Dark Wish (House of Sin 1)

When I get inside, I immediately throw the door closed and stampede around the room. It feels as though I’m practically breathing fire. I reach for a glass of water, but that won’t quell the flames either, so I chuck it into the fireplace. I roar out loud and slam my fists onto the wooden door, enraged at myself.

How could I let myself slip that far?

She was supposed to be punished for her sins.

I wasn’t supposed to indulge in mine.

But fuck me, those pouty lips just begged to be used. And I succumbed …

I was supposed to teach her not to stray. To obey, submit, and dig deeper and deeper until she found the answers. Until she’d see just how much she’s sinned.

Instead, I was the one to lead her astray.

She thinks I’ll give her freedom? Wrong.

I’m the one to bring her hell.

I slam my fist against the door again and close my eyes, breathing out a few sighs to calm myself, but nothing works. Why? Because I know what must be done now.

After all, the sinner must be punished.

I lean away from the door and turn my head to glare at the fire churning at the other end of the room. Without thinking about it further, I rip open my shirt and tear it off my broad shoulders. Then I march toward the fireplace, grab one of the irons lying on the coals, and shove the burned end into the skin between my shoulder blades.

I roar out loud from the searing pain, the fire singeing its way through my skin. When I can’t take it anymore, I drop the metal onto the floor and go to my knees with it. Burning pain surges through my veins, my eyes blurry and watery. With a fistful of carpet, I take in a deep breath and let the pain ebb out of me like a wound seeping blood. Cathartic.

“Again?”

I stay put where I am, even though I know full well who just entered my room.

“Tobias,” I groan, still on edge from the scent of burned skin. My skin. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to tell you the new arrivals are here, but I could hear your screaming from downstairs,” he says as the door slowly falls into the lock. He sighs out loud, and I can hear from the tone he’s looked at the burn. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” I retort as I stand straight even though the wound is still burning into my flesh. I cannot show any weakness. Not even amongst my own.

“Nothing doesn’t warrant a punishment,” he replies, walking in farther. “C’mon. Spill it.”

I turn to face him. “It’s none of your concern.”

He eyes the hot iron and then the glass pieces scattered all around the fireplace. “Something the matter?”

“What do you want, Tobias?” I interject.

“I’m your right-hand man. Can’t I be worried about you?” He folds his arms. “Seems to me like you’re going in too deep.”

“I have it under control,” I reply, rubbing my eyes with my index finger and thumb. “Do we really have to talk about this again?”

“You’ve been acting out ever since—”

“Say it then. Say what’s on your mind,” I interrupt, slamming my fist onto the table. “I don’t need your pity.”

“She shouldn’t have been brought here,” he says.

I make a face and sigh. “You think that because I personally chose her over any other girl, I’m jeopardizing this House?”

“No, I know our guards are the best of the best. She cannot escape,” he replies.

“Then what is it?” I step toward him. “Are you afraid I chose the wrong one?”

“I trust your judgment,” he says, swallowing when I get up in his face.

“Your questions tell me that’s a lie,” I say.

A flicker of regret briefly flashes in his eyes.

“I’m worried about your health. About what this girl might do to you if you don’t go easy and do this gently,” he says.

“I know what I’m doing.” I grab the bottle of scotch from the table and drink from it without a glass. Tobias looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind, but I don’t care. I need this to numb the pain. “She needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Is this about you or about her?” he asks.

My eyes narrow. “I don’t have feelings if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then why do this?” He points at the iron.

“Because I claimed her,” I blurt out.

His eyes widen. “Already?”

“It is part of her submission,” I say as I pass by him to look at myself in the mirror and the added gashes on my back that will soon form a scar. “There is no other way.”

“Yes, there is,” he replies.

Our eyes connect through the mirror, and for a moment in time, I imagine striking him with the bottle of scotch in my hand.

“No,” I say.