Sins of the Father: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrified Book 1)

by Mary E. Twomey

  Flashes of every heel I own flood my brain. “I had no idea.”

  I do love my stilettos. I’m nearly six feet tall, which most women would take to mean they’re relegated to ballet flats for the rest of their lives. But not me. I enjoy the heels that push me over that threshold, and help me tower over the business deals and contracts that think I’ll just accept whatever they suggest for me. I feel powerful in my heels. I’d thought they were from Daddy, because he knew how much I love them. He’d taken credit for them.

  Bastard.

  I wonder how many pairs of stilettos were gifted to me by the king? A new pair every month for how many years?

  I place my hands atop the table, but it’s as close as I’ll get to reaching out. “Thank you. I love them.”

  “I know you do. I only hope knowing they’re from me won’t steal the joy you get from wearing them.” He runs his hands through his hair, flustered at this downward turn. “I apologize. I thought all this time we had a friendship from afar. I sent you your favorite things, along with letters so you weren’t completely cut off from us, and you wore the shoes in public to show me we were still family.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds, and then forces a wan pleasantness on his features. “You enjoyed the gifts. That’s good enough. When you get out of here, I’ll make sure you get them, with the letter.”

  I meet his eyes with sadness I don’t bother holding back. “We both know I’m never getting out of here.”

  King Regis sits back and crosses his arms. “Let’s not assume the worst of your father.”

  “I assumed the best of you, and I landed here because of your bill.” I want to go lie down and rest from this very long day, even though it’s barely halfway lived, but I know after this I’ll be taken to brick detail.

  How I miss my dog. Everly Ann must be so confused and angsty without me. Calming her yapping soothed my unsettled parts. And right now, every part of me feels unsettled.

  I long to comb my fingers through Rafe’s fur, even if he’s all big and scary now.

  “Why are you here?” I finally ask. The private conversation he shared with my father comes back into my mind. I wonder what perverted motive he’s got that he’s going to masquerade as kindness.

  Regis crosses his right ankle over his left knee, folding his fingers atop his thigh. “I’m here for a photo, and for Paxton. He would like to visit you. Perhaps begin courting you.”

  “I’ll bet,” I snort. Paxton doesn’t want to date me—a near stranger. “Well, where is he? Let’s get this marriage underway. I mean, I’ve only got five years to plan the wedding.”

  “Paxton is a romantic,” the king explains, ignoring my attitude. “He would like a memento from you to keep you close to his heart. His mother left him a locket, but it has nothing inside of it. He asked if he could have a few strands of your hair to keep over his heart.”

  I want nothing more than to leave this conversation, but I know I can’t. I need to see this through and figure out what’s really going on, no matter how many times Regis dodges honesty.

  Curiosity burns in my throat. “Why my hair?”

  The king resituates in his seat. “Paxton is a romantic, as I mentioned.”

  Now I can spot his lie. It’s a twitch of his nose that gives him away.

  Paxton doesn’t want my hair. Paxton has nothing to do with the reason why Regis is here.

  I don’t respond, but stare the king down in the signature Valentine way until he finally cracks.

  Regis throws up his hands. “I don’t know what other explanation you’re looking for. He sent me for a memento, so I’ll be returning with one.”

  “Over my dead body,” I seethe.

  I expect the charade to keep on going, but the king leans forward with a threat of his own. “I truly hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Leave your son out of this. Paxton’s a good guy, and probably has no idea you’re here being creepy. Why do you want my hair? Is it some sort of sick fetish? You buy me heels and expect to collect my hair in exchange? Because I’m not into that. Nor am I into men my father’s age who collect younger women’s hair.”

  Nor am I into fae men at all, apparently.

  Maybe it’s not wise for me to lay all my chips out on the table, but there they are. I know he’s the one who wants my hair, and I’m not going to tap dance anymore around it.

  Regis blanches. “Fetish? Is that what you think of me? You were like a daughter to me!”

