporeal self tenses. Screams transform into groans. Into panting.

I’m so close. Aching. Ready to split open. Bright, beautiful bliss.

Mr. Bale’s face changes, and this time it morphs into Patrick’s.

That hedonistic ecstasy turns to shame.

“Candy!”

My eyes fly open.

The room’s lights are on. My eyes burn like I haven’t slept in weeks. The girls are standing in a circle behind Patrick, Winona less than a pace behind him. A lot of those girls are staring at me, wide eyes glimmering with shock. Some look like they’re smiling, but even they have a manic light in their eyes.

There’s a hard tug on my sleeping shirt. I scramble up, slap away Patrick’s hand with a gasp. My head’s pounding, intense pain flooding my skull.

My shirt had been all the way up to my neck.

“What are you doing?” I yell out in a hoarse voice. He comes for me again, and I fight him.

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