Page 23 of House of Sin
He nodded, panting, his hands still strapped above his head. I watched his chest rise and fall, the red marks blooming on his wrists around the restraints. Beautiful, fragile, and temporary. Then I turned, letting the heavy door swing shut behind me, knowing that I’d be back for round two shortly.
12
IN THE NAME OF THE DADDY, THE BASTARD, AND THE HOLY WHORE
This town had always been unforgiving to those who dared to step outside its rigid expectations. The streets of Butte, lined with worn-down houses and gossipy neighbors, didn’t leave much room for 'difference', and I had become the embodiment of that difference.
“She lost them both, and now look at her,” one woman would mutter as she passed by in the market. “A widow can’t be left alone for long. She’ll find another way to fill the hole in her heart.”
“Did you hear? That brothel of hers, The Oily Cat, they’re committing all sorts of devious acts. I heard she’s got men holed up in there like rats in a trap,” another voice would hiss, harsher than the first. “She might’ve been a decent woman before, but now ... now she’s making deals with the devil himself.”
If they thought shame would stop me, they didn’t understand the type of woman I’d become.
I found myself lingering outside the brothel, watching the empty street stretch into the dark while the lights inside The Oily Cat spilled onto the pavement. The wind cut through my coat, but I barely noticed. I remembered a time when John and I had walked these very streets, side by side, our arms brushing together as we shared laughter and dreams. Back then, we had been accepted; now I was nothing more than a figure of scorn.
As I stood lost in thought, a voice pulled me from my daydream. It was the familiar biting tone of a local resident, an older woman whose face seemed to have been etched by bitterness.
“Funny, isn’t it?” The woman sneered, crossing her arms with all the authority of a schoolmarm. “You’re still here, running this place. I heard you were a good woman once. But now? I can hardly look at you without thinking of all the men you’ve led astray. How low you’ve sunk, Bernadette. Not that you care what anyone thinks, I suppose.”
I gave her a cool smile, before I took a step forward, meeting the woman’s eyes directly, refusing to back down. “Low, am I?” I asked, my voice measured. “Funny, I don’t feel particularly low. In fact, I feel morealivethan I ever have.”
The woman scoffed, “You’re nothing but a sinner, running this house of—”
“House of what?” I interrupted, arching an eyebrow, my lips curling into a small but wicked smile. “A house where women can take control of their own lives? Where we aren’t forced to bend to society’sexpectations? A place where we can make our own choices?”
The woman flinched, but I wasn’t done. “You see, it’s easy to throw stones when you’re hiding behind a veil of respectability. But I’m not the one whose husband needs topayto sleep around, am I?” I let the words settle for a moment before I moved closer, my voice just a shade sweeter. “Funny, isn’t it, how judgmental people get when their own lives aren’t as perfect as they pretend?”
I held my words back, letting the moment press against us, before I broke it. “It must be exhausting to carry so much judgment around,” I said, my tone composed enough it almost felt like a compliment, “but I don’t have the energy for it. Life’s too short.” I gave a slight shrug and walked away, leaving the woman behind with her own tangled thoughts.
I stepped into the warmth of the brothel, my heart racing with quiet triumph, my eyes scanning the room before I caught the familiar sight of Violet lounging with her long legs draped over the arm of the couch, as though the world had been designed for her comfort alone. She held a glass of brandy in one hand, swirlingit with idle elegance “You look pleased with yourself,” she chimed, eyes glinting.
I smiled, my earlier conversation fading into the background. “Just a little chat with the town’s moral compass,” I replied dryly, taking a seat at the bar.
Maeve glanced over from the far corner, where a pair of men were trying too hard to impress her. She barely gave them a nod.
“She’ll run home and pray for your soul,” Violet drawled.
I smirked. “She can pray all she wants. God stopped listening to prayers about me a long time ago.”
Elona let out a huff of laughter from her seat on the barstool. “If God ever did listen, I’d have been struck dead at least six times by now.”
“Seven,” Maeve corrected from across the room.
“I was being modest.” Elona tossed a peanut at Maeve, missing by a mile.
Maeve didn’t look up. “You were being delusional.”
Violet raised her glass. “To delusion. May it keep us charming and employed.”
I allowed myself a small smile as I slid behind the bar, offering Nell a quick five, which she graciouslyaccepted. The wood was warm from the gas lamps and the touch of too many desperate hands. I wiped down a glass out of habit more than need, while over in the corner, someone played a lazy piano tune that didn’t match the mood, but didn’t ruin it either.
Then the front door creaked open on its stubborn hinges, letting in a gust of cool night air, and with it stepped a man in a fitted vest. He was tall and broad-shoulders, and his cheeks were tinged with a flush that might have come from whiskey, nerves, or maybe both. He paused just inside the threshold and scanned the room like he wasn’t sure if he was brave or stupid for walking through our doors tonight.
Elona’s smile sharpened into something dangerous. “Oh, look,” she said, sliding off her stool with a feline grace, “tonight’s donation to the church of sin has arrived.”
He held his hat in one hand, the brim damp and misshapen, clutched tight as if it might shield him from whatever he’d just walked into. I watched the subtle twitch of his fingers, the way his shoulders hovered somewhere between tension and defeat, and I could almost hear the thoughts rattling around inhis head:Turn around. Leave. You don’t belong here.But his feet told a different story. Planted firm on the warped floorboards, they’d already made the choice his mind was too scared to voice. Poor bastard didn’t even realize the hardest part wasn’t walking in, it was surviving what came next and Elona was already halfway to him.
“Evenin’, sugar,” she purred. “You look like you wandered in by mistake. Lost your way to confession, maybe?”
