To the right of the town square, as it’s now going to be called, my house comes into view. I nearly forgot the details of the blue siding, the white shutters, the row of evergreens lining the pathway.
It’s my house. My little escape that Sloan and I hid out in whenever things got too hairy back at home.
When the bus rolls to a stop, I stand, taking the lead because someone has to. Everyone else is too stunned to move. My hand touches down on the driver’s shoulder. “Thanks, Lawrence.”
“No problem, Miss Valentine.” He points to Daddy, who comes out of the giant white tent with his arms open and a proud smile on his face.
How that smile makes me forget all the reasons I’m cross with him, I’ll never understand. I run forward on rubbery legs, crashing into the man who saves me every bit as much as he dooms me.
Daddy’s “oof” of surprise at my enthusiasm draws a chortle that shakes his belly while he holds me. Fat tears begin to bloom, now that I’m somewhere safe.
How I hope this is a safe place for me. For all of us.
“You did all this? You brought in a big tent, bathrooms and showers? That’s more than I thought to do.”
He pulls back and thumbs at my chin. “I told you I would take care of things. There’s more than bathrooms and showers.” He motions to the white tent, and finally, I’m close enough to see inside.
There’s no end to the tears now. “Are those camping tents? Tents and clothes? Tents, clothes and food? When did you have time to do all of this?”
Daddy drapes an arm around my shoulder and corrals me toward the tent, waving his arm at the busses. A few people have dared step into the free air, but it’s clear no one is ready to believe we’re safe just yet.
“I’ve got four-person tents, so team up and grab your temporary lodging.” My father’s voice has never needed artificial amplification. “There’s food enough to go around. To the left of my daughter’s house is a large clearing you can use to set up your tents. There’s enough shade from the trees to keep most of the elements off of you, though I don’t anticipate this being your long-term lodging situation, cold as it gets at night. My daughter and I are going to discuss something more permanent for you all.”
I grip Daddy’s shirt, unable to keep myself composed. “The police are coming. We got here alright but there’s no way they’re not heading for us right now.”
As if on cue, sirens hit my ears, shaking my insides with fear.
Sloan runs for me, my constant protector securing his place by my side. “I won’t let them take you.”
The sweetness of his sentiment warms my heart, but I know his promise carries no weight I can count on in this situation. He’s one man, and there are many driving up the dirt path that leads to my property.
Daddy chuckles, as if we’ve said something funny. “I’ve taken care of that. You don’t need to worry.” When the inmates rush back into the busses at the sound of intruders, he shakes his head with an indulgent smile. “Everyone here will learn soon enough that Papa Valentine’s got things handled. I just need one thing from you, Arlanna, and the police won’t pester us any longer.”
“What do you need?” I look around, wondering what possible asset I have that he might require.
His chubby fingers wind in my hair, gripping my scalp in what’s supposed to be an amicable massage, but kind of twinges because he’s never had any idea how to be gentle. “I need a few of your hairs. It’ll increase my magic, and I’ll be able to persuade the officers to guard the grounds, instead of removing you and your friends from them.”
Sloan’s intake of breath matches my own shock of indignation. “Conan, you cannot ask her for that.”
My blood runs cold, and I step away. Daddy’s hand feels all wrong in my hair. There’s a sinister note of his lust for excess that I never fully expected would go away, but I truly didn’t anticipate being aimed my way.
Daddy’s smile is forced. I can see the greed in his eyes that doesn’t match anything close to paternal affection. “It’s the only way to keep your freedom, dear. I have the talent of persuasion. Having you in the house increased what nature gave me before we put you on that tea. This is no time to suppress my gifts. Regis was right; having a token from you in my pocket would boost my ability that much more.”
How I wish I had the gift of persuasion, so I could take care of this mess without considering this proposal of madness.
I take another step back, anchoring myself to Sloan’s immovable strength. “I don’t know, Daddy. You’re not going to use this just to protect us. It’s too much power for you to handle. Even without a token from me, your word already carried more weight than most can stand up against. Boosting that?” I shake my head, trying to clear it of the sirens, the screams of the inmates, and my father’s horrible idea.
Daddy’s smile looks like he’s being choked, but he doesn’t back down. “Regis made a mistake. He tried to steal it from you, which isn’t nearly as effective as it would have been if you’d given your hair to him willingly. If you gift the token to me, the magic will know it’s safe with me.”
Sloan isn’t nearly as tempted as I am. “Not a chance, Conan. We’ll find a way to get around this. Somehow, I’ll find a safe place for all these kids. We’ll outrun the cops and make a life where they can’t find us.”
My heart rallies that Sloan includes himself among our numbers. He stands with me, even when there’s no plan. Even when there’s no hope.
Even when I am out of options.
Sloan is willing to throw himself off a cliff with me to keep me from shaking hands with the devil.
But I love him too much to let him.
I cannot abide Sloan sacrificing this much of himself for me, and I know there’s no talking him out of this. Everything in me screams for a better option to present itself, but when an echoing silence fills my soul, my hand reaches into my hair, trembling as I pull out a single strand.
Sloan grips my wrist. “No, Arly! Trust me to keep you safe!”
