Darkest Sin

by Ashton Blackthorne

  Nodding to him, I moved towards her. Cupping her firm, full tits from behind, I relished the feel of them. My thumbs brushed her nipples causing her to squeal with pleasure. He stood in front of her kissing her neck and rubbing her wet pussy.

  “Are you ready, Princess?” I asked pushing my hard cock against her firm ass. He pressed his heavily muscled body against her breasts his hard cock pushing against her pussy.

  “Yes, Daddy,” she whispered.

  Pulling her back, she fell against the mattress. I pulled her legs wide open as he knelt in front of her. Viciously, I pulled her pussy lips open for him to lick her clit.

  Over and over again, he sucked her clit into his mouth. I watched the erotic scene as I felt my cock swell. His face was glazed with her juices as I held her tits in my hands squeezing them as I kissed her neck. With his thumbs, he pinned her pussy open so his tongue could slide deep inside her tight pink hole.

  Reaching down, I pushed his head further down so that he could finger her cunt while I rubbed her clit. She cried out loudly her body jerking as she came her juices drenching my fingers and his face.

  Winding her long brown hair around my fist, I kissed her mouth hard before whispering in her ear.

  “Turn over.”

  Immediately, she complied flipping over onto her hands and knees. Her body was magnificent to behold. Seeing her firm, tanned ass, her tiny waist, and her tits hanging lushly made my cock so fucking hard I could scarcely stand it.

  Pulling her ass cheeks apart, I held them open so we could both see her pink asshole.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he buried his face in her ass. His tongue snaked out to lap against her tight hole. I watched for a moment before rubbing my hard cock across her lips.

  “Suck it,” I ordered.

  She wrapped her lips around my cock licking my length running her mouth down my shaft. My head fell back as I groaned. She took my cock all the way down to my balls stopping to take each one in her mouth before licking her way back up my shaft. I shivered as she gave my swelling head an extra-long suck. My cock throbbed painfully.

  “Fuck her asshole.” I commanded reaching over to grab a bottle of lube. Taking my cock out of her mouth, I poured a generous amount of lube across her asshole watching it drip to the bed below. He smiled as he pushed his thick cock into her asshole. She cried out and as soon as she opened her mouth, I shoved my cock inside.

  He fucked her tight ass and she sucked my cock. I could feel her coming as her body tensed and she began to tremble. She squeezed my balls as she came. He thrusted deep inside her grunting. I filled her mouth with my cum feeling it sliding down her throat.

  Just a typical day.

  Sixty Eight

  Ash

  As I cradled my cup of coffee in my hands, I looked at down at Amber still sleeping peacefully in bed. Her long blonde hair spread out from beneath her like a silken shawl.

  Walking over to the huge picture window, I sipped my coffee. The waves pounded the shore relentlessly. There wasn’t anything I enjoyed more than watching a good storm come ashore.

  I cast a glance back at Amber.

  Okay, there was one more.

  And a good bottle of Macallan along with it.

  Chuckling to myself, I threw a pair of running shorts on and a t-shirt. After stretching my legs to get the blood flowing, I began my morning run. The air was thick with humidity. I could smell the rain beginning to come in off the ocean. Dark clouds swirled overhead as I ran down from the house down the path through the wooded area surrounding my home.

  As I ran, I thought about the events of the past few months. Like a lot of things in my life, it seemed surreal. Finding my brother had probably been the biggest shock of my life. Over the past few weeks, he and I had become surprisingly close. I’d shared with him a lot of the good memories I had of our father. He’d shared a lot of the terrible memories he’d had of our mother.

  As my feet pounded the dirt, I thought about Amelia, our allegedly half-sister. Could she really have been our father’s daughter? I struggled to recall playing with her as a young child. She had been so beautiful, but a different kind of beautiful.

  Hauntingly beautiful.

  My deep reverie was rudely interrupted by my phone buzzing in my pocket. Stopping to catch my breath, I punched the accept call button.

  “Hey, Ayden.”

  “Are you coming over this morning? I thought we were going to start looking for Amelia. Did you get in touch with your PI friend?”

