Page 107 of Wicked Sins

I push away the thought. I’ve got better things to do than sit here all day.

I rifle through the things in the drawer. Something I nudge rattles. I lift out a white pill bottle. There’s no prescription sticker or anything on it, and I have no idea what Promethazine is, but I guess Dad got these when he put out his back. I hesitate, shrug, and pop open the lid. Shaking out a few of the pills, I slip them into my pocket before returning the bottle to the drawer.

There are some unopened envelopes inside, a few pieces of paper.

Nothing. Useless crap. Why the fuck did he bother locking this thing? Because of the pills?

Yeah, that sounds about right.

I lift the drawer, and its contents slide as I tilt it to put it back onto its rails.

Jail—

The fuck?

I put the drawer back on the table. Taking out all the papers, I set them aside as I tilt my head to make out the rest of the magazine’s title.

Jail Bait

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I take out the magazine. There are more beneath it, one of them still wrapped in black plastic.

I turn the first page. Then the next. The next.

Morbid fascination keeps me turning. My slowly hardening cock speeds up the rate at which those pages flip from right to left.

Jesus, where do they find these girls? And honestly, that’s what they are. None of them look older than sixteen or seventeen, what with their big, makeup-free eyes, small breasts, and shaved pussies.

“…the next time they want to fucking question me.”

My hard-on withers.

I turn to the door. My heart’s beating so loud I doubt I’d be able to hear the key in the lock.

Now I know why he locked the drawer.

He didn’t want anyone finding this.

And, idiot that I am, I made it pretty damn obvious that someone tampered with the lock.

There’s no time to fix it, though.

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Chapter Forty-Three

Candy

Wayne’s voice fades as he leaves his bedroom. I stay where I am, caught between the need to escape and the fear that I’ll run into him on the stairs.

I strain to make out anything—a voice, a sound—and my entire body sags when I hear a car start up a minute later.

He’s leaving.

Air whooshes out of me as I exhale and slowly get to my feet. Icy prickles stab into my face. I clutch the railing for dear life as a wave of dizziness envelops me.

There’s a thump from the room.

No, it can’t be. I heard him—

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