Tears wet my eyes but don’t spill over. “I think it’s my turn to keep you safe.”
“Three strands would be better,” Father tells me as I hand him the single treasure he’s bartered our relationship for.
My mouth firms. “Exercise caution with this one, and on this day next year, we’ll talk about giving you a second. And you’re not going to hurt the police out there, understood?”
The great Conan Valentine levels his gaze on me. “Understood.”
“Control only what you need to, and leave the rest to fate. And by taking this, you’re agreeing to use your influence to get the entire community of Prigham’s set up here. More than tents. More than a day of food.”
I can practically hear my father’s teeth grinding, though the sirens are too close now for me to be sure. “Fine. If this is the best you can do for the man who gave you life, so be it. I suppose I’m the one who taught you to know your assets and lean on them. Can’t be mad when you take my advice.” He clutches the strand, rolls it in a small ball and sticks it in a plastic baggie before sealing the thing and shoving it in his breast pocket. “I’ll take care of the police. I’ll take care of everything, Princess.”
But there are things he can’t solve now. Uncurable damage he’s standing smack in the middle of.
He’s no longer Daddy to me. He’s Father.
The act of handing over a weapon into the hands of a man whom I’m fairly certain can’t handle such things sinks something precious in me. I didn’t realize I had faith that my father had true goodness in him, buried beneath the bodies of all the people who were foolish enough to vex him. That hope is gone now, and all I can do is cross my fingers and send up a prayer that I haven’t just destroyed the world by giving too much power to a man who doesn’t know how to be good with the authority he already has.
“Into the house,” Sloan urges me, keeping his body between me and the rest of the world. I can hear incoherent exchanges as splashes of flashing red ligh
ts flood my property.
The moment we get inside, Sloan shuts and bolts the door behind us.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Sloan’s arms wrap around me, but instead of holding me where I stand, his back slides down the door, bringing me with him. “I would have found a way out for you. I always do.”
“It was my turn,” I supply, as if the whole thing was a simple choice with an inconsequential ending. I sag against him, shuddering when all that I’ve just done hits my system in waves of shock. “Tell me it’s going to be okay. Sloan, tell me I didn’t just destroy the world.”
Sloan is quiet for too many beats, allowing my unease to take root. The gravity of what I’ve allowed sinks into my bones, weighting me with the worst of what could come to pass if my father is unleashed with too much control.
Control that I gave him.
Sloan’s hand finds its way to my hair, anchoring me when I worry I might drift in my handcrafted abyss forever. “It’s going to be okay. If the world burns, I’m sure it had it coming.”
I don’t know how he manages to draw a chuckle from me. Perhaps my soul hasn’t run out of optimism. Perhaps I’m not completely devoid of hope.
Perhaps I have a friend who will stay with me, even when I am.
Perhaps I have several.
I squeeze Sloan once more before I summon the gumption to stand. “They’re all scared out there. I’m going to need to get everyone in order and settled. Can you help me with that?”
Sloan rises, holding my hand because we both need the assurance that we won’t permit each other to jump off a cliff alone. “Whatever you need.”
I fist the doorknob and step out into the night, ready to gather the lost and give them a home.
My home.
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Otherwise, Sloan dies.
Sins of Mine
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Enjoy this free preview of book three in the Sinfully Sacrificed series, “Sins of Mine”.
Freedom and Fine Dining
Paxton
It still feels strange to hold actual silverware in my hands. The weight is all off. Well, there’s weight, so that’s something to get used to. I’d been eating every meal in prison with plastic sporks, so silverware is just another thing to adjust to, now that I’m living life on the outside.
The outside. That’s what we all call it. There’s Prigham’s Penitentiary, and then there’s the outside. We’ve been breathing the free air for two weeks now, but we’re still looking over our shoulders, checking to make sure no one’s going to drag us back to prison.
That might take a while to groom out of us.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Charlotte sings as she flits into the kitchen.
Charlotte has gone from mousy to dancing at the drop of a hat. Apparently, incarceration was muting the more extroverted elements of her personality. She’s wearing the same green flowing sundress and sweater she wore yesterday, though that’s because we’ve all been given two changes of clothes apiece. The forest color suits her ebony skin, and the purple of her sweater adds to the sweetness of her smile.
I bloody love the look of happiness on her.
“Good morning, Charlotte.”
How much better my life would have been, had I a sister like Charlotte to keep me company and bring joy and direction to my life. The wisdom comes from her being the most spot-on, centered clairvoyant I’ve ever come across.
The joy is entirely her.
She catches me up in a waltz, pulling me up from my seat at the table. We float around the kitchen, light as air on our feet because we know how lucky we are to be free. Her ebony hand in my lightly tan grip looks right, like we should always have been living under the same roof.
Charlotte bows out of our short dance and pours herself a glass of water. She examines with mild interest the ornate goblets Arlanna selected years ago. I’m sure Arlanna wasn’t picturing her house being a haven for fugitives at the time, yet here we are.
Everything screams refinement mixed with ease, but that’s my girlfriend all over. The kitchen has light blue walls and beige granite countertops with gilded flecks in the mix. The gold curtains add a brightness that make a cup of coffee unnecessary. Everything is elegant yet welcoming, just like Arlanna.
