Melissa Andrea & Tabatha Vargo
The Wrath of Sin
Copyright © 2014 by Tabatha Vargo & Melissa Andrea
All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manor whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The Wrath of Sin/ Tabatha Vargo/ Melissa Andrea
Cover Art by Melissa Andrea
Editing Services Provided by Cassie McCown/Gathering Leaves.
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Be sure to check out more from Tabatha!
Playing Patience
Perfecting Patience
Finding Faith
On the Plus Side
Wicked Fate
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The Edge of Darkness
The Grace in Darkness
Flutter
Men often make up in wrath what they want in reason. ~ William R. Alger
Prologue
The soft scent of her swarmed around me. It had been so long since I’d been that close to a woman—like really close, not just physically speaking. It was a reminder of all the things I’d missed over the last six years.
She pressed against me and I could feel the contour of her soft breasts through her thin silk top. I pulled her closer to me and latched my arms behind her back. Her thick, russet hair stuck to my sweat-covered cheeks and instinctively I breathed in the brief hint of her strawberry shampoo. She smelled amazing, and she felt even better pressed tightly to the front of my body.
Parts of me that I hadn’t used in years sprang to life and made me forget all about the reason I was there with her in the first place. Again, she moved and I pulled her closer to me. I wasn’t going to let her go. I was finally going to get what I wanted.
Her sharp teeth cut into my bicep and I hissed loudly at the sting of her teeth puncturing my skin. I tugged on her ponytail and she released my flesh. Bringing her face to face with me, I smiled down at her. She was as good as mine. There was no escaping me.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
Her voice was thick and husky—that of a passionate woman in the midst of release.
I brought my nose to her neck and breathed her in once more. It was going to be a long while before I was this close to a woman again. Her femininity moved me beyond distraction, but I had to stay the course.
Looking down into her fevered eyes, I took a deep breath.
“What do you think I’m going to do? A life for a life—it’s only fair. She was taken from me, now I’m taking you from him.”
1
Sin
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the preacher said as he patted my back.
I nodded to him and watched as he slowly limped toward his car.
I wanted to respond to him, but no words seemed to squeeze past my paralyzed vocal chords. I felt numb—as if the major parts of me had died with her. I should’ve died with her. God knows I wanted to.
The few who did attend the funeral attempted to talk to me. As if on autopilot, I nodded to each of them. The slight gesture was all I was capable of. They all said the same things anyway. If I heard one more time how sorry everyone around me was, I was going to snap. They didn’t know the sorrow that buried itself into my core. It was a vile emotion that dug deep and rotted you from the inside out. I knew sorrow; they didn’t.
I’d never been a crying man. Even as they lowered my baby girl into the ground, I couldn’t muster up the appropriate amount of tears. I was beyond tears. The pain I felt was more intense than any pain I’d felt in my life, but I’d made promises, and I’d honor them.
As they continued to lower Chelsea into her eternal resting place, I could still hear the whisper of her request.
“Don’t cry, Daddy. I don’t want to see you cry anymore. Promise me you won’t.” Her tiny voice danced through my memory before cutting into my heart.
I’d given her my word. It was the second promise I made her that last night in the hospital before everything went wrong.
The last promise I made when she took her last breath.
I’d read her favorite princess book, Sleeping Beauty, every night during the last month she’d been alert. She loved the idea of going to sleep while she waited for her Prince Charming to come and kiss her awake.
She wanted me to put her in a bed like Sleeping Beauty so her prince could come find her while she slept in heaven. I did the next best thing and had a coffin made specifically for her. It was lined in soft pink and the outside was designed with intricately scrolled golden swirls. The padding that held her petite body was fluffy and enveloped her in its soft embrace. She’d looked as if she were lying on a cloud, awaiting her Prince Charming.
I buried her with a single white rose resting against her chest. Her blond hair curled just so with a white ribbon weaved through her curls. She looked as if she were asleep—her long lashes resting against her blushed cheek. I expected her to wake with a smile for me, but she never did.
Her innocence was a mask because I knew she was a fighter. She’d fought hard all the way until the end—gripping life with greedy hands and holding on until her small frame couldn’t any longer. Thinking back, I felt bad knowing she’d fought harder for me than for herself.
Heart failure—that’s what took her away from me… an old man’s illness, not that of a young and vibrant little girl. I could hardly believe it. I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been there the moment she took her last breath.
What six-year-old child dies from heart failure?
It wasn’t natural for her to go that way. She was supposed to outlive me. She should be the one watching me being lowered into the ground. It was the expected way of things. I watched her come into the world, and she was supposed to watch me leave.
I stayed by her grave until the last of the mourners were gone and they were beginning to cover her with dirt. I stayed until the sun was low in the sky, promising darkness that I already felt within. Darkness and pain—that’s all there was—pain that sliced so deep into my center it took precedence over the rest of my senses.
