Page 8 of Wicked Sins

My body’s growing warm and a little limp, but that strange look sends another prickle through me.

Oh, God. I think I’m crushing on my stepdad.

I sit forward, studying the chessboard to prevent my eyes from moving back to Wayne all the time. I don’t think he’s made a move since I put him in check, and that makes me feel like a million bucks. I squint a little. Hang on…

I purse my lips and lean a little closer. “Did you move my bishop?” I ask.

“Why would I do that, Candy Cane?”

I smile at that, but then I school my face into a sober expression again. “I could have sworn my bishop was…”

Where?

Not there.

Because there, where it is now, that’s not a check.

“You’ll wrinkle that pretty face of yours if you keep frowning like that.”

I take the glass from him, smiling in thanks as I have a sip of the heavenly liquid. Ah, there’s that strange aftertaste again. I guess liqueur is different from wine. It’s sweet when it goes over your tongue, but it leaves a bitterness behind that I don’t get from merlot.

Well, look at me, all posh and stuff. My cheeks are glowing now, but there’s no point in trying to cool them down. It would be pointless with that fire.

A yawn threatens to crack open my jaw as I study the board, but I manage to suppress it.

Gees, what time is it? I guess I should call it a night after this one.

I’m starting school tomorrow—my first day at Maple Ridge. I want to wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I’m actually really excited about starting at a school where I get to wear a uniform.

The last school I’ll ever be in until I graduate and head off to college.

“One more, then I have to get you to bed,” Wayne says, clearing the chessboard with a sweep of his hand.

“Hey, I was winning!” I sit forward in a rush, and liqueur splashes over my hand.

How did my glass get so full? He only ever poured it halfway—

I’ve made a mess on the really expensive-looking white rug. Without thinking, I bleat out a loud, “Fuck!”

My face glows when I hear that word. Wayne’s eyes dart up to me, and for the first time since Mom and I moved in, anger darkens his eyes.

“There will be no foul language in this house, girl.” His voice is so low, so dangerously deep that I force a dry swallow.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bale.” I carefully set the glass down, dripping liqueur all over the coffee table.

“It’s—that’s…okay.” He sounds as if he’s struggling to keep his temper. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

Relief washes over me, and it ekes out the last bit of energy I have.

“I should clean—”

“Leave it.”

As soon as I’m sure the glass is steady on the table, I slip back into my seat. This time, when I yawn, there’s no stopping it.

“Finish your drink,” Wayne says as he starts picking out the pieces for a new game.

“I’m a bit tired. Maybe I should—?”

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