Page 1 of Sinner's Malice

Prologue

Somewhere in the desert north of Las Vegas, age 18.

I had imagined my death many times. The level of violence increased exponentially with each passing minute. The potential dangers ranged from the numbing effects of a drug overdose to the gruesome scenario of someone violently tearing my body apart. Although I wasn’t particularly fond of the latter option, it seemed like a logical choice given the recent difficulties I had been experiencing.

Not that I gave a fuck.

If he wanted to inflict the highest level of pain imaginable, that would be the most effective approach.

Over the course of time, countless individuals have suffered unspeakable horrors, being torn apart and mutilated unjustly for crimes they never committed. The image of the legendary William Wallace sprung to my consciousness. The memory of learning about him in one of my primary school lessons came rushing back to me. The classroom setting and the teacher’s voice explaining his significance were still clear in my mind. As a consequence of his defiance towards the Crown, he had suffered severe punishment. William Wallace endured the horrifying fate of having his limbs brutally torn apart, his body mercilessly eviscerated, and eventually his heart ruthlessly cut out, solely for expressing dissent towards the Crown. Personally, I thought it was a bit excessive, but the Crown had been determined to make a statement and they had definitely accomplished their goal.

Then there was Anne Boleyn. The second wife of Henry the VIII. Poor girl never had a chance. Nor did Margaret Scott, whom they accused of witchcraft in the Salem Witch Trials and subsequently hanged for her beliefs. And let’s not forget that the Crown beheaded Mary Queen of Scots because she had a legitimate claim to the throne of England.

I guess, in a way, I was like all of them.

I refused to conform, to bend the knee, to acquiesce to an overbearing warlord that was hell-bent on using me for his own sadistic pleasure.

I had always been a headstrong kid. Outspoken with a firm knowledge of what I believed was right and wrong. I had never had a problem speaking my mind, railing against injustice, fighting for what I wanted.

Well, at least that’s what I remembered, until my bitch of a mother sold me to him. Soon after, I learned rather quickly that pain was my future. That the only way to survive was to accept the agony of defeat but never surrender to it.

Pain was subjective. I could either wallow in it and let it consume me or I could rebel.

I fought the good fight and gave as much as I got.

It was that refusal that sealed my fate.

I just never thought it would take him three years to understand what I had been trying to tell him.

That nothing he did to me would break me.

So, color me shocked when I woke up this morning and found five of his men standing at the end of my bed, eager to remove me from his house with orders to kill me painfully.

I knew this day would come.

I welcomed it.

For three years, he tried to break me. Like some wild fucking horse, he tried everything in his arsenal. In the end, I was still his wild mustang. His one failure.

At least I was good for one thing.

I had paid off my mother’s debt.

I hoped the bitch burned in Hell for selling her only daughter to the sick son of a bitch. Sometimes I wondered if she would have still done it if she knew what the fucker had planned for me? Then again, it didn’t matter because she was a fucking junkie looking for her next fix. I was nothing more than a commodity she sold to further her addiction.

I learned early on in life to never come between a junkie and their next fix.

The ride from Los Angeles, California to the desert just north of Las Vegas, Nevada, was beautiful. Since coming to America, I had seen little of the United States. I remembered seeing the ocean after I landed at LAX, and the pretty drive from the airport to his mansion. After that, all I knew was every nook and cranny in his home. I couldn’t tell you where the Hollywood Sign was, but I could describe in great detail every fucking room in his mansion.

The ride into the desert was a quiet one.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to sit in silence and just think. From the moment I arrived in Los Angeles, my life had been anything but quiet. Not even in sleep was I able to get a moment of peace. From the second I entered his domain, I was nothing more than fodder for his perversions, and when he wasn’t trying to break me, he allowed his fucking lackeys to have their fun with me.

I became their personal punching bag, fucktoy, maid, whatever deviance they desired.

Even in that moment, as I laid on the ground and looked up at the millions of stars above me, they still tried to break me. None of them understood the gift they had given me. I was out of the mansion. Free of my confines for the first time in three years. I could finally breathe the fresh air, smell the sweetness ofthe desert fauna around me as I took in my new surroundings. Everything was so incredible, so stimulating, so new to me. My mind absorbed everything, starved to take it all in.

Nothing else mattered, not even the five men who were once again using my body for their own gratification.

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