Page 70 of Wicked Sins

Last night, he tried to drown Candy because he thought he was doing me a favor. That’s how much he understood me to hate her. So why the fuck is he surprised that I wouldn’t give a shit if she’s gone and had some kind of mental breakdown?

I spit, and ram my toothbrush back in its holder.

Thing is, I do care. But not in the way everyone might think. I’m this close to starting to whistle. Here I thought I’d have to concoct some elaborate plan to get Candy holed up at Happy Mountain for eternity.

But I forgot something.

Candy doesn’t need help fucking shit up.

She’s a natural.

I throw on a clean shirt and head out to the lodge’s dining room. The smell of bacon and toast hangs in the air, but the table hasn’t been set. For a moment, my mind scrambles. Was it my turn to do that today? No. Wednesday’s are Tommy’s days. I spot Angie through the archway leading to the kitchen.

“Tommy sick?”

Angie flinches at the sound of my voice. She turns to me and stands there for a moment as if processing what I’ve said.

There’s a big bowl in her arms filled—possibly—with pancake batter.

My gaze darts to the clock on the dining room wall. My skin starts to crawl.

“What’s going on?” I demand as I storm through the dining room toward her.

The mustangs should be halfway through breakfast already, but it looks like Angie’s only just getting started. And where are the rest of the guys? Our lodge feels empty as I rush past her and out the back door.

In the distance, a group of kids huddles outside an isolated face-brick building.

The sick room.

Every hair on the back of my neck stands up.

I start hurrying toward the building, my legs moving faster and faster.

Why am I rushing? This is what I wanted. So what if she’s gone and lost it? I didn’t do it.

Or did you?

I can still feel her body trapped against the tree trunk.

Or did you?

The fear, then the anger.

Did I?

I don’t make it to the sick room, though.

“Josiah!”

I turn mid-run. Brian’s coming toward me. He’s running too.

Shit, how bad is it? Sylvester just said she’d gone ape shit, but judging from Brian’s face…?

Fuck.

My run slows to a heavy jog, then to a final thump that rattles my teeth together. “What happened to her?” is the first thing I can manage to get past my constricted throat. “Is she okay?”

Brian shakes his head. His eyes are glassy, his mouth a tight line. My heart squeezes tight. I turn, ready to bolt to the sick room.

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