Page 106 of Wicked Sins

I should be relieved; he didn’t see me, Joah might even be in the clear.

But I’m not.

Because somehow, I recognized his tattoo.

I squeeze my eyes closed and press the heels of my palms into my sockets until bright little lights dance in the dark.

I’ve seen those briefs before too. I recognize the brand name—America Made—sprawled all over the elastic.

The knowledge makes me want to rip out my hair and scream until my vocal cords snap.

Because I can’t remember when, or why, orhowI could have seen Mr. Bale stripped to his underwear.

But I did.

And for some reason, I’d buried that memory deep, deep, deep…as if I never wanted to find it again.

Chapter Forty-Two

Josiah

I’m a fucking idiot. I was so focused on getting over here to fix the window, I forgot to actually bring anything with me to do the job. I pull open the bottom drawer on my father’s desk and hunt around, but there’s just a bunch of stationery in there. The middle one’s got a box of cigars and the case for his spectacles. Out of vanity, he only wears them when he’s too tired to put in his contacts.

The top drawer is locked.

I open the bottom one again and grab the letter opener.

Don’t have a fucking clue if this will work, but it’s better than nothing, right? Else I’ll have to repeat this entire trip after I’ve been down to the garage and gotten hold of some proper tools.

One of the screws has pulled out about half an inch on the shutter. Now it’s offset just enough that it can’t get back into the jamb without a heavy tug from inside.

Well, I don’t have the luxury of pulling it closed from theinside, because then I’d be trapped in here until Dad comes home.

But if I can tighten the screw, then I can close the window from the outside and wedge something between the shutter and the jamb to keep it closed so I don’t have the urge to take Dad’s fucking shotgun to the thing.

The letter opener works as a flat-point screwdriver, but it’s too fat to fit into the seam once I’ve closed the shutter.

My chest grows hot and tight when I think that I’ve done all of this for nothing. That because Dad doesn’t trust me, he locks up areas of the house like I’m a fucking criminal who’ll sell off the silver the moment he turns his back.

I search the rest of the study, but there’s fuck all I can use.

When I’m walking back to the window, the coffee table with its glass chess board catches my eye.

I pause for a moment, imagining him and Candy battling it out. He probably lets her win every time. My hand trembles, and I realize I’ve got a death grip on the letter opener.

I shouldn’t be pissed at her. I’m used to my dad using other people to manipulate me. He used to do that with Emma, too, even my mom. If I did something to piss him off, he’d shower them with love and affection, turning cold eyes to me if I made a fuss.

Obviously, I stopped making a fuss. That was exactly what he wanted, after all.

Sitting here all night, letting Candy drink as much as she wanted. Leaving her hungover ass for me to deal with in the mornings.

Fuck it—I didn’t come here for nothing. There’s one place I haven’t looked, and right now, I couldn’t give two shits if I’ll get in trouble for busting it open.

Surprisingly, it only took four kicks with the letter opener jammed into the space between the drawer and the lock for the wood to splinter and the drawer to inch open.

I jerk it out and set the entire thing on the top of the desk. With the sky darkening outside, the study is cast in gloom, especially now that the shutter is closed. Although the fire does light up the place, the flames make the shadows dance and sway.

Maybe I could just sit and chill in here until Dad comes home. I’d be in deep shit, but then I wouldn’t have to make that climb outside again.

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