Page 178 of Bad for Me

SINISTER

MICHAELLA DIETER

1

SINCLAIR

Fourteen Years Ago

“Sin? I’m hungry,”my foster sister, Wren, whispers. Her dirty toes flex on the cold tile floor as she peers up at me with large blue eyes that are too big for her tiny face. Her stomach rumbles, emphasizing her words.

We’re both hungry. Always eternally hungry, and not just for food. For water, for sunlight, for affection, for warmth. Things I know exist, but having been denied them for so long, it sometimes seems as if the outside world is a dream my fevered mind made up.

Three years we’ve languished in this run-down fortress buried deep in the forest. Three years since we’ve seen the stars or felt the warmth of the sun on our face. At eight years old, I’m not sure if Wren even remembers anything before here. If she does, she never talks about it. She stays glued to my side, even when I need to take a piss.

“I know, little bird. I am too.” I pull her into my side, clenching my jaw at the way her ribs poke through the threadbare dress she wears.

Our foster father, Richard Norris, left two days ago with strict instructions to remain in what used to be a walk-in freezer. He was thoughtful enough to leave two bottles of water, one thin pillow, and a blanket with enough holes in it to make it unworthy of being called such.

Asshole didn’t leave any food. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but I can’t help the incredulity. How can you leave two kids behind for days without a scrap of food? The worst thing is, I know he keeps the kitchen well-stocked. Limp Dick, as I secretly call him, goes into town twice a month in his rust-covered truck to bring back supplies. Unluckily for us, he only provides enough to keep us alive, and no more.

He hoards food like squirrels do nuts. He counts the number of crackers in their box, how many blueberries in a punnet. My eyes fall closed at the thought of the ripe fruit bursting on my tongue.Fuck.I can almost taste the sweetness, feel the juices running down my parched throat.

When was the last time our bellies were full? A dull ache blooms in my chest at the memories of Thanksgiving dinner. Happy chatter echoes in my mind. Glowing candles, the scent of turkey and stuffing, the clinking of wine glasses. My parents…

I tear my thoughts away from them. They’re long gone now, their bullet-sprayed bodies laid to rest in the cold earth. Wren is my family now, and it’s my job to protect her. Fuck Limp Dick and his rules. I won’t let her go one more day with an empty belly. I can take whatever punishment he dishes out. At fourteen, I’m not as small as I was when I first came here. I can take a few blows if it means Wren goes to sleep tonight with a full stomach.

My legs wobble under me as I force myself to my feet. Waves of hunger and nausea make me stumble, but I clamp them down and help Wren stand. She places her tiny hand in mine, trusting I’ll keep her safe. That I’ll look after her.

“Stay quiet,” I say, and she nods, her gaze fixed intently on the metal door.

I doubt Richard has come back yet, but the insulation in the freezer means I might not have heard him. Blowing out a deep breath, I wrap my hands around the handle and ease it open before sticking my head out and listening. Thick cloying silence greets me, but Richard likes to play games. It could be a trap. Wren’s stomach rumbles again, making the decision for me.

My hand tightens around hers, and we slip out of the freezer, hugging the wall that leads to the kitchen. We barely notice the rat sniffing through piles of years-old garbage left to rot, or the thick strips of paint peeling off the walls. The rancid air reeks of mold and decay, promising to kill us with deadly spores before Richard can starve us to death.

It’s rumored this was once a fortified home built by an eccentric millionaire convinced there would one day be a zombie apocalypse. Or a nuclear war. Or that the aliens watching our planet would finally have enough of our mistreatment of it. The twelve-foot thick walls envelop the fortress, designed to keep the occupants inside safe. Or, in our case, prisoners.

It was abandoned long ago, left to rot and decay as the surrounding forest takes back what was stolen from it. If only it would also reclaim Arcadia City. It’s a cesspool of sin and depravity, a place where corruption runs wild and cops look the other way. Anyone who calls Las Vegas “Sin City” has never been here.

Where else could a man like Richard foster children? Who in their right mind would hand over an innocent like Wren to a monster? And the question I’ve never been able to answer: what does he want with us? It’s been on my mind more and more lately. Is it solely enjoying having power over people weaker than him? Or are we merely pawns being moved around a board in a game we don’t know we’re playing?

I hate being in the dark. Even as a small child, I had to know and understand what was going on around me. The usual adult response of “We’ll tell you when you’re older” never flew with me. So being kept in a perpetual limbo is my own personal hell. It’s another way for Limp Dick to torture me.

We round the corner and push through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Unlike the rooms we’re restricted to, Richard keeps his cleaner. He won’t subject himself to the filth he forces us to live in.

The stainless-steel refrigerator hums in the corner, and I fall on it like a wolf with its prey. I toss cooked drumsticks, a block of cheese, a package of ham, and a punnet of the blueberries I’ve been dreaming of onto the counter. Wren watches me with wide eyes, her arms wrapped defensively around her middle.

I laugh and scoop her up, settling her on the counter next to the food. “Eat, little bird, as much as you can before Richard comes back.” I tear off the Tupperware lid and hand her a drumstick. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she tears into it like a starving animal.

It’s what he’s reduced us to. Animals. He’s stripped us of almost everything that makes us human and brought out the feral, instinctual parts of us normally buried deep inside.

I tear off a chunk of cheese and break it in half, giving one to Wren before stuffing my mouth with the other. Spying a baguette on the opposite counter, I stalk over and grab it, biting into the doughy goodness with a groan. Wren scoops berries into her mouth, the juices dribbling down her chin while her legs swing back and forth, her heels thudding against the wooden cupboards.

The doors crash open with a bang, and Richard’s angry yell sends ice running through my veins. I snatch Wren off the counter and hold her to my chest as I back away from the seething monster, a cold sweat dotting my forehead.

Richard advances toward us, his dark-blond hair standing on end while his eyes spit daggers. “I’m sure I remember telling you to stay in the freezer,” he says, his voice dangerously soft. “In fact, I’m positive. Now, I find you in my kitchen, eating my food. I’m very disappointed in you, Sinclair. I thought you knew the rules by now.”

“I couldn’t let Wren—” His fist smashes into my nose, making me stagger back. Blood rushes into my mouth, the metallic tang heavy on my tongue. Wren screeches and tightens her hold around my neck, and my arms band tighter around her. I turn my back on Richard—a dangerous move—but I have to protect Wren from his fists.

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