Page 268 of Sinister

He smirks at me, a mocking smile that sends shivers down my spine.

“Snowden sent word the other day. He told me all about Leah’s pregnancy—the fact that she’s been spoiled by the devil. He implied you were involved in this monstrous business, too. I did not believe it at first. But you have been acting strange, talking back when you haven’t before.”

He shakes his head in disgust.

“He proposed that I allow Leah to send a message to you asking for help and see what happens. He warned me not to intervene and let things play out. And oh, how they’ve played out.”

Was the entire thing a trap? I should have been more suspicious of that message considering my father never allows me to receive any type of packages directly. I should have questioned it more. It seems Snowden had more information about Arnoult and Sin than previously thought.

But how could he have suspected me of being involved with either of them?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I add in a low voice.

“Snowden is dead. His house is on fire as we speak. And you . . .” His nose wrinkles in disgust as he pushes the gas lamp farther into the room, illuminating my figure. “Blood spatters.”

I look down, my eyes widening as I note that there are, indeed, blood stains on my dress.

“Son, grab her,” he commands.

My brother comes forward, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the door. I try to fight him off, but he secures both my hands behind my back like I were a goddamn convict.

“This is madness, Father. Surely you realize this—” Before the words are out of my mouth, he backhands me.

My head reels to the side, and I taste blood from my lower lip.

“Shut up, you whore!” he snarls.

“Father—”

“Take her!”

My brother pulls me into the hallway, following my father and the other men.

Good Lord, this is really happening!

“Sin,” I whisper, though it’s in vain. I know he cannot hear me. He’s probably busy looking for Arnoult. But once he’s done, he will come for me, right?

That means I must hold out until he finds me. I must⁠—

The other men are a small distance behind us when we reach the top of the stairs. Seeing a small opening, I push into my brother. His back hits the balustrade, and he winces in pain, momentarily letting go of me.

If I run fast enough, perhaps I can get away.

I pivot toward the stairs at the same time as my brother grabs my skirt, holding on to me. I slap his hands aside, but then he reaches for my sleeves, at which point I bite his hand. Hard.

He lets out a loud yelp, and instinctively, he slaps me. I don’t think he realizes his own strength because I momentarily see stars. My feet teeter at the top of the stairs, and my sense of balance becomes nonexistent.

His eyes widen in realization—or I think they do. I cannot be sure what happens in that split second after he slaps me except that I’m falling.

My body hits the first steps, the hard wood digging into my flesh and bones. My mouth opens on a soundless moan of pain.

I roll over, and the pain multiplies as my body hits the steps again and again. My breath is knocked out of me. I can no longer tell what’s happening around me except for the fact that at one point, I’ve stopped moving.

I’m on the ground, at the bottom of the stairs, my body broken and bent out of place. My neck feels stiff, and I cannot move it. But it’s my legs that are the worst. One of them is broken beneath me, and every little movement makes me want to howl in pain.

I’ve been wailing, I realize. For moments on end, I’ve been crying out in pain from my injuries, until my throat is too sore to make any more sound.

“Fucking hell, boy! What did you do?” Father sputters.