Page 6 of Darling Sinners

A third finger joins the first two, and his thumb continues rubbing my clit as he picks up a faster pace, and now I am convinced. Murdering a bunch of bullies is a great idea. He is right. I am a genius for coming up with the plan, and oh God, I am about to actually come.

“Oh God, don’t stop,” I mumble and sink into my seat, propping my feet on it to give him more access.

“What was that?” he questions with a grin, but doesn’t stop; he continues moving his fingers faster and faster, and when my orgasm hits, I have almost forgotten my own name.

Right now, I would agree to anything he would ask of me. Rob a bank? Yes, sir. Kill a few people? Sure. Host an orgy on their corpses? Maybe. That one might be a dealbreaker... or not. He is really good with his hands. I am sure I can be convinced on that one, too.

Silas retrieves his fingers and brings them to his lips, sucking my juices from them. “You’re tasty, little sister.” Fucking asshole. He will be the end of me, or my prison sentence, or both.

“You can’t shut me up with a finger inside my pussy every time I don’t agree with what you want, brother.” Silas’s face twitches because even though he calls me ‘sister’ all the time, he hates it when I call him my brother. He despises it.

I never understood the reason behind it. For the longest time in our lives, that was what he was. My brother. My twin. The person who shared everything with me. In a sense, he still is, on paper at least. Because I don’t think sharing a bed with your brother should be considered normal. Mother was right; it’s a sin to bed your blood. But he isn’t my blood, and I think these days my morality is on the gray side of the color palette.

He seems fine introducing me as his sister to people with his hand on my ass, as if that won’t get some looks, but the moment I dare to acknowledge the dreadful reality that we are indeed siblings, even if it’s just adoptive, then he gets angry and frustrated. Before he goes silent again. Because that’s how Silas reacts to life. He gets angry and then he shuts down.

But it’s not the normal ‘I am upset’ type of shutdown. It’s the quiet, ‘I am going to end the world’ type of shutdown psychopaths do. You know the one I am talking about. We've all had one of those in our lives. Some of us more than one. That doesn’t stop you from loving them... but it does teach you how to know when to shut the fuck up. And now? It’s one of those times.

“It was more like three fingers, but who’s counting,” he says instead, and now I know I am truly fucked this time.

Because silent Silas means plotting revenge, and overall just being a little spiteful—I can deal with that. Sarcastic Silas means a punishment will follow, and that usually doesn’t end well. I pass my fingers over the scar on my inner thigh. The spot where he once carved his name into my skin because I dared tell him he doesn’t own me. He made sure I knew he does indeed own me.

I remember that night so vividly. It started when he joked about me daring to leave him, and when I had the nerve to continue the banter—which I will admit I used to do a lot. Until that night, at least. His eyes got darker, almost as if the blue inside them had vanished completely. His whole body language went from loving me to hating me. I could tell. He took his favorite knife, the one with the black blade that I bought him for his birthday when we were seventeen. Before we were in love—or before we were openly in love, to be more accurate.

At first, I thought he was joking. He couldn’t be serious. But he was. He passed the blade over the flame of the candle that is always lit on my nightstand before he used it on my flesh. Slow cuts followed. Blood flowed. And from that day on, I never responded back to his sarcasm when he looked like that.

The scar has always been a reminder to keep my silence. And it will always be one. Because the fear I felt that night was rival to the one Mother made me feel through years and years of torture. The scar is almost as prominent as the ones shaped like crosses across the same spot. It blends in among them. His torture and hers, in the same place, decorate my body with scars of horror.

That’s what I’m doing tonight, too. I’m not responding. I am staying silent. Because the scar on my thigh was enough of a lesson. One I will never be as much of a fool as to forget its meaning. Silence is rewarded. Clever remarks aren’t.

The car stops, and Silas puts it in park. We are here. Kyle’s party. I can see the house across the street already filled with life. People partying, music blasting, faces I recognize. Faces that will hate me by the end of the night. And others who are going to be terrified of me. They are drinking as if their nightmare isn’t about to start. Poor, ignorant bastards.

