Unleashing Sin - A. M. Wilson Page 0,15
button but can’t seem to let go of the phone. The plastic feels flimsy in my large hand. My other hand scrubs roughly over my mouth, the callouses of my palm abrading my lips.
“Goddammit!” I roar, my phone flying out of my hand with the force of a bullet. It bounces off the opposite wall, and several pieces go flying.
My hungover body stumbles backward into the rolling desk chair. No amount of slow breathing can calm the storm raging in me. I feel molten inside. Everything I touch is destroyed faster than I can pick the pieces up from the last disaster. It’s only a matter of time until I take down the remainder of the people around me. Richard, Elias, that girl. One by one, the devil inside me will destroy their lives. It might be so slow we don’t notice, but it’ll happen. I can count on it.
I can sit here all damn day and wallow in self-pity, or I can go see if there’s anything left of my father’s life. Even though I know there isn’t. This wasn’t an accident. The bastards who’re set on destroying my family are behind this, which means the bar is probably next.
The rumble of my bike cuts through the still air when I pull up to the remnants of my pop’s place. Even the birds don’t chirp here. The only sounds are the firefighters spraying hot spots around the property and the spectators standing around gawking.
Nothing but charred, blackened earth remains where the 6,500 sq. ft. home used to reside. The thick smell of burning wood and smoke hangs heavily.
At first, I can’t even approach. I don’t even leave my bike. I sit with my dark shades covering my eyes and take in the now-empty lot. The ashes of my sister’s life scattered about. The people watching in gross curiousness at someone else’s misfortune. Firefighters and police block the roads to keep the crowd back. Over everything else, I can just make out the muttering about the homeowners. People are wondering if they were trapped inside and succumbed to the flames.
Wouldn’t that be fitting for me? I can almost say I don’t wish that were true.
Attention is drawn when I rise from the seat of the bike. Heads turn, and the whispers cease. I don’t want to make a scene, but I wouldn’t be Sin if I didn’t. I’m a powerful man with a plethora of tattoos, coupled with the beard and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, makes me one scary motherfucker.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea, allowing me a clean pass. It’s when I hit the yellow tape that some sorry ass officer steps in my way.
“You need to step back.”
I level him with a gaze, and even with the shades covering my eyes, he cowers. I nod my head in the direction of the rubble. “My house.”
“You’re Nicolai Sinclair?”
“His son. He died last week, makin’ this my house.”
He straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin. “I’m going to need some proof of that.”
“Man, I do not carry his death certificate in my back fuckin’ pocket.”
“Let him through, Davis. For fuck’s sake.” That voice I recognize, and my rage decreases marginally.
The man who’s like a second father approaches and gestures me through.
“Richard,” I say with a chin lift.
“Yeah, you’re welcome.” He stops us a few feet away from the officer. “Sorry about your loss. I know there were some valuable memories inside.”
“Yup,” I grunt, crossing my arms over my chest. My shaded eyes glance back at the destruction once more. The sight of it churns my stomach. “Know what happened?”
He sighs, the kind that can only come from an old man who’s seen too much throughout his life. My gaze swings back to him. “A detonation of some kind. Neighbors report hearing an explosion around two in the morning before flames could be seen sky-high. Didn’t hear about it until I got into the station this morning.”
“What are the chances the bar’s next?” My concern isn’t for the bar. The place is going to suck all my fucking time up anyway. My concern is for the poor souls who plant their asses on my stools night after night, and what would happen if they were unlucky enough to be there when the place exploded.
“I’ll keep an ear to the ground, but I don’t think it’s a big concern. They didn’t know who your father was from what I can tell. My guess is they took out the address on his driver’s license