Page 1 of Sin

Prologue

Sin

Three Years Ago

I can hear Cassidy gasping for breath in the next room, and all I can see is the box of asthma medicine on the desk directly in front of where my father is sitting.

I could grab it and make a run for it—get to Cassidy and administer it to him, but, knowing my father, the box is empty, and then I’ve shown my hand.

He’ll torture me. Make me beg for the medicine. Which I would. For Cassidy, I’d do anything. But my begging wouldn’t ensure Cassidy lives. Once my father knows how far I’d go to save him, he might let Cassidy die just to break me. Or he’d let me have the medicine and then use Cassidy against me. He’d hurt him to keep me in line. Cassidy won’t turn eighteen for almost three years. Until then he’ll be at my father’s mercy, and he’d torture Cassidy ever day of those three years just to see my pain.

No. To win this game with my father, I have to play it cool.

“Are you going to do something about him?” I ask like I’m talking about the weather. “Mercer is coming over, and it’s gonna be awkward to explain why I have a dying brother on the floor.”

My father studies me like I’m a bug under a microscope. “Doesn’t it bother you seeing him like that? It seemed you two grew close this summer while Sheila and I were on our honeymoon.”

I want to punch myself. I screwed up. I let down my guard while he was gone, and let my father’s spies see Cassidy and me laughing and having fun together. I let them see how much he mattered to me.

I shrug. “I thought I’d try playing at being a brother.”

“And how was it?” he asks, watching me carefully.

I give him a cold-eyed stare. “Kinda boring. I want to go back to being an only child.”

He smiles, which always sends a slithering shot of fear up my spine. His smile is like a snake’s rattle. It means he’s at his most evil and dangerous.

Everyone else sees the fiery Sunday morning preacher who screams and cries against sin. To some, he’s their savior. To some, he’s a joke; an over-the-top, pay-for-prayer, evangelical scammer. When I look at him, I see the Devil.

“In that case, this asthma attack is good timing for you.”

“Yeah,” I agree, “except the whole Mercer thing.” I shrug again. “I’ll just head over to his house instead,” I say and start to walk out of the study, desperately hoping with each step I’ve passed the test.

Just as I’m about to turn on my heels, drop to my knees, and beg for the albuterol, he calls me back.

“Sin.”

I close my eyes in relief. “What?” I huff in irritation as I turn back toward him.

He throws the inhaler at me, and I catch it. Wanting nothing more than to run to Cassidy, who is still violently struggling for breath, I force my feet to stay where they are. This game isn’t over yet.

“I still want him gone,” I tell my father.

He nods at the inhaler, “Guess that’s your call now, son.”

I don’t take the time to marvel at his callousness. “Nah, too messy. I’ll let the nerd live another day to read another book, but I want him gone. I’m sick of sharing my space. Send him away to school.”

“I could always send him to my friend Jefferson’s charter school that he started.” My father’s face breaks into another snake rattle of a grin. “It would do Cassidy good. Make a man out of him.”

Over my dead body. I’ve heard horror stories about what happens at that place.

“Not far enough away,” I object. “I want him at one of those wonky, intellectual schools on the East Coast where he only gets shipped home during the summer. He’s such a nerd, you probably wouldn’t even have to pay for it. He probably qualifies for a merit-based scholarship.”

I can tell he likes that idea. The cheap bastard.

“What do I get out of it? If I send the brat away, I’ll be losing out on using him as a marketing tool for my stance on family values.”

I don’t mention that seconds ago he was willing to let him die, because now that we’re at the negotiations part of this sick test, I know I’ve won. I don’t have time to negotiate terms, though, so I give him what I know he really wants.

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