Sins of the Mother
Book Two in the Sinfully Sacrificed Series
Mary E. Twomey
Contents
Sins of the Mother
1. Work to be Done
2. Cellmates
3. The Deep End
4. Lost Memories
5. If Looks Could Kill
6. The New Guy
7. Proper Prison Etiquette
8. Scrubbing in the Shadows
9. Ten Minutes
10. Mauve Draperies
11. Shifter Whore
12. To See and Be Seen
13. Brave Enough to be Vulnerable
14. Under Me
15. Boneless
16. Code Orange
17. My Person
18. New Nurse
19. Friends and Boyfriends
20. A Clairvoyant’s Worry
21. Persuasion
22. A Meadow Named Charlotte
23. Underwear Inspection
24. No More Denial
25. Bloody Mess
26. The Last Statement
27. Tea and IV
28. Still, I Stay
29. Standing Against the Silence
30. Play the Hand You’re Dealt
31. It’s Coming
32. Rafe’s Girl
33. Not Enough
34. Daddy’s Gift
Sins of Mine
1. Freedom and Fine Dining
Note from the Author:
About the Author
Copyright © 2020 Mary E. Twomey
Cover Art by Emcat Designs
All rights reserved.
First Edition: June 2020
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For information:
http://www.maryetwomey.com
For Maybee
Who will grow to be far wiser than her mother.
Sins of the Mother
Serving time for a crime you didn’t commit is one thing, but being branded for life crosses the line.
The Sins of the Mother bill has everyone panicked. Arlanna and her cellmates know that they are running out of time. They need to escape, or they will be forced to have their skin seared with the details of their parents’ crimes, and their magic will be gone forever.
Arlanna never understood the reason she’s been kept away from Prince Paxton most of her life, but when they’re assigned to the same cell, she begins to see why.
Ancient magic that should have faded begins to rekindle at an alarming rate. Soon Arlanna realizes that no prison can contain the power that’s been brewing. She wants out, and she’s not going to stop until every prisoner has been freed…
…no matter the cost.
Work to be Done
Arlanna
My manicurist would have a field day if she saw the state of my hands now. Brick work is no joke. The cinderblock bricks are heavy enough for me to wonder if the term “back-breaking work” is really an exaggeration, or if the phrase originated from someone inside of Prigham’s Penitentiary who had hefted one too many bricks, moving them from the pile to the wheelbarrow.
“Pick up the pace,” Officer Lockley barks. “I want all these blocks in the barn before lights out. It’s supposed to rain tonight, and they’ll sink into the mud if they’re left out overnight.”
Several groans break out, but I keep mine locked inside. It does no good to complain; the work will be done either way. Besides, my mind is too preoccupied to worry about much.
Our plan to set everyone free from the Sins of the Father bill has gone horribly off-track. Aside from the fact that we’re all still a prison full of innocents who are serving time for our parents’ crimes, everyone inside the concrete walls of Prigham’s is still buzzing with the latest scandal: instead of King Regis taking responsibility for his crimes, he’s passed them off onto his son. Prince Paxton’s only been here a couple days, but already he’s got an entourage.
Aside from me, he’s the biggest celebrity to grace these walls. Only my entry wasn’t nearly as glamorous. My dad was charged with running an illegal gambling ring and being an accessory to a police officer’s murder, yet I’m the one serving five years for the crime. It was a big bust on the family. The cops took down too many of Daddy’s associates, who all passed their time to be served onto their children (who consequently, all hate my guts).
Since the grudging offspring couldn’t make their fathers listen or care that it’s wrong to send us to jail for crimes we didn’t commit, the inmates have taken their anger out on me.
Not so with Prince Paxton. Even though it’s his father who created the Sins of the Father bill, the sympathy for his plight has been never-ending. People are more than happy to show him the ropes, helping him when his delicate hands move half the amount of bricks they should. They dote on him, sharing their extra food, while sneering at me as they slap my tray from my grip daily.
But that’s not the thing that’s stuck in my brain most hours of the day. Paxton and I have been kept away from each other our entire lives. Our fathers grew up closer than brothers, but after their falling out when Paxton and I were children, we were never allowed to be in the same room. Sloan, my guard, did a check of each place I ventured to make sure Paxton wasn’t anywhere near. Paxton’s guards did the same.
Not that Paxton or I are dangerous; it’s probably that we’re both of similar ages, and our parents have always been afraid of us hitting it off. Their grudge goes deep.
Little does Dad understand that all he had to do was ask me not to date Paxton, and I would’ve never gone near the man. Now we’re forced together in the same place. Not only that, but thanks to Charlotte’s vision that made Cass switch cells, Paxton’s landed himself inside our quaint four walls every night.