  “I know!” I rage, though, upon closer inspection of his shock, perhaps my assessment of him being a pervert isn’t quite the reason he wants my hair.

  I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better or not.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I have no interest in courting a child. But you can think what you like of me. The shoes were to make you smile, because I know how grim the world is that I left you to survive in when our families separated. I merely wanted to give you moments of happiness. And your hair… Please trust me, Arlanna. Just three strands, and I’ll do what I can to free you early.”

  I balk at his offer. “You don’t have that power. You would be going back on your own bill. You’re too much an egomaniac to do something like that.”

  “I’ll do what I must.”

  “And you must have my hair?” I shake my head, disgusted at the state he’s devolved to. “What happened to you that made you this way? We were family.”

  A glimmer of vulnerability pokes through. “If you give me this one thing, you will never have to see my face again. I will never bother you, and you can think what you will of me. Though I promise, it’s never been my desire to pursue anything but a paternal connection with you.”

  “Then what could you possibly want with my hair? And why drag Paxton’s name into this?”

  His mouth opens, like he wants to confess the truth, but then he slams it shut, bristling as he straightens in his seat. “My reasons aren’t important. Just know that I have never asked you for anything, and all I’m asking of you is this one small favor. Three strands of your hair, and I promise to leave you alone.”

  I don’t understand his motives, though a minute ago, I was certain they were disgusting. I start to wonder with dread if there could possibly be something more sinister at work that I’m unaware of.

  I straighten, deciding to trust that Sloan and my father kept me away from the king for a good reason, whatever it may be. “I don’t believe you. You’re sick. You need to get help.” Perhaps you’ll get the help you need when you’re in prison, once Daddy gets you locked away for putting your signature on those shipments.

  Regis eyes the guards standing in the corners. It’s the only warning I get before the king of the free world lunges across the table and grabs me by the hair. I scream and fight him off as best I can, but not before I feel a few twinges in my scalp.

  The guards don’t know how to intervene, if they’re even allowed to get the king off of me.

  Officer Johnson is the only one bold enough to throw the king off my body. He scoops me off the floor with wide eyes and corrals me into the corner.

  “What was that?” Johnson shouts at the two of us, as if I had anything to do with being assaulted. “Your majesty, there’s no way you had this place built with the expectation that the inmates could be randomly attacked. No matter who you are, there are rules in here. Abide or get out.”

  “I was just leaving,” Regis announces, straightening as he tucks his fist into his pocket.

  “He stole my hair!” I yell like a lunatic. “He’s a sick freak who’s obsessed with me!”

  Johnson’s chest puffs, and he jabs his finger at the king. “You’ve just lost visitation privileges, Your Majesty.”

  When the door swings open, my heart soars at the sight of too many cops in the standard street blue filtering into the room. “King Regis, you’re to come with us.”

  The king postures. “What’s the meaning of this? I lost my temper with an inmate who is clearly touched in the
head, is all. I’ll apologize and set it all right.”

  The cop holds out a piece of paper. “Your Majesty, you’re under arrest for intention of flooding the streets with an illegal, deadly narcotic. You have the right to remain silent.” He keeps on with his speech, stealing the breath from my lungs as he cuffs the King of the Fae right in front of my wide eyes.

  Of all things, the king smiles at me. “Tell your father, ‘well played.’ However, he’s too late. I have what I need, and no amount of keeping you locked up can stop the inevitable.”

  When he’s yanked out the exit, Sloan slips into the room, running straight for me and scooping me up in a hug. His love fills me so quickly, I worry I might hyperventilate from elation.

  He’s here. Sloan is here. He said he would come (granted, he said it to my father), and he did. With backup, no less.

  “Did he get to you? What did he say? We’ll be filing a restraining order so he can’t come near you ever again. Did he hurt you?” Sloan winces at the sight of my face. “What’s happened to you?” Before I can say a word, Sloan shouts toward the nearest guard. “I need to speak to the warden!”

