Page 62 of House of Sin
Each word felt like a blow, hitting me harder than any sermon I had ever delivered. My chest tightened and my heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else.Do you truly understand sin?The question cut through me like a scalpel, the cold truth of it unraveling the neat and tidy bow I had wrapped around my faith. Did I understand sin? I had spent so many years condemning others, warning my flock about the dangers of temptation. But had I ever truly confronted my own?
The answer came too quickly, too easily.No.I had lived in fear of my own humanity, burying my deepest desires so far beneath the surface that I had nearly forgotten they existed at all. But Violet’s letter, her words,were forcing open that dark, hidden place, forcing me to face what I’d long denied.
The letter continued:
I can offer you something you cannot find in your church, or in your sermons. Something far more thrilling, more indulgent. I am waiting for you at The Oily Cat, Father, the place you’ve avoided with such determination. But I know you’ve been drawn to it. You want to come to me. You NEED to come to me.
The words on the page dragged heat through me, and a slow pulse between my thighs answered the invitation’s alluring promise.
Tonight, Father. When the sun sets, come. When you walk through that door, know this—I will be waiting for you, ready to show you the pleasures you’ve been denying yourself. And when you arrive, you will understand that the line between sin and salvation is far more blurred than you ever imagined.
Yours,
Violet
My hands were shaking, the letter crumpling in my grasp as I fought to breathe, my chest tight with conflicting emotions.The line between sin and salvation. Was it truly as blurred as she claimed? Could it be that my whole life had been a futile exercise in denial, that I had been living a lie, refusing to acknowledge the very desires that had made me human? The temptation to cross that line, to step into the world that she was offering, pressed in on me relentlessly.
I rose unsteadily, my legs barely holding me as I paced the small room. My body shook as I took a step toward the door, the decision crashing over me.
It wasn’t a question of if anymore, but when. And I wanted her. I wanted hernow. As I reached for my coat, a restless energy surged through me, coiling tightly in my gut. The thought of finally touching her, of feeling her body beneath my hands, sent a thrill through me that I didn’t bother to fight. I knew that the moment I stepped through the door of The Oily Cat, everything would change. There would be no turning back.
With a shaky breath, I opened the door and stepped out into the fading light. The sun was setting; and the line between sin and salvation had never felt thinner.
46
…THE BETTER TO SEE YOU WITH, MY DEAR
HIM
Sweat slicked my spine as I paused in the doorway of The Oily Cat, my grip tightening against the rough wood hoping it might steady me. One step. That was allit would take.
Or I could walk away. There was still time. I could still return to the life I’d sworn to live by. But Violet’s face haunted me. She unraveled every promise I’d ever made. Her face burned behind my eyes, all softness and temptation, all the things I had no right to want. No right to touch.
Come to me.
The words curled around my spine, tugging me forward before I could stop myself. I knew better. Ishouldhave known better. But want burned hotter than reason ever could. So, I took a shuddering breath and stepped through the door.
The parlor breathed with life, charged with a restless, electric anticipation as women in vibrant dresses glided past, their laughter weaving through smoke and sound while men leaned into their drinks, voices low and animated. The entire room pulsed with a primal rhythm, as though pleasure itself had taken shape.
At the bar, no one spared me a second glance. A man in the corner flicked his attention my way before turning back to his drink, and a woman in a loose red dress lifted her glass, her gaze skimming over me.
“Father Frederick!” Bernadette’s voice sliced through the noise, pulling me from my thoughts. She moved through the crowd, her dress flowing behind her like a dark, liquid shadow. Her eyes glittered with a keen, almost predatory light.
I froze, caught between shame and something dangerously close to hunger.
Bernadette flashed a smile, her voice lowering to a purr. “Oh, Father, we certainly weren’t expectingyoutonight.” Her eyes roamed over me, lingering with amusement, like there was a secret she knew that I wasn’t privy to. I knew she could see my discomfort, could feel the tension radiating off me.
“I-I was just passing by,” I stammered, the lie dry and pathetic as it left my lips. My pulse raced, and I heard the absurdity of my own words. Of course I wasn’t just passing by; I was here forher.
Bernadette’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she leaned in, the scent of her perfume overwhelming and sweet. “Oh, don’t be coy, Father. We both know why you’re here.” She tilted her head toward the stairs. “Violet is waiting for you upstairs. She’s been expecting you . . . therealyou.”
At her name, something inside me clenched. Violet’s face flashed behind my eyes, her smile, her youth, that unbearable beauty. She had become everything I’d sworn to avoid. And now, she was waiting.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whispered. “This place . . . it’s a house of sin.”
Bernadette cackled, a soft, tinkling sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Sin?” She mused, almost lovingly. “What is sin, Father, but a label we put on our desires? Here, we don’t call it sin, we call it freedom.” She straightened, a sly smile curling at her lips. “Freedom to explore, to let go. Let go, even if it is just for one night. Come now, Violet is waiting for you.”
Her words, sweet and venomous, sank into me, and without thinking, I let her lead me up the stairs, my feet moving on their own accord. Every step seemed to hammer in my mind, carrying me toward a choice I knew was inevitable. The noise of the parlor faded below us, the laughter and chatter muffled by the thick walls. Up here, the air felt cooler, and every door we passed seemed to vibrate with unspoken things: desire, confession, pleasure, and loss.
