Page 20 of Sinner

“Let’s narrow this down so we can make selections in the next two days. We need to give them time to fill out the questionnaire followed by coming in for a gaming competition.” Zach rattled out the process as if Wilder and I had no clue.

“Forty-eight hours,” Wilder said in return. “I think this year’s games will be very enjoyable.”

Yes, they would.

I sensed fear continued to cloak her darkest desires.

Humanity guided her behavior.

Professionalism had brought her success.

But none of it had allowed her true joy in the face of darkness. At least not in the degree that could be offered to her as a gift from the gods.

Maybe this year I would participate. I found myself hungrier than I’d been in my entire life. After all, it was apparent the young woman needed a savior.

Or at least a sinner awakening her true self.

Be careful, Sophie Turner. A predator is on the loose.

CHAPTER 7

Sinner

The first time I killed a man I’d still been a child. What I did remember was the feeling of satisfaction watching the light in the man’s eyes fade into matching the pitch-black soul the bastard had tried to protect.

If he’d even had a soul.

He’d beaten me for years, enjoying every moment of hearing my cries. He’d taken great pleasure in finding implements that would leave marks of varying shapes and sizes, while other times careful in his choice.

Those acts of violence never left marks, just damage on the inside.

Including to my mind.

I’d believed I deserved every punishment. He’d told me over and over again I’d been responsible for my mother’s death andshould pay for my sins. I’d even bought his words that I deserved to die.

Yet one day I’d found the courage to find the will to live.

So I’d killed him.

The act had been bloody and gruesome and for a little while I’d felt relief. He might have been the first, but he certainly hadn’t been the last. The satisfaction only lasted but for so long, less as I grew even older.

I’d never forget the day of the man’s funeral. I would also never be able to understand why mourners seemed to covet evil. They should all have thanked me. Yet they’d stood like statues, clinging to each other as if desperate with sorrow. Rain had been falling in a slow yet steady stream, the wet grass and freshly dug earth providing a pungent yet delicious odor. If only it had been mixed with the stench of decay, I would have been a happy boy.

I’d never mourned anyone and couldn’t understand the reason for all the pomp and circumstance in the first place. The bastard had clearly gone to hell where he belonged.

I remembered reading the gravestones while mourners wept for the loss of such a great man. There was sorrow everywhere, sadness colliding with the collected raindrops as they fell against tearstained faces. Beloved father. Adored brother. Cherished son.

They all seemed like a joke, a need to pontificate one last time. Perhaps I should consider myself rather jaded in my thinking. Yes, I was an unusual man both in tastes and in how I lived my life. So the fuck what?

On that day, I’d looked at my foster mother and had smiled. There hadn’t been a single tear in her eyes. Perhaps one day she’d thank me for saving her from the bastard’s fists. I’d been proud for the first time in my life. Proud I’d driven away the brutality. Proud I would finally live my life without fear of punishment. Proud.

I’d ended a life and created one of my own.

I’d also brought justice when no one else had been willing to do so.

In my mind, I’d been a hero, but I’d heard whispers from those who believed I was born of evil. They’d called me a sinner and the name had been the one I’d adopted when satisfying my darkest of needs.

Just like tonight.

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