The Trinity Sisters
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE TRINITY SISTERS
First edition: May 15th, 2017
Copyright © 2017 Kristin Coley
Written by Kristin Coley
Proofread by Carolyn at Particular Proofreading ([email protected])
Unbound
Sinclair’s Story
Prologue
“Get up. Hurry,” Mommy begged, shaking me. I whimpered, sleepy and scared at being woken suddenly. She had the new baby and her purse in her arms. “We have to go, sweetie. We need to get your sister.”
I didn’t understand what she meant. Where did we need to go? We were at home. Daddy had left for a trip that morning. Were we meeting him?
“Are we going to see Daddy?” I asked, waking up at the thought. I didn’t know if I wanted to. She hesitated, and, as she looked at me, I knew she would lie. “Yes, we are. It’s a surprise. Help me with your sister.” She thrust the new baby into my arms, and I was more scared than ever. Mommy never let me hold baby Quinn by myself. I held her tight, supporting her head like Mommy always said. The baby was quiet, as Mommy picked up Kincaid, who was still sleeping, and left the room.
“Come on. Hurry,” I heard her say, as she moved down the hallway. I glanced back at my bed, my snuggle-teddy lying there. I wanted to grab him, already suspecting I was never coming back here, but I had to hold Quinn with both hands.
“Sinclair!” Her tone was sharp and urgent, and I turned away, hurrying down the hall with Quinn.
We drove a long time. Mommy glanced in the rearview mirror a lot. Sometimes, she would meet my eyes, and the look in them made my chest hurt. Finally, we pulled off the highway and took a bumpy road into the forest. The trees scraped against the car, their noise hurting my ears. After we had driven for a while, Mommy stopped and got out of the car. We were in a clearing, and the moon was right above us, shining so bright it hurt to look at it.
“Claire bear, sit right here, okay?” Mommy asked me, so I sat where she said. She gave me Quinn and laid the still sleeping Kincaid against me. “Be still now. Mommy has to do this.” I nodded, trying to be good. Mommy looked scared and sad, so I would be a big girl. She went to the trunk and got things out: candles and plants that smelled funny to me.
She drew a circle in the dirt, chanting words and lighting the candles. When she finished, she looked at me and burst into tears. I wanted to run to her and hug her, but I couldn’t with my sisters lying on me.
“My beautiful bright eyed girls, I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Forgive me.”
I tried to tell her it was okay, but my own tears stopped me. Mommy broke the circle we were in and picked up Kincaid. She bundled us into the car, and I drifted off to sleep, unable to keep my eyes open any longer.
The sound of the car door woke me. Mommy had Kincaid in her arms. She saw I was awake, and regret crossed her face. “Stay with Quinn. I’ll be right back.” I nodded, my heart thumping, knowing something was very wrong.
Mommy came back a few minutes later, tears running down her face. She shut the car door and shook, holding on to the steering wheel.
“Mommy, where’s Kincaid?” I asked, my voice tiny. I wasn’t sure she heard me, but she looked up after a minute. Her eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Remember this moment, Sinclair Monroe Davis. Never, ever forget it. I love you and your sisters. This is the only way I can protect you. I need you to remember this, because your forgiveness will be the only thing that sets me free.”
I nodded, not understanding and wanting my snuggle-teddy more than anything. I looked out of the car window, knowing we were leaving Kincaid here. I needed to remember where, so I could find her. It was dark, but I saw the sign as Mommy pulled out of the parking lot: Youth Village. I committed the words to memory. I knew how to read a little. Mommy read to us every night, helping me with the words. I saw another sign, and something told me it was important too, so I remembered it: New Mexico.
Chapter One
Eighteen years later
Tennessee
My laughter only seemed to terrify him more as I wove in and out of traffic at racecar speeds.
“Lawd, Jesus, protect me from this woman’s driving. I beg you, amen!” he cried dramatically, one hand holding the door, while the other covered his eyes.
