Page 1 of Protected by the Sinner (The Sinner’s Touch #2)
At Fifteen
Seattle – Washington
Past
An eternal night and the sound of gunfire.
There’s no light. I can’t see anything.
The nightmare is always the same, even though it’s just darkness, blurs, and pain.
The older I get, the more frequent it becomes, to the point where I pray for a single night of uninterrupted sleep.
I sigh, mustering the courage to get up.
I could stay in bed a little longer today, since soccer practice at school was canceled. I don’t even know why I still go—soon enough, we’ll probably move again.
I hear my mother singing as she prepares my breakfast.
She’s not usually happy, especially when he’s home, but she seems to love mornings. All of them. I don’t remember waking up even once to find her sad at dawn. And God knows she’d have plenty of reasons to be.
But her mood shifts as the day goes on, as if reality gradually reminds her that her life isn’t the fairytale she once told me she dreamed of at my age.
I stare at the ceiling of my room. It’s a pretty nice room for a family with no steady income.
Actually, do we even have any income? I have no idea. I just see the money coming in with no explanation for the lifestyle we lead.
It’s not the first time I’ve wondered about it.
Are we rich? Why do we move so much?
I have way more questions than answers.
When I was younger, it didn’t seem so bad. It felt like some kind of adventure where, at any moment, we might wake up in a whole new place in the blink of an eye.
My mother didn’t seem to mind either. She always said that what really mattered was if I was happy.
If there’s one thing I know for sure in this world, it’s how much she loves me.
Just like I expected, five minutes later, she knocks on the door and brings a tray with all my favorite breakfast foods.
“Mom, you didn’t have to. I’m too old for breakfast in bed.”
“You’re never too old to be loved.”
I smile, even if I don’t feel like it.
She’s a good woman. Devoted to me and to that miserable man she’s still married to.
My father.
The man I’m supposed to love and respect, but I can’t do either.
I hate him for the way he treats her.
“No practice today?”
“Nope. Coach gave the team the day off. His wife’s having a baby.”
“May God bless her!” she says.
“Did you want more kids?” I never considered that before, but now that I think about it, my mom seems like she was born to care for others.
She looks at me, and her face turns red.
Why? It was a simple question.
“Yes, but God didn’t bless me with more children. I’m happy with just you.”
I don’t push it, realizing my question has upset her.
Does she have a physical condition that’s kept her from having more kids? If so, she’s never showed any sign.
I’m not really that hungry, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I eat everything she brought.
“Was the omelet good? And the bacon, was it crispy the way you like?”
“Yeah. Everything was delicious. I’d been dreaming about it,” I lie.
She walks over and kisses my forehead, picks up the tray, and tells me to get up or I’ll be late for my 9 a.m. class.
I watch her leave and think about what’ll happen to her once I move out and she’s stuck with that bastard. Because as soon as I turn eighteen, I’m not living under the same roof as that piece of shit anymore.
I love my mom. Maybe not as much as she deserves, but I do my best to be a good son, trying to balance out the fact that her husband is pure garbage.
Sometimes I feel guilty, thinking I don’t have enough affection for her.
I can’t explain it, but it’s like something inside me stops me from hugging or kissing her the way she deserves.
I’ve tried to change that, but I can’t, so I just pretend she’s the most important person in the world to me, when in truth, no one holds that place.
New York
Twenty Years Later
“Forgive me,” my mother says, and all I can think is how incredible it is that she can still speak despite being so weak.
I feel my face tighten with tension.
She’s dying, and there’s nothing I can do to save her.
And why is she asking for forgiveness? She did nothing wrong. She was a victim of the bastard I called father for so long.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Mom. Don’t strain yourself. I don’t care about words.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. “You don’t understand, Beau. He killed your family. You’re not our biological son.”
I don’t take her words seriously. She must be delirious. I look around the luxurious hospital room, searching for a nurse, but no one’s nearby. I start to stand from the chair I placed by the bed. But before I can move away, she grabs my arm.
“No, Beau. Listen to me, son. I don’t have much time left, and I need to tell you the truth or God won’t welcome me into heaven.”
“Mom—”
“I’m not crazy. I know what I’m saying. He destroyed your family.”
“Who destroyed my family? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Landon.”
“Landon’s a worthless scumbag, but he’s my father. Your husband. How could he have destroyed my family when you two are the ones who gave me life?” I know we don’t have any relatives. Her words have to be a result of her condition.
“Come closer, sweetheart.”
I return to her side, reluctantly. I hate goodbyes, and I know that’s what this is. In her mind, I’m still a boy and she thinks she has to protect me.
She squeezes my hand as soon as I’m near her. “I need to confess everything.”
“Confess what?”
“We’re not your parents.”
“You’re saying I’m adopted?”
It’s been a long time since I considered Landon Sable my father—I even dropped his name and use my mother’s instead: Carmouche-LeBlanc—but in her illness-induced delusion, my mother seems to believe I’m not connected to them at all.
Landon abandoned her as soon as I left home at eighteen. Left the woman who had been loyal to him her whole life with no income, forcing her to fend for herself. I supported her the best I could, though in the early days of adulthood, I barely had enough for myself.
Then, as if fate had set a timer on our lives, the moment I opened my first nightclub in Seattle, she fell ill.
For the last ten years, my mother has been in and out of hospital, and if I hadn’t made a fortune and taken care of her the way she deserved, she would’ve suffered even more.
Could anyone suffer worse than the hell she went through during her marriage?
“Beau, listen to me.”
“You shouldn’t waste energy talking.”
“I have to. He’s not your father, and I’m not your biological mother, even though in my heart, I feel like I am. I was wrong not to tell you sooner, but I was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I try to keep my voice calm. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
My mother doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s out of her mind—or so I try to convince myself.
Still, her words echo in my ears like a gunshot silenced by a suppressor, hitting the target straight on—because the seed of doubt has been planted.
“You don’t need him anymore, Beau. You’re a wealthy man now. One day you’ll have a family of your own,” she continues, as if that’s all that matters, not the fact that she lied to me my whole life. “But don’t let Landon get close to you again. He’s no good. He’s a monster.”
“If it’s true I’m not your son, why tell me now?”
“Because I need your forgiveness. I’m seeking redemption, Beau.”
Redemption? That and forgiveness are words I’ve never really understood.
She has no idea what I’ve become.
She called Landon a monster because she believes I’m his opposite, which only proves she doesn’t know me at all.
It feels like concrete is flooding my veins, replacing my blood, hardening every fiber of me as memories of our drifting life—never staying in one place—flash through my mind.
Was I living a lie all along? Were all those stories nothing but fiction?
Her trembling hand grips my arm, but I can’t feel pity. The only reason I don’t pull away is because maybe, just maybe, there’s still a sliver of humanity left in me.
“You let me grow up believing you were my parents, even though you knew that bastard deserved to die? Do you have any idea what I would’ve done to him if I’d known the truth?”
“Beau, forgive me.”
At the foot of her hospital bed, surrounded by the rhythmic beeping of machines keeping her alive, I try to hold back the rage.
I want her to take it all back, to tell me it was her sick mind speaking, but deep down, I know she’s lucid. “Tell me everything. I want every single detail.”
Minutes later, when she finishes, a thirst for blood rises inside me.
“I’ve always loved you, Beau. In my heart, you are my son. But I can’t take this secret to the grave. Landon betrayed your biological father. He had your family killed and then stole you for me.”