Page 10 of The Ecstasy of Sin
He was the perfect victim for our sick, depraved foster parents. And he was the only victim of our foster mother, who took a particularly fucked up liking to him.
My skin crawls as a memory floods in of Mrs. Barton taking him from our bedroom in the middle of the night to “play a game” with him.
I swallow the surge of rage and agony and force the memory away. It won’t help me now, not when I need to be present for my younger brothers.
“Get him to my place,” I tell Ghost, my feet already moving to carry me back towards my car, the shovel resting over my shoulder.
“He won’t let me get him in my car. I already texted Ryker, and he’s on the way, but Dom… he’s fucking gone. He’s trapped in some fucking memory, and I…”
Ghost’s words are cut off as an agonized scream pierces through the phone, the horrific sound like the knell of a dying animal. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin, and I break out into a run towards my vehicle, the phone clutched tightly in my other hand.
“Dom…” Ghost starts, and I'm only a little bit relieved when I hear Ryker’s voice on the other end of the line. At least Ghost has back up now.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shout, frustration wrapping a fist around my pitch black heart as I haul ass through the woods. “Do whatever the fuck you have to do to get him to my place. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I make it back to the nondescript black sedan with fake license plates that I use for my extracurricular activities, throwing my gear into the trunk and sliding into the driver side seat.
I'm back on the road, and heading towards the city while defying every speed limit.
Torin has these episodes occasionally, but he usually shows up at my place asking to spar when he needs to work his shit out. I don’t know what triggered him today, but I’m grateful Ghost was there with him.
All four of us spend a lot of time in the home gym that I built in my basement, which includes a modified boxing ring that we spar in regularly.
It’s the place Torin always comes when he needs his own unique brand of therapy.
The fact that he didn’t even try to text me, or come over, or reach out to me at all… that shit fucking scares me. It’s clear he has spiraled way past the point where he can think clearly and do something to manage the horrific memories he battles every day.
I can’t lose my brother. I can’t lose any of them.
We may not be related by blood, but something darker binds us. We chose each other when we were preteen boys, huddled together on filthy mattresses on a dirty floor—and our loyalty to each other borders on lunacy.
I’m exhausted, my body aching from tonight’s fun, but there is no rest waiting for me when I get home.
The devil doesn’t sleep, so why should I?
CHAPTER 3
Dominic
I’mhomeinrecordtime, my rundown Volkswagen sedan groaning in protest as I take the last corner onto my street way too fast. Unlike my motorcycle or the Camaro, this piece of shit isn’t built for rough handling.
Pulling into the driveway, I park beside Ghost’s blacked-out Dodge Challenger, my eyes on the front door. It’s wide open, with none of my brothers in sight.
I’m glad my dog is well-trained and knows not to leave the house without one of us, because if he ever got lost, I’d lose my fucking mind.
I bolt from my car and sprint to the house. A muffled cacophony of agitated voices rises from my basement, tension hanging heavy in the air. I slam the door shut behind me, lock it, and head for the basement.
My German Shepherd, Hunter, is sitting at the top of the stairs, the door leading down closed, with his ears pinned back in concern.
I pause beside him to stroke the top of his head reassuringly, taking a moment to appreciate the softness of his big ears while I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what’swaiting below. “Wait here, my boy,” I tell him gently, before opening the door and descending into the darkness.
Their tense voices become clear as I reach the bottom of the stairs, the light from above illuminating the three men. My heart is pounding, the thrum of adrenaline and anxiety crashing together in my chest.
“Torin, my brother, I need you to listen to me,” Ghost pleads, the pain evident in his voice.
Torin stands with his back to our sparring ring, his chest heaving, and his eyes wild. In his right hand, a dagger that matches my own. The long black blade, edged in silver, gleams in the bright overhead lights.
“She’s not here, Tor,” Ryker says calmly, both hands raised in surrender. “You’re not a kid anymore, and we haven’t seen that bitch in a long fucking time.”
