Unleashing Sin - A. M. Wilson Page 0,22
but I better get used to it. Either that or I need to sell the fucking place.
“Sinclair.”
“Alex. Preston Brooks, here. Spoke with Elias this morning. I wanted to pass on my condolences and offer my services to you. I’m not a probate attorney, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look over some things for you or pass you on to a colleague of mine.”
I lean back in the office chair and prop one ankle over the other knee. Using the ball of my foot, I spin the chair slightly while I take a swig of beer. “Appreciate the offer, but I have it under control. The will was clear; everything left to me, nobody else around to contest it. I’m good.”
“Good. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”
“Will do.”
The line stays on as the silence stretches between us.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. First your sister and now your father. It’s such a shame. And his house? Any idea who would do such a thing?”
My fingers clench around the bottle in my hand, sloshing some cold beer over the side. “I have my suspicions.”
Preston suddenly clears his throat. “Right. I bet you do. I best be going. As I said, reach out at any time.”
Without waiting for my reply, he hangs up.
The call was brief, but enough words were said to resurface the pain. The anger. The doubt.
My loss is a shame? What’s a shame is my pop takin’ a bullet at the ripe age of fifty-nine. He might have been a complete asshole my entire life, but the one thing he did right was trying to look for Molly. And he did try. For years, he threw his money and his time at anyone who could help. I don’t know if it was the guilt—after the shit childhood he gave us, for Molly to disappear and not even have a fulfilling adulthood—but that man gave his dying breath trying to make things right.
That’s a damn shame.
And what’s a shame is my fucking sister disappearing into thin air after I drove her off with my behavior. It was my life’s mission to take care of her, and I got lax for one fucking argument. I let her run off angry, hurt and alone. No, not let. I ran her off. If it weren’t for me, she would have stayed home, gone to her room, and cried. But I had to push. I had to make sure she felt every ounce of weight on my shoulders because I thought it was fair. Fuck fair. Life ain’t fucking fair. If it were, murderous, raping bastards wouldn’t exist and a woman could walk down the street in a goddamn skirt and heels without worrying about her safety.
The rage curls my hands into fists and steals the words from my mind. Alcohol isn’t strong enough to stem the flow of pain tonight. Who knew one thirty-second phone call could flip the switch from fine to completely fucked up?
Who am I kidding? I’m never fine.
I slump down in the rolling chair and swipe my cell from the desk. My feet tap restlessly against the floor as I scroll down to my contact and press CALL. As I wait for the line to connect, I try to come up with the words I need and slow my rapid heartbeat. All this anger is going to throw me into full-blown cardiac arrest.
“Kane.”
“Sin.”
“Eleven thirty at the loading dock,” he grumbles, so low I can hardly make out the words. The location is familiar, so I don’t need to ask for clarification.
“Count me in.”
“Back door. Give your name to Andre.”
“Yo, Kane?” I call, sensing he’s about to hang up.
“What?”
The fingers of my left hand drum against my knee. “Biggest fucker you’ve got.”
“Again? You got some psychiatric shit going on?”
My voice lowers ominously. “We’ve all got our demons.”
After the call, I grab my supplies from the bottom desk drawer. I moved them there after I realized that bitch isn’t Molly, and my life isn’t going to change. The only improvement is I have this office to take care of my shit in private.
I tie the tourniquet on my bicep, just tight enough to force the veins to the surface. After I prepare the needle, I plunge it into the exposed vein and welcome the rush of euphoria. Fucking finally, I can relax.
***
I’m pretty sure Andre is short for Andre the Giant because that guy at the back door was a fucking tank. I didn’t recognize him,