I love it here.
Charlotte drains her water goblet. “I’m ready to start up the team that’s building the gardens today. Does that sound like something you want to help with?”
“I wish. Sloan wants to meet up this morning. I’m guessing whatever he has in mind is going to take up the bulk of my day.”
She feigns a pout as she washes her cup. It’s so strange to see her in normal clothes. I’m used to the blinding orange everywhere I looked.
The jumpsuits were fodder for our first bonfire at the commune. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many tears in one night, accompanied by so much hope. Arlanna had everyone write down details of the life they were leaving behind, and those burdens were also burned.
The image of my father’s name in my tidy calligraphy still haunts me, though I’m sure it was supposed to have the opposite effect. I’m meant to have left him and all he stands for behind, but his foul rule haunts me daily.
As if she can sense when melancholy is about to strike, Charlotte gathers me in a hug I pray I’ll never find myself without. “This life is ours, not theirs,” she reminds me quietly as I sit at the table.
It’s a thing Gray and Arlanna always say, and it caught on throughout the camp.
Camp is a far better word than commune, but that doesn’t mean that isn’t what we are. Five hundred inmates, and only forty have left the Commune of Sinners (that’s what the press calls us, and we cheerfully adopted the label) to return to their families. From what I’ve heard, those forty were married, and went back to people who didn’t desert them and hadn’t had a hand in sending them to Prigham’s.
Everyone else remains at the camp—a ten-acre plot of land with a truckleberry orchard running through it. They’ve all been a good sport about living in tents in groups of four, but I’m guessing that won’t last forever, what with the weather holding back none of its autumnal chill.
Arlanna and Sloan have been working tirelessly to secure something more permanent, but no landlord wants to go against the king, who has made it clear that he is very much against us. The same goes for employers, who have no interest in giving jobs to any of us, no matter the fact that we were incarcerated for crimes that were never ours to begin with.
“Maybe Sloan is going to tell me that he’s suddenly found a way to manifest apartments for everyone, along with jobs so we can pay for them. That’s a thing, right?”
Charlotte pinches my cheeks, as if my optimism is cute. “Absolutely.” She looks out the window over the sink and sighs contentedly. I wish I had her sense of peace.
When she turns her chin in my direction, I can tell something is on her mind. “Arlanna’s father used his heightened persuasion to convince the cabinet to grant us all our freedom, so no police force is coming after us. But you still look like you’re afraid someone’s going to come onto the property and snatch it all away.”
That’s exactly what I worry about. It keeps me up at night. I wonder if the air I breathe that has no stench of concrete to it will be stolen just as quickly as we claimed it for ourselves.
“They could change their minds back just as easily,” I remind her. “My father doesn’t just accept that he’s lost his hold on his favorite law that lined the treasury nicely. The Sins of the Father bill is still in effect. I’m…” I glance around at the house I’m too afraid to claim as my home. “I’ve never had this much freedom. Even before Prigham’s, I had people telling me where to go and what to do. Today, I woke up when I felt like it, ate what I wanted, and I’ll meet up with Sloan when it’s convenient for me.” I shake my head. “It’s a whole new life for me. It’s so grand; I know it’s got to be too good to be true.”
“Baby,” sh
e coos, coming over to kiss the top of my head. Her arms circle my neck, and she leans her chin atop my blond hair. “Give yourself some time to relax here. Put down some roots. Nothing’s going to be snatched away. This is our home now.”
I hold on to her arm, closing my eyes. “How long until it’s taken away?”
“You’re a good person, Paxton. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you deserve a few good things. You’re my good thing, big brother.”
I kiss her palm, and finally release her. “I love you.”
She picks up an orange from the bowl of fruit on the table and starts to peel it, leaning against the granite counter. The blue walls of the kitchen pair well with the blond wood details of the cabinets and floor.
Though Arlanna swore the country ranch wasn’t ready to be lived in yet, I suspect that’s only because she was still fussing over a rug, or some small detail like that. Our little family has more than enough space—Arlanna, Gray, Cassia, Charlotte, Sloan and myself.
Cassia Chang jumps down too many stairs, landing with a thud on the hard wood that runs the length of the contemporary ranch. “Anyone want to go for a run with me?” Her inky hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Cassia owns two outfits: black pants and a black tank top, and slightly baggier black pants and a faded black tank top.
Charlotte flits over to Cassia and boops her girlfriend’s nose. “I’m always so content, thinking how compatible we are for each other. Then you say things like “go for a run,” and I begin to forget all of that. Have fun on your run, hun.” She grins at her impromptu rhyme.
Cassia kisses Charlotte, and I can’t help but watch. Cassia is so different, now that we’re on the outside. Cassia Chang went from angry and aggressive to centered and calm. I actually caught her singing to herself yesterday.
Well, she’s not entirely serene. I mean, it is Cassia, after all.
Cassia moves into the kitchen and grabs a goblet, filling it with water she pours straight from her palm. Though the tap is right there, our free access to magic makes each small flick of the wrist a treat we all treasure.
Sins of the Mother: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrificed Book 2) Page 22