“You think Jesus gives a crap about my driving? I haven’t killed you yet, have I?” I scolded him, looking at him huddled against the seat. His long black frame looked like a rainbow threw up on him. He was color blind as fuck, but he didn’t care. He firmly believed in wearing whatever made you feel pretty. I wished he’d wear something that didn’t hurt my eyes on a regular basis.
He wore the mantle of my best friend proudly so I didn’t bother to tell him he was the only person who tolerated me long enough to even consider a friend.
He peeked out and saw me looking at him. “Look at the road, you crazy woman!” He screeched as he looked out the windshield. “Oh Jesus, forgive me! I don’t want to die in a fiery car crash.” I chuckled, quickly changing lanes, as the cars in front of me stopped. The highway opened up a bit, and I floored it. The speed gave me an adrenaline rush like nothing else. Well, sex was an occasional close second, but I preferred the rush that came from driving.
“Sinclair, you might want to talk to someone about your need for life defying situations. I’m just saying,” Garvin urged me. Garvin was named for Marvin Gaye. Not precisely sure why his mother did it, and I was unwilling to ask, but I always felt it said something about him, especially since that was how he introduced himself.
“I think one person called me an adrenaline junkie,” I nodded sagely, even as the odometer crept closer to 110.
“Do I even want to know how fast we’re going?” he asked, rhetorically I assumed, since his eyes were squeezed shut. “You know we won’t be late, right?”
Sirens interrupted me before I could tell him my need for speed had nothing to do with being on time for dinner at his grandma’s house. I slowed down as Garvin looked around.
“They after us? Oh what we gonna do?” he cried, somewhat hysterically. It almost made me wonder if he had something to hide. I asked him if he did, and he looked at me like I was insane.
“I’m a black man. They gonna haul me out of the car and beat me for sitting next to a white woman,” he exclaimed, startling a laugh out of me. “You think it’s funny! They gonna think I kidnapped you and held you at gunpoint and you driving like a mad woman to get their attention. You watch.” He crossed his arms and slammed his back against the seat, muttering under his breath, “Crazy ass white woman.”
“I should be offended. But I’m actually kind of flattered you’d kidnap me,” I said, with wink.
“Oh please. I’d only kidnap you so I could get the car,” he said, with a sassy shake of his head.
I shook my head, watching the officer step out of his car through my side mirror. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but I saw the gun tucked into his side holster. He was in an unmarked black Charger, which explained why I missed him when I flew by his car. I quickly debated how to handle the situation. With Garvin in the car, my options were somewhat limited. “Don’t contradict me,” I told him, rolling my window down as the cop came closer. Garvin gave a low whistle upon seeing the officer. “There’s a long drink of sweet tea.”
“Shh,” I hissed sharply.
I plastered a smile on my face as he stepped up to the window.
“I’d ask if you knew how fast you were going, but I suspect you do,” he started, the warm timber of his voice sending a shiver down my spine. I heard a low hum of appreciation from the seat next to me. I kept the smi
le on my face, even as my eyes narrowed. I never ignored my gut, ever. Not since the night I lost my sisters. This man was dangerous.
“License and registration,” he continued, his tone serious. I reached into the glove box and pulled out a menu for my favorite Chinese takeout. Garvin gave a short, tight shake of his head, but I leveled a threatening look at him. He huffed and sat back.
“Here you go,” I told him, handing the menu to him. I knew if I looked in the rearview mirror, my eyes would be brighter, a subtle glow enhancing the blue.
“A diplomat? But …” he muttered, looking down at the menu I’d handed him. He strode to the back of the car and I quickly corrected the license plate to be diplomatic.
He came back to the driver’s side window looking puzzled. He handed the menu back to me, as he said, “Diplomatic immunity or not, you need to watch your speed. You’re endangering lives.”
