Page 33 of Scandalous Kingpin
“We should burn the house down,” he whispered, shaking a box of matches. “It’s our chance to end this.”
Staring up at him, seeing the years of pain lurking in his eyes, I nodded.
So, he began pouring gasoline all over the furniture, the walls, the woven rug at our feet… over our mother. Then, just as he was ready to light it all up to hell, I stopped him.
“I want to do it,” I said, an idea blooming in my mind. So dark. So vicious. So fucking righteous.
“It shouldn’t be your sin to?—”
“I want to do it,” I repeated, refusing to let this stain my big brother any further. Dante flicked me a look packed with uncertainty, but he eventually caved in and handed me the box. “Wait outside.”
“No fucking way, Christian. I’m responsible for you.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” I reasoned. “I just need this… for me.”
“Fine,” he caved, then threw a final hate-filled glance at the unconscious woman. “May you rot in hell, Mother.”
Once he was gone, I dragged my mother’s gasoline-soaked body out of the foyer and through the back door to the bunker on the edge of our property—ironically the same one I’d stumbled upon years ago when I was looking for a place to lick my wounds. Woundssheinflicted. It took all the strength I had left to get her all the way inside, lock her in, and run back into the house.
Where I lit a match and let it all burn.
I didn’t know then that the years spent under her thumb would shape the rest of my life, and that my legacy would include hunting down evil and ridding the earth of it.
The shadows from the chandelier faded, leaving me exposed. There was nowhere left to hide.
Ivy’s face was pale, her hand covering her mouth.
A bitter laugh escaped me, followed by an almost deafening silence.
A moment passed. And another.
Would she scream? Demand I send her back to Ireland? Demand I take her back to Aiden Callahan? Would she pity me?
I couldn’t handle any of it; the thought made my throat tight, and I wished there’d been another way. I needed her to look at me like the man I wasnow, not the boy I’d been.
I took a deep breath and found her eyes.
For a second, I was taken aback by her expression as she examined every line and mark on my face. Was she trying to understand my scars? The possibility sent shivers ghosting down my spine.
“Why do you go by Priest rather than your birth name?” she questioned softly.
I froze momentarily, then shrugged, hoping she didn’t pick up on it. “I excelled at prayers when Vittoria and Father Gabriel attempted to force me to join the priesthood. I did it to spite them, I think, but it worked out for the best. First man I killed, I recited final rites. Basilio jokingly called mepriest, and the nickname stuck. The fact I continued reciting rites probably didn’t help.”
I didn’t tell her that I hated my first name because Vittoria liked to use it when she beat me. And when I learned that Aisling was the one who’d named me, I hated it even more. I wanted to punish my birth mother for abandoning us and creating hell for Dante and me. It was clear that Vittoria hated and tortured us to get back at our papà and Aisling.
“It feels wrong to call you Priest now,” she muttered.
“I like hearing my first name on your lips.” Surprise flickered in those hazel orbs as she studied me. “I wouldn’t mind you calling me Christian.”
“It’s set, then,” she murmured. “I’m going to call you Christian from now on.”
My cock twitched in response. “I’m going to hold you to it.”
Silence stretched as we stared at each other, until her next words shattered it.
“You have to let her go.” I narrowed my eyes at her, wondering if she was reading my thoughts. Could she tell I wanted to torture Aisling too? “Or better yet, kill her and end it.”
Ah, she was talking about Vittoria. Of course she wouldn’t know that I wanted to punish Aisling, too.