Rain ran down my cheeks and dripped onto my perfectly starched collar. I hadn’t even noticed it was raining. Muddy water puddled around my feet and started to soak into the black dress shoes I’d bought at Target the day before.
Chelsea would’ve loved seeing me dressed up. The last time I dressed up I was burying her mother. Being that she was only a week old, she had no memory of that moment in our lives. Jeans and work T-shirts, that’s all she’d ever seen me wear.
It wasn’t fair. She was supposed to see me dressed up for her, but not like this. On her graduation day or her wedding day, but never like this. Chelsea didn’t live long enough to enjoy her first day of first grade or her senior prom. She’d never know the hurt of a broken heart or the joy of marrying the person you couldn’t live without. I’d had that person and I’d lost her. Chelsea was the only reason I made it through, but now that she was gone, I had no reason left.
The day her heart stopped, mine stopped, too.
2
Sin
The week following Chelsea’s
burial, I thought about suicide more than any sane person should. Four of the stages of grief and loss weighed heavy on me. The fifth stage, acceptance, was the only one I skipped. I couldn’t accept the fact that she was gone and I was all alone in the world. I rotated through the four stages over and over again and tortured myself by never attaining the relief of acceptance.
Denial and isolation—I’d sit alone in my small, one-bedroom apartment and dwell on it. She wasn’t really gone. Her heart hadn’t given out on her, and the cardiologist that said there was nothing more they could do was really going to keep trying.
Anger—why hadn’t the cardiologist tried harder? Why did he give up so easily on Chelsea? Was she just another patient to him? She was more than that to me. Her death was his fault. He didn’t try hard enough. He should’ve tried harder.
Bargaining—I begged God to take me instead. I swore that if he brought her back I’d take her place. At the very least, he could take me, too, and we could be together. I couldn’t be away from her. I contemplated taking my own life, but somehow I thought suicide would send me in the opposite direction she went. I was already in hell.
And then I’d sink deeper into my depression and find myself repeating the stages as I shifted through the maze of empty containers, old newspapers, and random trash scattered around the tiny apartment floor. I was back at denial and isolation.
Before Chelsea died, I sold the quaint two-bedroom house we’d lived in since she was born. It was the last thing I owned, but I needed the money more. It paid for her hospital bills and the funeral expenses, and with the money left over, I was able to afford the dark hole I was living in.
Most mornings I’d wake in a panic, reaching for my daughter, only to find myself in a strange, empty space without even a single memory of her in sight.
I couldn’t bear looking at pictures. I couldn’t take seeing anything that even belonged to her. Because of that, I had it packed up in storage close to where I stayed.
“Fuck!” I cursed loudly as I stubbed my big toe on the corner of the only piece of furniture in the living room.
I lived… No, I roamed in complete darkness all day, only getting up to piss and drink. I couldn’t even remember when I’d last eaten or what it was. My current diet consisted of anything over the proof of eighty. It kept the edges of my emotions numb to anything and everything around me.
Walking past the old-as-dirt answering machine that was left in the apartment before I moved in, I only half paid attention to the red flashing zeros—meaning there was too many messages to display a normal number. They reminded me of the eyes of hell, and I left the messages unanswered because that seemed fitting.
Not like I didn’t know who they were all from. I only had one person left and I wanted her to stay as far away from me as possible. I was death. I killed the people around me, so I’d continue to push her far away.
I pulled open the fridge door and the inside light stung my eyes. I blinked back tears. When I caught a whiff of the foul smell that filled the air around me, my stomach lurched into my throat. The day-old liquor in my system burned my chest and I stumbled toward the sink, just making it in time to toss everything.
I braced my arms against the cold aluminum and vomited until there was nothing left in me—until my sides hurt and my brain felt like it was about to pop. When I felt okay enough to stand without the help of the countertop, I moved to the open fridge, grabbed a bottle, and shut the door again.
I sat on the couch, wincing, and leaned up, pulling out an empty bottle of Jack that stabbed me in the back. I eyed the bottle, taking a drink of my beer. I twirled the bottom rim of the Jack on my leg a few times before tossing it away. It shattered somewhere in a darkened corner of the room, but I didn’t care.
I’d just finished the beer when I heard the first pound on the door. I froze, not even breathing while I waited for whoever was on the other side to go away.
They knocked harder and louder this time, but I made no move to answer it. They’d eventually go away, whoever it was.
“Mr. Grayson?”
It took me a minute to place his voice before I recognized it was the landlord. I knew I was good with the rent, seeing as how I had paid for a few months in advance so I wouldn’t have to see him or anyone.
Another set of knocks came. They were different, louder and angrier.
“Jacksin Grayson! You open this damn door right now or I’ll break it down,” a female screeched.
