Page 21 of Sinner

I would bring peace to myself for a few days while ridding the earth of a piece of shit. Did I consider myself evil? No. I was imperfect and that was fine. Some would say I was damaged beyond repair, but those still whispered the words had no clue what I’d been through or what I’d accomplished.

The house where Joel Merrick lived was designed for warmth and comfort.

Not mine.

The sprawling estate I’d purchased merely played a functional role, an extension of who I was. With a gym in my dining room, a dungeon in my basement, and various selected pieces of violent and sensual art on the walls, anyone who entered would question my sanity.

Fortunately, I never allowed anyone into my home, including my brothers.

We weren’t close by traditional standards. There were no family gatherings to allow our fondest memories of growing up together to be shared and laughed at.

Namely because we had no such fond memories.

Being dumped into the system as babies had done nothing to cement our closeness as a family. Being separated had certainly done more harm than good, and during the fucked-up years of being tossed from one reprehensible family to another, the few memories I’d had of any family member had faded into the shadows.

Only by chance had we discovered each other years before. Were we close now that we’d found each other again?

Not in any normal method. Psychiatrists would call us unredeemable. So the fuck what? We were happy now that we were rich.

Although the three of us had become bored. Hence the creation of the Obsidian Society. The yearly contest helped feed our blackened souls.

I headed into my bedroom, dutifully hanging up my suit. Normally, I’d spend an hour in my gym followed by honing my weaponry skills prior to creating a work of art for dinner.

Not tonight.

Tonight was all about evening the playing field.

I grabbed a pair of black jeans and a muscle tee shirt. They would do for the night’s festivities. After fastening my belt, Iheaded for my dresser, removing my Patek Philippe watch, a five-hundred-thousand-dollar present to myself after the last game had done so well, selecting a simple TAG Heuer instead. I never wore my prized watches when handling company issues.

That was something I learned years before rekindling our brotherly relationship.

There were too many assholes who fought back. I’d lost many a decent watch, smashed or stolen.

If I’d learned one thing in becoming a thrown-away child, it was that keeping the few items I considered precious safe from others was very important.

After snapping the band into place, I glared at my reflection. With my arms covered in tattoos and the bulk of my muscles, I could be quite terrifying.

Before leaving my bedroom, I returned to my walk-in closet, shifting a rack of clothes out of the way. I pressed the pads of my fingers on the small console and a door leading to a hidden closet opened.

Nestled inside were my collection of weapons, ammunition, and my masks.

I was selective in the one I chose. Tonight, I would fade into the darkness, the hockey mask the only thing that would draw attention. Even if someone noticed me, by the time they ceased freaking out at the monster standing in front of them, I’d be long gone.

I popped a magazine into a Glock before snagging a favorite hunting knife. I also carried a handgun because I could never ensure what I’d discover upon arriving at my destination. WhileI usually determined and waited for the best possible time to handle my business, with Merrick chomping at the bit to release their product, I couldn’t afford myself the luxury.

With it being chilly, I chose a black leather jacket for a nice finishing touch, sliding the items into the interior pockets after jerking it on. The gloves were last. I loathed wearing them, but it was often a necessary evil. There was one more piece I needed. The photograph was tucked away along with several others. Pictures were often the key for allowing the city or the world to know what was going on behind closed doors.

Using secrets kept in padlocked boxes was a helpful tool.

As I walked down the steps, I thought about the various candidates for the upcoming event and the games that always brought joy to the three of us.

The questionnaire and winning or losing against an opponent in one of our games was kid’s play. Answers could be lies. Entrants could quickly learn the inside secrets to the games. It was the final test that would prove their mettle.

There were many who’d failed, more so over the last couple of years since we’d upped the danger level, feeding on the hunger discovered in the process.

Would the fair and lovely Sophie Turner make it through round one or would the questions prove too much for her innocence?

Thankfully, I knew the answer. I knew exactly what made the woman tick.

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