Page 82 of Broken Hearts of Sin

“I know you do,” He responds softly, shockingly so. I almost feel bad, but Liam puking on the walls is something that will drive me insane after what happened tonight. He wipes his nose with his arm, a red streak running up his forearm. I fight a shiver of disgust. “I don’t really wanna be in the living room either. But, for now, let’s wait for the cops before we break out the booze.”

“Yeah.” I agree shakily, and Liam and I make our way to the stairs. The silence weighs heavily on my shoulders like a thick fog. Liam does not enter the living room, instead going through the den and announcing that he is taking the television. I don’t care. That's something I'm willing to give up for a night free of worry from him.

Snatching my phone, I turn it off and stuff it into my purse, concealing it beneath napkins, pens, and a small makeup palette. I lay back and stretch my legs, throwing my arms over the back of the sofa. I stare at the ceiling, my mind wandering away from this room and towards the past.

My dad was a lawyer; we had a relationship when I lived with him four years ago. My mother left him because of his workaholic tendencies... or so she claimed. The real reason, however, was that he was already married and had a toddler when I was born. My throat throbs as I tighten my jaw, and the sting in my eyes worsens.

That bastard. That fucking bastard. He didn't approach me until my mom died; he didn't want to be my dad but also didn't want me suing him for 18 years of back child support, college costs, and everything else he'd managed to avoid. I curl my hands into tight fists in my lap, and my nails dig into my palms.

“He fucked up Frankie before he was even born, and now he’s haunting me from beyond his cheap damned grave,” I grumble. “Still dodging the results of his bad behavior like a coward.”

“Uh-oh, you're talking to yourself, and you haven't even started drinking," Liam's voice cuts me off, and I look over as he slumps onto the far end of the sofa. He sighs, flipping the ice pack over and placing it on his nose. “You trying to think of why those guys are after you? They really didn’t tell you anything? I mean, why were they here, waiting for you then?”

“He said he was an associate of my father’s and asked if I knew about him,” I reveal cautiously, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes again. Trying to think up a lie, I inhale deeply and hold my breath. “He was threatening me, and I— I didn’t know what he was even talking about, but he might want to kill me. I don’t think that this guy was playing, Liam. He said he’d be back very soon.”

My admission has left Liam speechless, and I am hoping my exaggerations are enough to push him over the edge. I want him gone. I want my house back without having to go through the legal system. I don't want to dread coming home anymore.

However, that last one may be difficult.

CHAPTERFOUR

Jack

I stare blankly at the window, blacked out by a curtain on the other side. A deep, painful ache rips through my chest with every strained beat of my heart. The ringing in my ears hasn’t died down, even now, several hours after the call.

The call... informing me of my sister’s death. My sister’s murder. And that I needed to identify her body.

“Are you ready, Mr. Murphy?” the woman working there inquired.

I nod curtly, not taking my eyes off my reflection. My pale, ghostly reflection — the face of a man who’d lost something he could never get back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her push a button on the wall, and I stiffen. Goosebumps pimple my entire body, and my gut seizes as the curtain swings to the side.

Despair steals my breath, and tears sting my eyes when I see her. My beautiful baby sister, pale, cold and blue. Her long, sunshine blonde hair shining no more under the bright, white lights illuminating her. Her smile no longer beaming so brilliantly to melt the ice encapsulating my heart.

Shadows close in on the periphery of my vision, and I blink to dislodge the tears that cling to my eyelashes. Holding a hand to the window, my lips quiver. I open my mouth, but my throat constricts painfully. A burning sensation sears my sternum as I lean my forehead against the window.

“That’s her. That’s my sister. Madeline,” I rasp hoarsely, my breath fogging the glass.

The curtain closes again, but I can still see her. Turning to the morgue assistant, I clear my throat when all I want to do is choke. Sympathy stretches her lips in a slight, piteous smile.

“What happened? Why did you need me to identify her?”

“There was no wallet at the scene of her murder, and it would take days to get it from the DMV,” She answers solemnly. Ah, that’s it. They want her identified so they can push her aside... “Knowing who she is will help the police find her killer. They’re already searching for her boyfriend, or so they say. Even brutal murders like this — well, I hate to say it, but I wouldn’t hold your breath on the Boston PD, Mr. Murphy.”

“If they’re going to drag their heels, what does that mean for her? For Madeline? Can I take her home?” I ask, my throat on fire.

The woman — she’s honest with me about what’s going to happen. Or, more accurately, what won’t happen. If the police don’t find that little shit, Frankie, I will do it myself.

But I can’t leave her in a place like this. Cold and damp and dark. No, my sister — my luminous, radiant sister deserves better than this.

“We have to document everything, take samples,” The woman starts, frowning in displeasure. “I’m sure, if you paid enough, you could easily skip the queue. Ask for Dr. Moores. He’ll do a proper job for the right price so she can rest in peace and won’t have to be exhumed. If you’re going to do that, I have an email so you can make arrangements discreetly.”

“That’s highly illegal,” I replied wryly, and the woman shrugged carelessly.

“Thank you for your words. I’m glad you’re not showering me with platitudes and pity.”

“Boss?” Jimmy’s voice breaks my reverie, and I crack open my eyes. A dream—no, a memory—hangs heavy behind my eye sockets as I glance over at the closest thing I have to a friend. The car jostles lightly when we hit a pothole, echoing the turmoil in my mind. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet since we left Heather’s.”

I inhale deeply through my nose and exhale a heavy sigh. Jimmy’s expression tightens, and he leans back against the passenger side door of the back seat. I shake my head. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

---