I groaned and fell back against the couch as I roughly rubbed my forehead.
What the hell is she doing here? Couldn’t she take the hint?
Break down the damn door, Constance, because I sure as shit ain’t opening it.
It went quiet and I breathed a sigh of relief. Closing my eyes, I relished in the silence I’d become accustomed to. There was no more laughter, no more whispered games to fill the hours of my day. There was nothing but the monster inside my head and he was a mean fucker.
A loud thud broke the brief silence and then the sound of cracking wood echoed as my door was thrown in.
3
Sin
I didn’t move, nor did I open my eyes as light from the open door flooded into the dark room, scaring away the shadows.
There was a moment of stunned silence as the two on the other end caught a glimpse of my surroundings. It had been so long since I’d seen anything in the room in the light, but I couldn’t care enough to do anything about it.
“Oh my God…” Constance’s voice faded as she took a hesitant step inside the apartment. I still hadn’t moved and that prompted her question. “Jacksin… are you dead?”
I turned my head toward her and opened one eye against the light. “If I say yes, will you go away?”
“No, but I will kick your ass.”
“That’s a little morbid, don’t you think?”
“Pretending to be dead is a little morbid.”
“Who says I’m pretending?”
“Thank you, Mr. Reidy. I’ve got it from here.”
The old man looked hesitant to leave Constance alone with me, and I didn’t blame him. I wanted to tell him to take her with him, but there was a look in Constance’s eyes that said she wasn’t about to go without a fight.
“What are you doing here?” I barked, turning away from the light and staring up into the ceiling.
“Apparently I’m saving your ass. What’s that ungodly smell?”
“Death,” I whispered as I sat up to set my empty beer bottle on the table in front of me.
There were at least two or three six-packs worth of empty bottles covering the entire table. I shook a few of them, hoping there was a couple of swigs left, but it was highly unlikely that I’d let any go to waste. I nearly said a silent prayer when I found one almost halfway full, which was odd since I no longer believed in God or any higher power.
I’d spent most of the last four months of my life on my knees, praying for a miracle that never came. I’d depended on God or some supreme being to give my daughter her health back, but I was answered by the devil himself. Depending on faith and doctors was a joke and a total waste of time.
I sat back and took a drink of the warm beer. The minute it hit my stomach, it rolled, but I ignored it and took another one while Constance tiptoed behind me. I didn’t blame her. There was no telling what was on the floor or what kind of death trap might be waiting for her.
“This place is disgusting, Jax.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she jumped, ran, and then jumped again until she reached the wall.
“So go away. No one asked you to come here.”
I turned toward her but realized too late what she was doing. She threw open the curtains and sunlight flooded the room. My skin felt as if it were burning and I went momentarily blind.
“Shit!” I cursed and turned away from the harsh light, covering my head. “What the hell are you doing?” I roared.
“What does it look like? I’m saving you.” S
he repeated and threw open the other set of curtains to the other window. She clapped her hands together and then frowned, wiping them down the sides of her pants.
Dust, dirt, and who knows what else floated through the air, sending her through a round of coughing and choking.
“Stop trying to save me, Constance. You’re wasting your time. I have no will or need to get better.”
“You’re being dramatic, Jax. We have to air out this room. It smells like stale beer and old man ass. The smell is enough to make me gag,” she said as she attempted to open the window. “How can you stand it? How can you stand living like this?”
“Let me take a piece of your soul and kill it. Then you can tell me if you give two fucks about how the room around you smells.”
She finally stopped and looked at me, tears shining in her eyes.
“Don’t act like her death isn’t affecting me! But I can’t lose you, too, Jax. I refuse to be left here alone, so you will stop ignoring my phone calls, my visits. You will stop ignoring me because I’m not going anywhere.” She swiped at an escaped tear and blew a piece of hair from her eyes. “Now get your ass up and take a shower. I’m pretty sure the foul smell is you. Then I’m taking you to get some food in your stomach. After that, we’re going to the recycling place. There’s at least a hundred dollars’ worth of bottles in here. Hopefully, your liver hasn’t taken a shit on you. How have you not gotten alcohol poisoning?”
I shrugged. “I’m not that lucky.”
“Enough with the death talk. You’re alive, and she wouldn’t want you to be living like this.”
“I think there’s a lot of things she would and wouldn’t have wanted. I think dying takes priority over how I choose to live my shitty life.”
“You’re wrong. She was selfless, unlike you, and we both damn well know that. She’d be devastated seeing you like this. Live for her, Jacksin. She was deprived of life, but you weren’t. Don’t disrespect her memory like this.”
“Enough, Constance!” I growled menacingly and drowned in the rest of my beer. She was walking on dangerous ground, and I was afraid of the reaction that was going to erupt from me. I wasn’t typically a hostile man, especially with my baby sister, but her words were only making me crazier.
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