Page 9 of The Sinner's Bargain

Rubbing my nose, I glowered up at him. “Only by five minutes.”

“Still younger which makes me the boss of you, so you have to listen to what I tell you.”

“Ugh!” I gave him a playful shove towards the door. “Get out so I can get ready, you weirdo.”

“That’s sir, captain weirdo to you.”

Laughing, I closed the door between us and turned to the brightly lit mirror framed in burnished gold. The girl on the other side lost her smile. The shine in her blue eyes dimmed and she watched me with pity and an empty sort of void I felt to my core. The left side of her face glowed a vivid and violent red that contrasted with the soft, white cream of her complexion. I could count all four of Mother’s fingers as if they were cradling her cheek.

At least you weren’t put in the box, I reminded her as a solitary tear found its way over the hot skin. A slap was far more welcoming than the other possible outcome. The day already promised to be hectic and traumatic without facing that dark, empty cabinet.

Counting my blessings, I peered more closely at the dainty features I’d gotten from Mother. The small chin and delicate eyebrows over wide eyes. Father once claimed I was her spitting image when she’d been younger. Mother had not taken it as a compliment.

Mother found little girls abhorrent. They were whores and a liability against the family. Boys carried the family name forward and took over the business. Girls spread their legs and did nothing much else. She’d made it no secret that — if she had known — I was there, growing inside her, she would have made immediate arrangements to have me removed. It was the story she told often when she was particularly angry. I had snuck into their lives like some infection and ruined everything.

But even then, right from the very beginning, it was Malcolm who protected me, kept me hidden until it was too late. It was unclear if he’d done either of us any favors, but all our lives, he was the one who stood between Mother and me, and I was leaving him. Granted, against my will, but once I climbed into the car that would take me to Jarrett’s executive airport, I would never be returning.

Part of that was by choice. The walls of Blackwell House held only echoes of loneliness, beautifully wallpapered by memories of torment and fear. With the exception of Malcolm, there was nothing there for me.

The other part was Jarrett. It would be up to him if I was allowed back. Once I was released from my parents, he was in charge. The one who had full authority over my comings and goings. He would oversee my day to day. Where I went. Who I spoke to. What I wore. What I ate. I was sure he wouldn’t handle that personally himself, but he would have someone relay his orders and I would be required to follow them.

My world was a fishbowl of windows. All pristine and expensive, and for my protection, but I knew a cage. Even if it was crafted from the clearest diamond.

CHAPTER THREE

THORAN

“Cousin.” Ice clinked in my father’s most expensive crystal tumbler before being drowned by a healthy amount of scotch. The good stuff. “Drink?”

I ignored the fact that he thought it wise to serve me drinks from my own cart, in my own house, and went straight to the point.

“What are you doing here, Ronin?”

A worm had more substance than the man sipping booze he couldn’t afford. Both were spineless and disgusting. Only a worm actually had a purpose. Ronin had nothing but a smug smirk and millions in debt.

The little fuck swaggered over to my favorite chair and flopped down. I must have reached my threshold because Cyrus had a firm grip on my elbow, stopping me mid-march to grab the piece of shit and chuck him out the door.

“I just had a little chat with my lawyer. I came straight over to tell you the good news.”

I shook Cyrus’s hold off but made no move to get closer to the floppy haired prick slurping at his drink like a little bitch.

“Unless it’s to tell me you have the next five minutes to live, I really don’t give a fuck,” I told him honestly.

Ronin lapped at his upper lip with a white and crusty tongue. “That is the kind of hostility that is just uncalled for. We are cousins, after all, and we should be friends.”