Page 34 of Written in Sin
My fingers are numb from prying at them, and I’m pretty sure I have splinters riddling my fingertips now. The floor creaks as I drag his limp body to the opening and roll him in before I use my foot to shove him deeper, wedging him in tight. His arms are folded into his sides, resembling a child that’s been tucked in before bed. Well, if the child also had a busted face.
The space barely fits him. It’s shallow and cramped, but it’ll just have to do. I see his eyes moving under his lids, but I don’t care. I start laying the boards back into their places, hurrying before he comes to.
He can wake up, scream for help, and try his hardest to shift. But it won’t matter. No one will hear him. No one comes out here except for me—or those brought here by me. I press the boards back down with the heel of my boot, making sure they’re tight in their spaces, before I stand on them and lightly jump up and down making sure they’re secure. The wood groans under my weight, but I look around the shed, eyeing anything I can find to keep weight on the floor.
I highly doubt he’d be able to make it out, but this would just ease my mind a bit. I step outside and see a few options.
Perfect. I start stacking everything I see. Cinder blocks, random junk lying around, including old bags of fertilizer, are stacked on top of Brady’s temporary living arrangement. When I wrap my fingers under the lid of a rusted tool chest, it digs into me, and I’m one hundred percent certain I’m going to need a tetanus shot after this. Sweat drips down my nose when I drag it over the doors threshold. Who knows how long it has sat on this porch, if you’d even want to call this a porch.
Damn it. One of its wheels is completely rusted, so it’s refusing to move any further. Maybe I can push-pull it through. I just need to wiggle it enough so I can knock it over on the finalfloorboard. Gritting my teeth, my muscles on fire, I finally get it and give it a pat after kicking it on its side. Letting my body rest against it for a minute, my dizziness starts to fade and I finally catch my breath before my knees hit the floor with a muted thud when I kneel. I can hear wet groans coming from him as he tries to move. Leaning down, my voice comes out in a rasp, making me sound like I’ve been smoking for ninety years. “You can try to break out, but you’ll have to bleed for it, Brady-boy.”
I make my way back to the house, stopping by the water hose to give my hands a quick rinse and to look over the cut from earlier, making sure it’s superficial. The last thing I need is for them to be out of commission right now. I dry them on my shirt and head inside.
When I turn the final corner and see Fenris in his study, exactly where I hoped he’d be, I push the door, slamming it open. The air stinks of leather, reminding me of his bible and his belt.
He’s leaning over his desk, the dim overhead light is casting his elongated shadow across the floor. He doesn’t even lift his head, he just keeps thumbing through a stack of papers, his fingers stained with ink. I don’t even lead into the questions I have for him. There isn’t any time for that. “You didn’t tell me Brady would be back today. You also failed to mention you—what you offered him.” I need him to hear my accusation for exactly what it is. “Brady. You told him he could marry Cat.” I laugh, but there isn’t a single thing funny in this goddamn room.
When he doesn’t answer right away, I stomp over to him. I remind myself to keep my hands caged so I don’t lunge at him and choke every ounce of whatever life he has in him out. He slowly turns one final page and looks up. His eyes gleam under his heavy lids. “I make offers to plenty of men.”
I place my hands together behind my back. My nails are short, yet somehow I’m clenching my fists so tight, they aredigging into my palms. Silence stretches between us, almost as taut as the zip tie I’m picturing wrapped around his throat. He sits, leaning back in his chair. My voice is steady. “Have you seen him today?” I watch him lace his fingers together over his chest.
“No, but I have a feeling you have.”
I don’t move when I ask, “You care if I have?”
“That depends.” He tilts his head. “Did something happen to him?” I feel the flash of heat rise in my chest, but I just shrug.
“That depends.”
He stands, pushing the chair back with a scraping sound that fills the air. He walks toward the fireplace and lifts a small iron poker to shift the wood. Flickers of red are thrown across his face, sharpening his features. Him and that fucking fireplace. It could be ninety degrees and he would still have a fire going, furthering my belief he crawled out of the pits of hell.
“If he’s dead…” His voice is suddenly so casual, like we’re discussing the weather. “Then the arrangement is void.” He looks back at me. “Then she’s free. Free to choose. Or perhaps… free to be chosen.”
He’s offering Cat up to me like she’s a reward. As if I need his permission. I cock my brow, taking another step closer. “What are you getting at?” Be a man about it for god’s sake. Say it, out loud. He shrugs, then nods his head.
“If that’s what you want.”
It is. Of course it is. I can already see it—her, standing in front of me at the altar. The same one I love to see her spread on. She wouldn’t be bound by anyone else’s will. No obligations, no restrictions. Just mine. “What do you want in return?” Fenris turns, the fire casting shadows in the hollows of his face.
“Loyalty,” he says simply. “Discretion. An understanding between men.” I stare at him, the faint hum of the record player circling through the room.
This isn’t loyalty. This is a trade. Did he offer Cat to Brady knowing what I would do when I found out? Why would he paint that kind of target on his back? What has Brady done?
“Why don’t you seem more concerned with where he is, or isn’t?”
He just shrugs. “If I don’t know, I can’t be held responsible.”
“Convenient.”
He lowers his eyes. “That’s what survival is, Son. Knowing when to look away.” The word “son” sounds so wrong coming from his mouth. I’ve been shaped by every choice I’ve ever made, especially those in opposition to him. I step forward, my heavy boots thudding with each step on the worn floor beneath us.
“So, that’s it? You’re what? Giving her to me?”
He forces out a humorless chuckle. “Absolutely not. I’m not giving you anything. But I’m not standing in the way, either. That’s the best gift I’ll ever allow you to have.” He walks back to his desk and takes a seat. There’s a moment of pause and I stand there, searching his face, trying to find the smallest crack.
I just need one to confirm that he’s full of shit, that he has an ulterior motive. But if it’s there, he’s mastered hiding it from me now. At this moment he just looks like a man who saw all of his pieces on the board and no longer cares how the game ends. Just as long as he keeps his hands clean. But I don’t trust him.
The air in the room settles. Nothing may have just been said out loud, but it didn’t need to be. Not for me to hear him loud and clear. I’ll handle Brady, and Cat’s free to be mine. Just an unspoken agreement for me to finish what we both knew I’ve already started. He pulls himself up to his desk and stiffens his back. “Close the door behind you and don’t make me regret this.” I turn and walk out, shutting the door behind me. I roll my shoulders back and a small smile spreads across my lips. The tension from the day is still in my muscles, and I really just want them to relax. Maybe soon they will.