It’s the most awkward thing in the world to sleep in the same cell as Paxton. He’s taken the top bunk over where Charlotte sleeps, and just before it’s lights out, I catch him watching me. He stares at me in the same way I want to study him—forbidden fruit neither of us actually want to eat, but it’s within reach all the same. I want to ask him if he remembers me, if he feels connected to me in the same way I’ve fantasized a connection with him.
It’s never been a romantic notion when I’ve thought of him over the years; it’s more a kinship. I understand the stress it brings to never go anywhere without security, to have every move photographed, and to know that the entire world would giggle if you fell.
“Stick close,” Gray instructs, moving twice the bricks as anyone else. He’s the only shifter at Prigham’s, and his hands are more capable than ours. “I’m hearing rumblings.”
He’s always on the lookout for other inmates who have it out for me.
“Okay.” Though, I don’t need a reason to stick close to Gray. I love his cinnamon scent, his brown skin, his chin-length russet hair, his full lips. Every part of him is a wonder I want to see up close—even his fangs. We’ve kept our kisses silent and tame since Paxton joined us. Though our relationship is no secret, we don’t need a commentary from the prince of the free world on how weird it is that we’re together.
Sure, I’ve never known or heard of a fae and a shifter hooking up. Our
races generally want nothing to do with each other. However, Gray isn’t most shifters, and I’m not most fae. Sold out by our own families, it’s not completely out of left field that we found each other. Gray is gentle yet rough when he needs to be, not letting anyone bulldoze Charlotte, Cass or me. He’s careful with my body, in a place where no one is careful with anyone.
Officer Lockley’s voice brings my focus back to the work at-hand. “Hurry it up. You see those dark clouds rolling in? I don’t want to be caught out in this. Do you?”
Charlotte grunts as she moves another brick. She’s so tiny, and well past her quota. Still, she refuses to take a break, because it’ll mean being a few yards away from her girlfriend, Cassia Chang.
“Take a breather, Charlotte. You’re going to tear through the skin on your hands if you keep at that pace.”
Cass is sweet with her warning, but Charlotte’s mouth firms, her black natural hair fluffing back from her face with an irritable huff. “Don’t you know I’ll bleed for you?”
They’re so sweet together, and so sad, separated as they are every night.
Cassia’s shoulders lower. “Well, can you go slower? When you bleed, it hurts me. So for my sake, slow down.”
I can tell by the jerkiness in Charlotte’s movements and the firmness of her lower lip that there’s more going on than the fact that she’s pining for more time with her girlfriend.
“You’re fighting with your vision again,” I remark quietly, though no one’s near enough to hear us. We’re not exactly the popular type.
Charlotte winces that I’ve called her out. I don’t know why she feels the need to suffer alone. Though, I’ve not known many clairvoyants, so perhaps this is how they all get when their prophetic visions tell them things they don’t want to see.
“It’s nothing. I don’t know why I’m being so stubborn about it.”
Cass and I exchange worried looks. The last time Charlotte resisted doing what her vision instructed, she ended up burning Cass and me—Cass across her face, and me on both of my hips. Our burns healed by morning, but neither of us are anxious to relive that terror.
I choose my words carefully. “What does your vision want you to do?”
Gray picks up two bricks for every one that I move. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the goal in your visions is to free us all, yeah? So if it’s taking you down a new path, that’s the one we should be on. The more we resist, the longer it’ll take to set us all free. I want out of here sooner rather than later.”
I’m torn, but only for selfish reasons. Inside of Prigham’s, I’m merely Gray’s fae whore. The people locked in these concrete walls are too beaten down by life to conjure up worse insults. But on the outside, a niggling worry that the scrutiny will be too much for Gray tightens my stomach. I’m a public figure, given who my family is, and because of my job. I can’t walk my dog without being photographed. The fact that Gray and I are of different races isn’t going to go unnoticed.
I can handle the scrutiny, but guilt plagues me that I’ll be throwing him into that mess because I’m too selfish to be without him.
Gray made it clear from the beginning that he values keeping the peace. Our relationship on the outside would be the exact opposite of that.
Charlotte chews on her lower lip. “You’re right, but I don’t like it. I don’t want to do it.”
“Do what?” Cass is sympathetic with her head tilted to the side. She’s such a tough one to everyone else, but an absolute marshmallow for Charlotte. It’s cute to watch. “Whatever it is, we’ll help you.”
“I’m supposed to get you to unlock Paxton’s magic, Arly, but I don’t want to. First off, I have no idea what turn the magic is going to take when he’s set loose. Our magic changed in here. I have no clue how to predict it. We don’t know him well enough to unleash who knows what that might be lurking in his genetics.”
