Page 48 of House of Sin
Finn’s eyes narrowed, darkening with fury, and with one swift motion he drew a knife from his belt, brandishing it with a brutal flick of his wrist. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, boy. I did all the work while you stood there like a coward.”
My breath caught in my throat as I watched the knife glint under the dim light. My mind screamed for me to step back, to retreat into the shadows, to avoid getting tangled in the mess of sin that seemed to drip from every corner of this town.
But I couldn’t, not now. I teetered on the edge of madness, torn between the moral code I had sworn to uphold and the darker urge pulling at me. Every instinct screamed for me to stop the violence, yet some buried part of me wanted to see it unfold, to watch these men destroy each other. It was an impulse I could neither deny nor explain. Instead, I stepped forward, the rosary clinking softly in my coat pocket.
“Fellas,” I said evenly, stepping closer, “what seems to be the issue here?”
The men turned, startled. Finn’s knife hovered inches from the smaller man’s throat, trembling in his grip before he took a step back. “Mind your business, Father,” Finn spat. “This little bastard thinks he can steal from me.”
“I didn’t steal shit!” The smaller man snapped, the blood from his nose dripping down past his mouth. “You’re drunk and she didn’t even want you, Finn. You got us both thrown out before I even had my turn.”
Something ugly twisted across Finn’s face at that, a flicker of humiliation giving way to possession and rage.
I stepped closer, the gas lanterns casting an uneasy glow across his flushed face. “So that’s what this is about?” I asked quietly. “A wounded ego?”
Finn sneered. “It’s a brothel, Father. What the hell do you think it’s about?”
“You think paying for a woman gives you ownership over her?” My voice stayed calm. “That she owes you something because you had coin in your pocket?”
“She sells it,” Finn snapped.
I tilted my head slightly. “And yet she still refused you.”
The smaller man barked out a laugh, and Finn’s grip tightened around the knife.
“Finn, just leave it alone.” The smaller man muttered, though there was still a trace of mockery in his voice now.
For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze, and the air vibrated with the tension of the standoff. In that charged silence I could hear the darkness whispering to me, urging me to embrace it, to let go of my self-control and become the very thing I had spent years preaching against.
As Finn glared at me, the blade glinting ominously in the flickering light, I grinned. It was acold, lifeless parody of a smile, but I had made a choice. Maybe violencewasthe answer.
32
A DEVIL ON MY LEFT
HIM
Blood shimmered on the smaller man’s chin as he stood with his hands raised in defense, his chest heaving while Finn kept the knife lifted between them, knuckles white around the handle and the blade trembling ever so slightly. I could see it in him, that animal part he had probably spent years pretending did not exist. That was the thing about men like Finn: give them just enough rope and the illusion of control, and they would always hang themselves with it in the end.
I stood at the very edge of the light, where its reach was weak and the night was thicker, watching and waiting, feeding off the electricity between them like a starving man. There was no righteousness left in me now, only the undeniable urge to see how far this would go once fear and humiliation finished stripping away whatever civility remained.
“You think I won’t do it?” Finn growled, the knife wavering inches from the other man’s throat. “I’ll gut you right here.”
The smaller man trembled but held his ground, his eyes flicking toward me for the briefest moment as though searching for intervention, for someone willing to stop this before it crossed the line.
I offered him none. “You’re both pathetic,” I said flatly, my voice carrying easily through the alley. “Drunk, bleeding, tearing each other apart over a woman who wanted neither of you.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Finn snapped, spitting blood onto the cobblestones.
“Oh, I do.” I stepped forward then, allowing the lantern light to catch the white of my collar. “I’ve seen men like you claw their way into places likeThe Oily Cat, convinced that desire makes them powerful, that wanting something badly enough somehow entitles them to it.” A slow smile pulled at my mouth, cold and deliberate. “But you’re nothing, and she saw that the moment you opened your mouth.”
Finn’s jaw tightened while the smaller man swallowed hard, shame flickering across his face.
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” I continued, almost conversational now. “Not her. Pride. Two boys so terrified of being laughed at that you would rather spill blood than admit you were unwanted.”
The smaller man stepped forward first, fists curling at his sides. “You stand there judging us while you hide in the shadows.” His voice shook with embarrassment. “Maybe you’re worse than either of us.”
I tilted my head, studying him with detached fascination. “Maybe,” I said calmly, turning my gaze toward Finn. “But I’m not the one holding a knife.”
