Page 11 of Wicked Sins

When I look into the mirror, I don’t recognize the face staring back at me. My blue eyes have shadows under them, and my dark hair—normally sleek and shiny—looks like I haven’t brushed it in a week.

Or washed it.

I might have to miss homeroom because one thing’s for sure: there’s no way in hell I can arrive at school looking—and reeking—the way I do.

Chapter Four

Josiah

Where the fuckisshe?

I slip my phone from my blazer to check the time.

This is such fucking bullshit.

I turn my key in my SUV’s ignition, but a second later, I switch it off again. Letting out a muted growl, I kick open my door and stalk around the back of Bale Manor.

Trust the little bitch to make me wait. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’m doing her a favor, and she can’t be bothered to respect my time? If she’s busy slapping makeup or something on her face, I’m going to lose my shit in a bad way.

My heart’s already pounding in anticipation of violence. Not that I may lay a hand on her, of course; I would never even think about harming a woman.

I know she can’t hear me from the kitchen, so I hustle up the stairs. On the landing, I yell out, “Candy!” a second before I thump her bedroom door with my fist.

It swings open and bares the empty room beyond. Her en-suite bathroom door is open a crack. Steam and the sound of running water spills out.

She’s still in the fucking shower?

I’m frozen in place for a moment. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to leave her behind, to go to school, to have her get herself out of this fucking mess.

But my mind? It keeps replaying what Dad said to me at the dinner table last night. It was right after he and Candy had been laughing and joking like old friends while his wife and I looked on like spectators at a very boring circus ring.

“So, do I just get on the bus tomorrow—?” Candy had been saying. I only remember because of how Dad’s expression had switched from one polar opposite to the next.

“The bus?” Gone was his smile, replaced in an instant with a frown that cut a deep swathe between his brows. Then his eyes were on me.

“What?” I’d asked, shrugging while I mentally scrambled to figure out what I’d done to piss him off.

But as if he didn’t trust any answer I’d give, he turned back to Candy. “Didn’t Josiah tell you? You’re driving with him.”

“Don’t see why she can’t take the bus,” I said.

“The bus cuts through town. Do you really think your sister is safe driving through the slums?”

As if we live in a rat-infested apartment in the middle of some dilapidated city, not in motherfucking suburban bliss.

“Stepsister.”

That didn’t help, of course.

Dad pointed at me, lips curling in a snarl. “You will take yoursisterto school every day and back home every afternoon. Do you understand me?”

I wanted to ask what I was supposed to do on the afternoons that I had football practice, but in his state, my father would probably have told me to drive Candy up and down like a fucking chaperon.

Or quit football.

Instead, I said nothing as I radiated silent disapproval.

“Make it happen, or you’ll lose the car.”

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