  I grip Sloan’s shirt as the two other wide-eyed inmates are rounded up and escorted out, their visitors dismissed. “Sloan, he took my hair!” I still don’t know what it’s for, what it means, but I trust that Sloan does. “He yanked it out of my head and shoved it in his suit pocket.”

  Sloan swears, then kisses my forehead and hands me to Officer Johnson. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sloan rushes out, but part of me worries it’s already too late. Whatever the king wants, it’s clear he’s got. Now we have to wait to find out what’s to come next, and what danger it will mean for us all.

  31

  A King’s Obsession

  When a baritone howl of agony sounds from the hallway, the guards rush out, leaving me unattended in the visitation room.

  A wild thought occurs to me: with the guards busy subduing King Regis, this might be the perfect time to run to solitary and release Gray, then find the girls so we can all escape in this rare moment of distraction. We might not get another chance like this. I don’t know where we’ll go, but I can’t pass this up. I have to try to free us. Maybe not all of us, but the three who stole my heart and who have stood by my side through this insanity.

  But when I step into the hallway, two cops are bleeding out on the concrete floor, their eyes opened in stages of panic. A loud expletive rushes out of me, and I know I can’t run away from them when they’re clearly compromised.

  I bend down to intervene, putting pressure to the chest of the one nearest me. His blood is sticky, staining my fingers.

  Too many people are shouting in confusion, as if they have no idea how these men were so horribly injured right in front of their faces.

  In the next breath, I watch with revulsion as a third policeman shouts and grabs his side without provocation, his hand pulling away red and wet as his shirt begins to soak through.

  Only, I was watching him. Nobody touched him. Yet he’s got what looks like a stab wound on his side as he falls to his knees.

  Another officer goes down in the same way—a victim without an assailant.

  The king is nowhere to be seen. The officer who cuffed him is holding the empty shackles with dread painting his features, which is never a good sign.

  My chin darts from side to side, trying to get eyes on the king. My mind races as I wonder where he would try to escape to, if not out the exit, which is still shut.

  A sick wash of doom curdles my stomach.

  The king wanted my hair, and even after he was arrested, he was triumphant, as if my hair was more important than his own freedom.

  That’s more than a person with a fetish.

  That’s a man with a diabolical plan.

  A strand of my hair transported the four of our minds from our cell to the palace. It allowed me to interfere, giving Sloan what he needed to set things in motion, so he could take down the king on a criminal offense.

  Regis knew my hair could give him the magic he needed, and that’s why he took it.

  Another cop doubles over right in front of me, clutching his side, which is now bleeding. “Regis, stop this now!” I shout into the air, hoping he hears and obeys.

  A rush of air passes over my face. I cower closer to the officer whose chest is still bleeding while he wheezes.

  I can’t help my scream when I hear Regis’ voice in my ear, feel his breath on my neck, but can’t lay eyes on him. “Your father locked you away because he was afraid I would get my hands on your magic. I know what you are. I know the gift you’ll be to the fae.”

  Regis is invisible. Charlotte’s explanation of Cass’ darkling ability echoes like a gong in my brain. Because I unlocked Cass, she can not only meld with the shadows, but one day, she could become one, as well.

  Did my hair unlock some latent ability in the king? Is that why the king wanted my hair? Is it making him more powerful, restoring his magic back to what it could have been, were the magic not dulled with time?

  I have my answer when a hand I cannot see grabs me from behind by the throat, using enough force to shock a scream from me. But the sound only births for a second before the invisible fingers curl and trap the sound in my windpipe. I’m jerked to my feet.

  I bite down on my lip to keep from calling for Rafe while I struggle in the merciless grip. If my pup were here, he’d bite the hand off of anyone who grabbed me so cruelly.

  “You’re coming with me,” the king says in my ear, my back shoved firmly to his chest. “I won’t hurt you, sweetheart. Just walk and everything will be fine.”

