Page 4 of Wicked Sins

Chapter One

Josiah

In a lull between conversation, the scrape of cutlery against crockery fills Bale Manor’s dining room. My new stepmother, Diana, cooked up a storm tonight—roast chicken, baked potatoes, and a Greek salad with Ciabatta in case anyone was still hungry.

“And you, munchkin?”

I look up at the sound of Diana’s voice. She sets her fork down, chewing as she turns her attention to my little sister. Emma’s head stays bowed—as it always does—but her movements become a little more erratic.

“Hmm, honey? Did you have a good day?”

Emma gives her a lopsided shrug. My sister’s eyes find mine but then dart away. She manages a slow nod and then makes a grab for one of the roast potatoes on her plate.

Diana grabs her wrist. “Use your fork,” she says.

I glare at my father, jaw bunching, but he’s watching the exchange like the proudest parent this side of the fucking equator.

Emma tries to pull her hand away, but my little sister’s never been a rebel like me. When one small tug doesn’t make Diana let go, Emma hangs her head even lower and tries to pick up her fork again.

“Why can’t you just let her eat?” I ask in a low voice. I grab my glass of wine and toss it down.

Father’s never been one to withhold things. He reckons, if we’re going to do it anyway, then we might as well do it as a family. He only lets us have one glass at the dinner table during the week, and on weekends, we get an extra beer after.

Candy thinks he’s God’s gift to bitches. At the moment, she’s fixated on Diana trying to coerce Emma into using a fork, watching the exchange under lowered lashes as she eats, but usually, her focus is reserved entirely for her new stepfather.

“So, Candace, are you up for a rematch?”

Yup, there it is. In an instant, Candy’s own mother could have burst into flame, and she wouldn’t have noticed—her big blue eyes are glued to my father. Instead of answering immediately, she takes a hasty sip of her wine. Hers is red; she thinks it makes her seem more grown-up than she is.

That’s Candy’s thing.

I guess it’s because she’s petite, small-breasted, narrow-shouldered. From what I gather, she couldn’t be more than two years younger than me, but where I inherited my father’s tall, broad-shouldered build and dark hair, she takes after her mother. When mother and daughter are in the same room, it becomes obvious that Diana Furey isn’t a natural blond. Candy’s blue eyes pop against her dark hair, but Diana’s same baby blues look watery paired with her platinum-dyed blond hair.

That’s not the only thing Diana’s faking. Unless Candy’s still developing—which I doubt—Diana’s D cups were made in China.

My father seems blind to the fact that he’s dating a fake. Just as Candy’s apparently too stupid to realize that my father is an asshole.

Having sipped theatrically at her drink, Candy gives my father a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t know, Wayne,” she says, “Can you handle another beating?”

I’m grinding my teeth and shove a piece of dry chicken into my mouth, so at least I’m not wasting energy.

Someone’s looking at me.

I glance up. Emma’s peeking at me. I smile at her and then move my gaze to her plate. She widens her eyes at me and shakes her head a little.

No.

I look up, making it clear that I’m first staring at my father, then at Diana, before meeting Emma’s eyes again.

She takes after myrealmom. Bonnie had fair hair, dark eyes, and the most infectious smile I’d ever seen.

No one’s looking.

Emma takes turns looking at everyone around the table, and then back at me. She bites her lip, ducks her head, and pops a potato into her mouth.

No one notices.

No one cares.

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