Page 103 of Wicked Sins

I don’t trust myself around him anymore.

Last night proves that I have absolutely zero self-control, and that I’m a slut to boot. Who else would do the things I did…would let her stepbrother do the things he did?

It should make me sick just thinking about it…instead, it makes my insides clench.

I breathe out a sigh of relief when I hear the footsteps ascend to the third story.

I turn back to my packing—just toiletries left now.

Thump.

Thump.

Where the hell is that noise coming from?

I go over to my window and stick my head out, scanning the ground below. And then I hear it again. I turn and look up.

Shit!

Joah’s climbing out an upstairs window a few yards above my head. “What are you doing?”

Joah loses his grip when he turns in my direction. For a horrific moment, I’m convinced he’s going to fall. My entire body goes rigid at the thought that I’m literally about to watch Joah die.

But then he grabs onto a nearby drainpipe and steadies himself. Only then does he send a glare my way. He doesn’t answer, but it was a stupid question to ask, anyway. It’s clearwhathe’s doing, but why?

Thump.

My eyes dart away from him. Several yards away, a wooden shutter bangs against its jamb as a gust of wind tugs at it.

I try to picture where that room is, counting windows as I walk down the third-floor landing in my mind.

Wayne’s study.

I watch Joah for one more second before shoving away from the window and hurrying out my room. I take the stairs two at a time, and grab the railing as I swing around and onto the third story landing.

The study door is closed. When I rush over and grab the handle, my suspicion is confirmed.

It’s locked.

Has Joah made it to the study yet?

I stare at the master bedroom. That must be where he climbed out.

God, he’s so OCD. Could he honestly not have waited for Wayne to get home?

I hurry into the bedroom and then stop. I’ve never been in here before. My gaze sweeps over the tasteful furnishings.

A gold-and-cream king-sized bed, gleaming walnut dresser, and serene paintings are all placed just so throughout the room.

Who’d done the manor’s interior decorating? Was it Joah’s mom, or did they hire someone? If it was her, she was very talented. Every room in this place could have belonged on the page of a magazine.

Mr. Bale must have put on cologne just before he left; his scent hangs heavy in the air.

I don’t know why, but I drink in that smell with a massive breath, nearly tasting it when I exhale.

The carpet is different in here. Despite the chill, I haven’t bothered with socks or shoes yet today. There’s enough underfloor heating to keep Bale Manor’s interior warm in any weather. My toes curl against the pale carpet fibers.

My fingers dig deep, hands spasming. My face is pressed against the floor, shifting, burning as I try to crawl away.

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