Charlotte is speaking quietly enough, but I still fight the urge to shush her.
I don’t want people knowing I can turn off the magic-muting cuffs we’ve all been fitted with upon entry to Prigham’s. I didn’t know I could do that to begin with, until Charlotte guided us in a meditation that tapped into something I didn’t even know I had.
Apparently, I can bring ancient magic to light, too. Abilities thought to be extinct are now swimming inside the four of us.
Cass went from someone who was good at hiding to a full-blown shadowmelder. She can blend with the shadows, and with enough practice, Charlotte is certain Cass will be able to actually disappear completely at will.
Charlotte was granted the ability to keep track of us. Wherever we go, we will not be lost to her. Her clairvoyance is more spot on than any I’ve ever heard of. Not to mention her numerous other odd telepath tricks I’ve yet to wrap my head around.
Charlotte huffs through the effort of hefting her brick onto the wheelbarrow, still puzzling her way through the war she’s having with her insistent vision. “Secondly, I don’t know the prince all that well. Can we even trust this bloke? It’s his father’s bill that made this place. Even though Paxton’s serving time in here for a crime his father committed, it’s not a given that he’s ready to storm the patriarchy and stand up to dear old Dad.”
My mouth goes dry at the notion of letting Paxton into our small clique. But I don’t have it in me to advise Charlotte to ignore fate.
Cass turns to me, straightening, her face serious. “You know him better than anyone else. Can we trust him?”
I snort, and go back to moving bricks. “I’m the person who probably knows him least. I’ve never been allowed to be around him, remember? All I know is the family line I’ve been sold, which probably isn’t all that accurate: Paxton’s his father’s son, which means he cannot be trusted. Then there are the headlines you all know: Paxton’s always doing charity work, kissing babies and whatnot, trying to make the world a better place. Other than that, I don’t know him from the next fae man.”
Though, as I say this, I’m not sure how true it is. The snide comments around the house add up to fill in the details of a person I’m not supposed to know.
“He hates getting his shoes dirty,” I say quietly, like I’m divulging national secrets. “One of our guards was laughing when Paxton stepped in a mud puddle on television.”
Charlotte reaches out and cuffs her hand around my wrist. “I need more. Anything you know about him at all would be helpful.”
I pick through my brain for anything else, and something intangible starts to form into a concrete picture I’ve never seen before. It’s as if Charlotte’s grip is clearing away the cloudiness that always comes when I try to remember a childhood long forgotten. “He’s an advocate for animal rights. Though, I’m sure everyone knows that, given his charity work. But it’s not just some platform that was set out for him by his advisors.”
I pull back toward the recesses of my brain, picturing a little boy who seemed big and grown, though he couldn’t have been more than seven. Though the image tries to fade, I hold tight to it, forcing it to stay in place so I can make sense of what it means.
I grip Charlotte’s hand, and the memory finally comes to light.
Fat tears slid down little Paxton’s cheeks as he eyed his plate of food. “I can’t eat it,” he sniffled. “You murdered a pig!”
“He’s a vegetarian, like me,” I rasp, my volume suddenly deserting me. I don’t know why I feel the urgency to run full-force away from this memory, but something chases my mind down too many corridors, demanding that the little boy’s tears be forgotten.
Yet instead of letting this memory get shunted to the cobwebbed corners of my mind, I stand firm, gripping the scene so it doesn’t slip away.
I’ve tried to remember Paxton loads of times to no avail. Now that Charlotte’s lending me her strength, maybe I finally have a fighting chance.
I remembered him crying at our dinner table; that was my only memory from childhood of him. But the picture widens, and now I can see why he was sad. I f
eel how deeply his horror rocked my six-year-old mind. It was the first time I realized ham came from pigs, and that I was eating a plateful of death.
I stopped eating meat after that dinner.
After I saw Paxton’s tears and heard his agony, my own began to surface.
When he cried, so did I.
“Whoa. What was that? Your face went all white.”
Gray nods, agreeing with Cass. “You’re sweating. Sit down, Arly-girl. Charlotte, whatever that was that you did to knock her memory loose, no more.”
I shake off whatever that was as best I can, wishing I understood why I’ve suppressed that memory of Paxton, and why it’s starting to come back now.
Then I begin wondering why I don’t have more memories of him. If I felt that strongly about his tears—I can feel the phantom ache now—then we were very much attached to each other. Why don’t I remember anything else?
Gray’s hand on my back and my stomach guides me to my knees. I want to protest and power through, but my limbs are quaking with confusion. “I shouldn’t know that. Our families don’t get along. I’m not allowed in the same building as Paxton.”
Sins of the Mother: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrificed Book 2) Page 1