Page 54 of Wicked Sins

Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.

I pull a Ziplock bag hunk of meat from the fridge and slap it down on the granite countertop. Happy Mountain goddamn Youth Center can’t afford running water to their stables, but they sure didn’t hold back when they kitted out their lodges.

Come to think about it, this place wouldn’t make a bad holiday destination…if you gunned down all the staff members first and washed their blood from the walls, of course.

My meat cleaver slams into the hunk of lamb with a pleasing thud. They call it lamb, so you forget that you’re eating a sheep.

I can’t forget. I was there when Patrick slaughtered it.

Dee’s movements catch my eye, and I glance up at her with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“Tonight’s still happening, right?” She keeps her eyes down, her lips barely moving.

I roll mine, and thump away with the cleaver again. I imagine it’s Josiah’s neck, and I’m slowly but surely severing it from the rest of his body. The damn psycho gave me food poisoning last week. Does he have any idea how awful it is to clean other people’s piss and shit when you can barely stop retching?

“Candy.” Dee stops chopping.

“Yes,” I hiss. “Now shut up.”

“What are you two conspiring about?” Winona asks as she struts into the room with a smile large enough to split her face in half. “No secret ingredients tonight, okay?”

I almost snort, but I manage to stop myself. Winona can’t be older than say thirty, thirty-five, but she acts as if she’s already fifty. She thinks she’s being ‘cool’ or witty or some shit, but she all but cracks us up with her unintended innuendos.

“Course not,” I manage in a tight voice, just as Dee says, “Just following the recipe.”

Winona huffs a little and then leaves again. With so much child labor around, the lodge’sparentsdon’t have to lift a finger.

When I glance up, Dee’s scowling after Winona like she wants to light her on fire and dance around the flames.

Honestly, I’m ready to hand her the match.

Chapter Twenty-One

Josiah

“Hey, Brian?”

Mustang Lodge’s handler looks up from the book he’s reading and gives me one of his absent smiles. “What can I do for you, son?”

Supper was an hour ago. I should be in the den studying, or upstairs getting ready for bed. Here, everyone’s a fucking kid again. I’d have preferred speaking to Angela, but she’s still off sick.

This can’t wait.

“I need a favor,” I say, resisting the urge to stay as far away from the guy as possible, and instead perching on the edge of the sofa beside him.

His chin moves back as he studies me with a suppressed smile. “Sure thing, slugger.”

Ye fucking gods.

He takes this whole ‘den dad’ thing way too fucking seriously.

“I know I fucked up today, and I’m sorry.”Not. “But I really need to make a call.”

“A phone call?” the imbecile parrots.

I nod, not looking at him in case he sees the contempt in my eyes. “It’s my sister. I really need to speak to her.”

“Candace?”

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