Page 27 of My Forever Sin

“You know she only wants what’s best for you. St Anton’s wasn’t a punishment; it was a lesson.”

“Of course.”

“And Heath—you mean your stepfather, right?”

“Yeah.” I stumble across my next words. “It’ll—it’ll just take me a, um, a while to get used to calling him that.” I force a laugh.

I go to grab the chalice next but realise it’s full as a tiny bit of wine spills onto my hand. I place it down on the smaller table, then grab one of the small napkins from the holder to wipe off the alcohol as Michaels continues praising my mother. The white napkin stains brown as I swipe it across the spillage, it makes me pause and an eyebrow to draw into the middle of my forehead. I’ve seen spilled wine many times, and it’s definitely never been brown.

“But you.” A wrinkled hand lands on the altar table, causing me to drop the napkin and finally meet the priest’s eyes. “You are something else, Jordan.” He studies my face, my outfit. He makes me want to shrivel up and hide with the way he’s looking at me. I’m not unfamiliar with the look. In fact, I’m way too accustomed to it when I shouldn’t be.

“Father Michaels, I’m sorry, I—can we—” I hate having to act like this meek little thing when all I want to do is grip this fuckers balls and twist them off his body. “I really need to get this cleaned up before Hea—my stepdad comes to collect me again.”

His face starts morphing into displeasure, hand reaching out towards me. I make a show of cowering away from it.

Sister Mary slaps the cane onto my knuckles. Pain radiates across my arms, but I grit my teeth. Reacting only makes the punishment worse.

The church doors open, flooding in grey light and the gentle patter of rain. Because the world, apparently, hates me, Kain swaggers in, hands perched in the pockets of his leather jacket, cold eyes already narrowed on us. It’s like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to enter. He followed Heath and I in his car, as per Heath’s instructions, but he refused to get out.

I use the distraction to rip away from Michaels, rushing another candle to the small table.

“What are you doing with my stepsister, Michaels?” Kain’s low tone rumbles through the church. I blow out a steadying breath, squeezing my eyes shut. I don’t need him to be my knight in shining armour. I’m more than capable of handling this myself. That's all I’ve been doing recently. That’s what that church-prison taught me to do.

“Kain, you’re a rare sighting in here,” Father Michaels comments, tone casual and factual.

“And I’m about to become a more frequent one. What are you doing with my stepsister?”

The muscles in my lips scrunch at him calling me that.

“I was just helping Jordan with cleaning. She looked like she could use it.”

“Oh, really?” There’s a mockery in Kain’s voice that causes me to turn. He’s standing on the opposite side of the altar table. His knuckles press into the white linen, eyes murdering Michaels on the spot.

“Remember, Kain, you’re in the house of the Lord. Whatever you do here, He will remember it, and you will not be pardoned for your wrongdoings.” Michaels straightens, folding his arms in front of him.

“Maybe I enjoy sinning.” Kain’s eyes fix to me then, a dark smile playing on his face.

“Very well.” The priest spins on his heel, brushing down the material of his suit and starting towards the sacristy. It sounds like this is a daily interaction for them. That, or Michaels is scared of him. “I will leave you to it. I trust you’ll take good care of your sister while I’m gone.”

“Oh, I’m going to take very good care of her.” Kain’s teeth pull at his bottom lip as a door clicks shut.

Stupid dick.

I turn, opening the small oak wardrobe with shaky hands.

“Are you not happy to see your stepbrother?” The murmur of his voice in my ear startles me at the same time as his hands snake around my waist. For a split second, it feels domesticated. Natural. Nostalgic.

Nope.

I grab his hands, catching my teeth marks on his palm as I make sure to dig my nails into his skin, and pry them away from my waist, but his presence still lingers behind me.

He’s nothing but the air around you.

An icy finger slides into the waistband of my skirt, sending cold shivers skittering across my lower back as he tugs me gently. “You can pretend I’m not here, but we both know you feel me.”

White linen. Spare candles. Hollow wooden wardrobe.

I filter through the piles of white tablecloths, my teeth harassing the inside of my cheek.