6

Silas

As we exit the car and cross the street, my eyes take in the crowd. The doors of the house are open; people are filling the yard and porch. I can see inside, and I already know everyone on the list is here. But I am specifically looking for one person. The host himself and his lovely girlfriend, Chloe. The one who caused so much pain to Sage when we were still living in this town.

You see, once upon a time, in another life where we still were more siblings than whatever we are now, Sage used to be so fragile. A broken girl, easy to toss around and bully. I tried to be around as much as I could, but I wasn’t always. Rumours were already circling around about us anyway, and even though it wasn’t until we turned eighteen that our relationship changed, people still had noticed. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the Vale twins were a little too fond of each other, if you count the fact that I ignored every girl who tried to hook up with me. Or the fact that I dated Diana, Chloe’s best friend, for a while without giving her even a speck of my attention. Because I couldn’t offer her that luxury; it belonged to Sage. Always.

As if she had been summoned by my thoughts, I see her park her car basically on Kyle’s yard, almost running over a couple that was talking on the edge of the lawn. She doesn’t care. The doors of the car open, and there they are. Both of them. Chloe exits the passenger seat, and Diana follows her right after. She doesn’t bother to properly park her car, because who cares—they still think they own everyone here. And maybe they do. Maybe nothing has changed since high school, even if it’s been years since that hell ended.

“She still looks good,” Sage mumbles next to me.

I turn to her and put my arm around her waist, pulling her closer to me. My lips brush hers, but I don’t kiss her. Instead, I hold her close for a moment long enough to ignite whispers around us. Just this. A glimpse of affection. It is enough to make everyone stare. That’s the curse of being the Vale twins. Always at the center of attention, even when we don’t wish for it. Even when we despised it.

Over the years, somewhere along the way of being tortured and cast upon, Sage learned to gloat in it. She thrives in hate. I have always admired that transformation. My woman transformed from a fragile, terrified little girl who did everything in her power to please a mother who never truly loved her into a woman everyone should fear—including me.

Even though I am the one who seems like a terrifying asshole between the two of us, and maybe I am a little in reality, Sage is the one you should actually fear. Because the silent ones are the ones who hold the most power. The ones who can end you. I can lash out and cause chaos. I can cause some damage in the way of my wrath being unleashed into the world. But Sage? Sage will burn everything in her path, including me, if she needs to, in order to survive or protect what matters most. And in her eyes, what matters most are the innocent. Something she doesn’t think we are. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she sacrifices herself in the way of saving a soul she believes is worth saving.

I am not a fool. I know she fears me most of the time. But I think the reason is that she hasn’t yet discovered how dangerous she truly is herself. It’s a power that is hidden under years of trauma. It’s what keeps her going even when her mind tells her to stop. I always admired that about her. And who wouldn’t? A woman who lost everything and almost bled out in the process is standing now next to me with a knife strapped to her thigh, tucked inside her fishnet stockings, ready to claim her revenge from those who wronged her.

The whispers we have always heard are now growing louder around us, but this time we are provoking them. “Look at the Vale twins,” one girl says to her friend in a hushed tone, but she is too close for her words to pass unnoticed.

“I told you they were fucking,” her friend replies, and that response makes me laugh. Because it wasn’t true when the rumors started, but it sure is now.

I press Sage’s body against mine before I whisper against her lips, “You look better, dear sister.” But it’s not a whisper at all.

In fact, I would rather shout it from the damn rooftop if I didn’t know she would be upset with me. I would love for everyone here to know she is fucking mine, and by the end of tonight they will know it. Because she has always been mine, and everyone who hurt her will pay with blood and terror. “Let’s go, angel.” I give her a squeeze on her ass before I release her and walk a few steps away from her, just enough to look at her. She is stunning. My sweet girl.