  I want to spit in Regis’ face, tell him that he is currently hurting me, so his word isn’t exactly something I’m putting stock in.

  One of the guards holds up a taser, aimed at my chest. “You! Stay where you are.”

  He thinks I mean to escape because of my invisible captor who’s forcing my steps. I want to tell the guard everything, but I can’t get any words out. King Regis inches my steps forward as I struggle fruitlessly to stand my ground. If I try to flip the king over my shoulder by popping out my butt, I’ll splat his body across that of a near-death policeman.

  “Arly, stay there!” Sloan shouts, his head whipping this way and that as he tries to staunch the blood from one of the fallen officers.

  The guard warns me again to stay put, but my foot is kicked forward, so it looks like I’m on my way to escaping. I’m pushing back against the king, but it’s getting me nowhere. Too much of my fight is sacrificed in my struggle for oxygen.

  My scream hits the air when the guard’s taser electrocutes me, but only because the king’s hand falls slack when the current runs through him, as well. We’re frozen there for too many seconds as heat and terror and something that feels like a heart attack courses through my veins like lightning.

  And here I go, paying for another man’s sin as my body twitches and my heart aches.

  When the two of us fall limp to the concrete, all the magic the king was using deserts him, leaving him exposed and visible to everyone.

  I hear Sloan shouting his fright, but every other sound is far from my brain.

  It’s pleasantly silent now, even though too many things are swirling around me. Too many faces, boots stepping over me to get to the king and secure him from escaping.

  Only Sloan comes to me. Sloan, and then my father. My best friend cradles me to his chest, promising me… something. I can’t hear properly, and honestly, I don’t care. I care that he’s here, that he’s holding me.

  There’s more shouting, but I can’t make sense of any of it.

  Sloan hands me to my father, who sobs over my body. His round face is red and pinched with concern. He looks scared. He’s never scared.

  He does love me. Huh.

  Sloan slips to the king’s side, dipping his hand into the man’s pocket and coming back out with a triumphant fist. They haul the king away. Regis is shouting his r
age and fighting against the restraints because Sloan has taken the odd treasure he stole from me.

  All this over three strands of my hair.

  My eyelids begin to close as I realize there is far more complexity to the world than I ever realized.

  I’m handed back to Sloan, who assures me of… something.

  With Sloan’s cocoon of safety wrapped around me, I push out the problems I might never be able to solve, and drift off into unconsciousness.

  32

  Favored and Favors

  My mouth tastes like cotton when I awake however many minutes or hours later.

  Nurse Jen’s cheery cadence hits my ears, making my head swim. “That’s better. I was beginning to think I’d have to bust out the good drugs for you.”

  “Where… What…” But a coughing fit takes me over before I can get out any of my questions.

  “The ‘where’ is the infirmary. The ‘what’ would be a taser, near suffocation and probably a bit of shock.” Nurse Jen pours a cup of water for me. “If you’re looking to throw other questions into the mix, you could aim for ‘how.’ The how of what landed you here is the king losing his mind after getting his hands on some pretty wild magic. He was trying to use you as a human shield to escape after the police set out to arrest him.”

  “Arrest?”

  Nurse Jen helps me to sit up as she tips a cup of water to my lips. Each swallow hurts, but revives me by a necessary degree after every gulp. “It’s all over the news. Biggest scandal in history. The king is in league with the criminal element.” She casts me a culpable look over her poor choice of words. “Your father has been on television all afternoon, testifying that he was shipping out a huge batch of illegal drugs. The thing is, they only got into the country because they had the king’s signature on it.” She shakes her head, her lips spluttering as she blows out an anxious breath. “So much is going on. Apparently, the king tried to deny knowing anything about it, but then your father’s attorney brought in witnesses—people who work for the king. Under the king’s orders, they tested the drugs, so he knew how terrible they were. Yet he signed the shipment through anyway.”