A snort came from the seat next to me, “Preach it.” I turned slowly, glaring at Garvin. I didn’t need his shit, not with a threat next to me. When I turned back, I met a pair of the darkest blue eyes I’d ever seen. He’d taken his sunglasses off, and I couldn’t stop the hitch in my breathing at the sight of him close-up. His face was all angular planes, his skin tanned and weathered, but his jaw was smooth. None of that bearded nonsense so many men had adopted. He looked over at Garvin, who for once was knocked speechless, before returning his gaze to me. I couldn’t look away from him, captured by eyes that seemed to see the real me for the first time in a long time. He glanced down at the menu I still held, forgotten in my hand.
“Is that a menu?” There was no denying his suspicion, and I almost lost the illusion completely in my shock.
“No, it’s my papers showing diplomatic immunity.” I replied, pouring more will into my words.
He shook his head and looked again, “Of course. I see it.” I hadn’t felt fear since I was six years old and left at an orphanage in Florida, but his words sent a chill through me. I felt the desperate need to escape.
“Are we done here?” I managed curtly.
He stepped back from the car. “Watch your speed.” There was no mistaking the warning in his words as I nodded tightly. Glancing at my rearview mirror, I saw him watching me as I drove away. I fought an insane compulsion to go back. Whatever part of me that feared him also wanted him, and that I knew I couldn’t allow.
“Whew wee. I damn near melted from the heat coming off the two of you,” Garvin drawled, fanning himself.
“Zip it,” I growled, the threat in my voice obvious enough to keep him quiet.
Chapter Two
“I’m so sorry, Claire Bear. I didn’t have a choice. I love you so much,” Mom whispered, the ache in her voice bringing tears to my eyes. “Forgive me,” she cried, her arm outstretched to me, as I woke up gasping. My face was wet from the tears in my dream, and I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight. I slipped from the bed and went to the bathroom.
Serafin jumped on the counter in the bathroom, meowing, her black coat gleaming under the light. “I hear you. Chill,” I muttered, splashing my face. “I’ll get your treats.” She head-butted my hand, and I stroked her. After twelve years together, she seemed to instinctively understand my emotions. We padded silently into the kitchen, the glow from the microwave telling me it was 3:00 a.m. I grabbed the jar of kitty treats, as Serafin jumped on the counter next to me. I set a few on the counter, and she swiped at my hand for more.
“That’s enough. Be grateful you got that,” I told her, frowning. Her responding meow sounded suspiciously like a fuck you. I eyed her, putting the jar up before slipping on my running shoes.
It had been several months since I had dreamt of my mother. I blamed the recurrence on my unsettling encounter with Officer Tall Dark and Handsome earlier that morning.
I slipped my house key into my pocket before locking the door to start my run. My breaths caused small clouds of mist in the early morning air. Goosebumps rose on my arms at the chill, but I knew I would warm up after a few minutes. I still wore the leggings and tank top I’d worn to bed that night. It was comfortable enough to run in, if a bit chilly at the moment.
I started out slowly, the only sound that of my feet hitting the pavement. I allowed the rhythm of my run to calm the prickling of fear that came every time I dreamed of my mother. Tonight’s dream was a familiar one. I didn’t know how many times I’d dreamed of her pleading for forgiveness over the years. I wasn’t sure why I did. I had never blamed her for abandoning us. Some part of me had always understood it was the only way she could save us. It was the why that haunted me though.
I never knew why she had to do it or what had happened to her and Quinn after she left me. I had searched over the years, using every bit of knowledge I had etched into my six-year-old self’s memories. It wasn’t enough though. I had never found a whisper of any of them.
Survival demanded more of my energy, and eventually I had stopped looking. I figured she had her reasons for separating us, and my searching for them wouldn’t help.
None of this stopped the prickle of unease running through me though. The cop had upset my equilibrium. I knew he had seen though my illusion, and that was a first. I couldn’t believe my ability was slipping, so it had to be something about him. I wanted to hunt him down and figure it out, but instinct warned me that would be a dangerous game to play. I couldn’t afford to have my interest returned. I had too many secrets of my own.
