Page 123 of Wicked Sins

“You trust me, don’t you?” Joah ducks his head to try and catch my eye, but I keep my gaze fixed on my hands.

I give him a slow nod.

“So then tell him.”

A whine floods my ears.

The first thing Uncle Quinten will do is go to Wayne. Then they’ll start conspiring between them. I heard them on the phone—I know this guy’s here to protect Mr. Bale and no one else. It’s not like Joah pays him. If Wayne were to go to prison, this paycheck would dry up faster than a lake during a drought.

“…just tell him the stuff you told me. About the pills, and the—”

I rush to my feet, throwing Joah a glare. “I made it up, okay?”

I do trust Joah, but I don’t trust this man with his watery eyes and prissy manner.

I guess I could have said something else, maybe delayed this and gotten hold of the detective some other way…but I just want out of this tiny room with its clinical air. Out and away from Uncle Quinten’s now too-intense stare.

“Candy—?” Joah’s up a second later. He grabs my wrist, but I shake him off.

Quinten’s eyes narrow, and he starts scanning us both as if he’s trying to figure out some puzzle.

He knows we’ve been intimate. In a moment, he might even figure out just how far it’s gone. It’s like he can read my body without having to take into account anything I’m saying.

“Let go!” I pull out of Joah’s grip and storm to the door.

The handle opens before I can turn it. Luckily, the door opens out, or it would have come crashing into my face. Instead, I’m dragged into the hall when the door swings out.

Wayne catches me before I face-plant the hallway floor. Shock flashes over his face a second before something much darker creeps into his eyes.

Anger.

He steers me back inside the room, his fingers digging into my bicep, and uses that grip to shove me into the closest chair. “What the hell’s going on?” he asks, voice dangerously low.

Quinten scrambles up, hand extended. “Good to see you, Wayne.”

Wayne ignores him, instead focusing entirely on Joah, hand still on my shoulder. He’s keeping me down, making sure I don’t bolt out the door.

I’m in a goddamn police station, but I’m still terrified. Not so much for myself, but for Joah.

There’s no denying the hatred boiling in Wayne Bale’s eyes when he looks at his son.

Now I know those memories weren’t concocted by my own twisted mind.

Mr. Baleiscapable of drugging and molesting me…so how difficult could it be for him to take it one step further and kill someone?

Emma.

Mom.

Joah.

My heart’s in my throat, but it doesn’t move no matter how hard I swallow.

Where’s the detective? If he walked in on this scene, he’d know who was guilty in an instant. What will happen if I yell for help?

“I was just about to get to the bottom of it,” Quinten says cheerily. “Shall I get us some coffee?”

“No,” Wayne says. The fingers gripping my shoulder shift until he has hold of the back of my neck.

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