Garvin was the only one that knew what I could do, and that was only because of his own dogged persistence. I had no desire to add to that number. In fact, I itched to pack up and leave town, knowing someone like the cop was nearby. This had been the longest I had stayed in one place, and it was only because of my friendship with Garvin.
My eyes held steady on the road as I ran, but my thoughts went back to four years earlier: the night I had cast the illusion that would save Garvin and reveal my own secret in the process.
I was exhausted. I blamed my carelessness on that alone. I knew better. I had survived the streets since I was twelve without once revealing my ability. But I had just finished a double shift at my waitressing job, on top of pulling a late shift the night before at my job as a bartender. I was running on less than three hours of sleep in a twenty-four-hour period, and I was pissed at the sight in front of me.
I saw them from a distance. There was no way I could miss them. They were smack dab in the way of me getting home to my lumpy bed. The one I had found at Goodwill and thrown on the floor of my studio apartment. I was proud of that lumpy-ass mattress that was the best I could afford, and I wanted to be sleeping on it, not dealing with three guys beating up on some kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He was on the ground covering his head, as they kicked at him, when I walked up. I should have been frightened, but that was an emotion I had stopped feeling years before. It took a second for them to realize I was standing there. The street around us was conspicuously absent of people. Everyone knew these guys and worked to avoid them. No one would cross them, and the cops had abandoned this neighborhood years ago. My presence alone was a small miracle. I had agreed to work the extra shift for a girl that called in sick. Otherwise, I would be in my bed right now.
The kid they were beating up was the first to recognize my presence. While his next words would earn him my respect, there was no way I would leave him here.
“Go, run,” he groaned, looking up at me from eyes almost swollen shut. “RUN!” I could tell the effort to tell me to run cost him. He gasped and moaned from the pain, clutching his ribs. A taunt from one of the guys brought my attention back to them.
“You like pansy boys?” he commented, posturing. Shaved head, piercings, and tats covered him. They were Hispanic, from what I could tell. Angry, violent bullies, and my least favorite type of people.
“I don’t know. Are you a pansy? Cause I don’t like you,” I responded, watching as he finally comprehended the insult. “Took you long enough. We won�
��t list intelligent as one of your strong suits.”
“Bitch, you don’t know who you’re messing with,” one of them growled. It was remarkably difficult to tell them apart. I didn’t want to be racist, but it was dark, and they shared a similar style. I imagined their mothers would have difficulty knowing which one they had given birth to. When I mentioned that to them, they became even more pissed off, amusing me to no end. My laughter cut off when one said, “We are going to fuck you up good.”
“I think not,” I answered quietly. I heard a painful whimper at my feet and saw him looking up at me. He mouthed, “Run” again, but that wasn’t happening.
I knew basic fighting skills. You had to if you expected to keep what was yours when you were on the streets. But tonight I would need more, so I summoned all the energy I had and cast the illusion.
They were huge bastards, I noted, as they prowled closer. Burly and oozing with barely leashed rage, they formed a barrier between us and our attackers. I had to admire my own taste as well. If I was going to conjure my own fight squad at least they could be good looking hunks of testosterone.
“Wha ...” he muttered, and I looked down again at him. I had kind of hoped he had passed out from the pain by now, but apparently not. His eyes were as wide as they could go, as he looked at our protectors. “How ….” He looked at me, but I had to focus. Our cocky aggressors had shifted back at the addition of our silent behemoths. I could feel the exhaustion pull at me, as I held the illusion. I knew I didn’t have much time to make an impression, so I gave it my all. I had one of my guys throw a punch at the bastard that called me a bitch. The heavy thud that should have accompanied a hit like that was absent, but our bad guy reeled and hit the ground like it was a knockout. The other two guys backed up and looked ready to run, so I pushed one of my guys forward as a threat.
“We don’t want trouble,” one of the guys stuttered. They grabbed their fallen friend and dragged him to a car. Seconds later, they’d peeled out and my illusion collapsed. My knees hit the pavement next to the guy I rescued, and I swayed as I attempted to stay upright.
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