  “Andrews. Yes, I talked to him.”

  “Good. What’s wrong you sound like you’re out of breath? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “I’m out on my morning run. Give me an hour to get back home and shower. I’ll be over then.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Turning around to run the trail back to the house, I heard dead branches crashing all around me. The wind had picked up whipping through the trees. Looking up, I saw how dark the clouds had become. It was a good thing he called. I was about to find myself in the middle of a huge storm.

  Sixty Nine

  Ayden

  I woke up feeling awful. My head was throbbing with intense pain every time I blinked. Looking around, I saw dozens of used syringes and blackened spoons.

  Sitting up, I noticed I was all alone. I could hardly remember the events of the past few days.

  I heard a crash in the other room. It sounded like glass shattering.

  “Who’s there?”

  Sinister poked his head into my bedroom. “It’s me, Donovan.”

  “What was that noise?”

  “I dropped a fucking glass.”

  Nodding, my hand reached for my phone. It was 7:45. Good, I had time. Ash wasn’t supposed to be over until 9:30. We were going to discuss our plan to find Amelia, the woman who might be our half-sister.

  After showering, I dressed quickly. I threw the blackened spoons into a bag and shoved them under my bed. I capped the used syringes and placed them into a red plastic Sharps container which I kept in my closet behind my locked safe. I didn’t need Sasha or anyone else finding it.

  Running my hands through my dark hair, I walked down the stairs into the kitchen.

  Sinister was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. A huge bottle of Advil was on the table in front of him. “Here you go. Coffee and Advil breakfast of users.” He laughed.

  Taking a mug out of the cabinet, I poured myself a steaming cup.

  Looking across the table at Sinister, I wished I could get him to leave. I regretted asking him to live with me. It had been a few months and he was starting to drag me down the same dark path I’d been on years ago before going to prison.

  But how could I ask him to leave? Like me, he’d been through hell as a kid. I would venture to say his childhood had been even worse than mine. I remembered when he first became my cellmate in prison.

  Unlike most guys who stay quiet about their past, he seemed eager to share his with me….

  Sinister

  I cringed inwardly as the metal of the jail door clanked behind me. So this was it.

  I recalled the judge’s face as he handed my sentence down.

  “Twenty-five to life….”

  Shit, I couldn’t do twenty-five years, let alone life. I’d done time before, but that was for petty theft and minor possession charges.

  But this was different.

  My original charge was first degree murder and armed criminal action, but my attorney (a public defender) had gotten the charges reduced to second degree murder.

  Some fucking attorney. Hell, with the Brotherhood behind me I’d have gotten a top notch defense attorney, but since I’d been blacklisted for fucking up the job and exposing them to the authorities I was on my own.

  So the attorney convinced me to plead guilty to a lesser charge and here I was back behind bars.

  Doing time. Hell, normally I could do time standing on my fucking head. Being in the joint was nothing for me. It wa
s like coming home.

  But twenty-five years?

  I’d lived half my life behind bars if you counted all the years I spent in various juvenile facilities, jails, and prisons. Growing up the way I did, prison felt like a fucking vacation.

  As I laid back on green plastic cot, I could still hear my father screaming at me.

  “Bryan! I fucking told you to clean out the damn garage!” The heavy door to the garage slammed as I cringed beneath the covers. I’d forgotten to finish my chores that day and the old man was pissed.

  “Please, Henry, don’t wake him up. He mowed the yard like you asked, trimmed the hedges, painted the fence, and took out the trash! He was exhausted. I told him he could get to the garage tomorrow.” The timid voice of my mother echoed throughout the house. I could almost see her pleading with her eyes holding her hands up as she cowered before him bracing herself for yet another beating.

  He hadn’t hit her yet today. Wow, he might have even gone a whole twenty-four hours without slapping her. It was a first for them.

  Then, I heard the sound of a hard hand slapping soft flesh.

  And just like that, he broke his own record.

  “Woman, don’t you fucking talk back to me! You know better! I don’t know who the hell you think you are. Bryan is my son and he will do what I say. Don’t you fucking interfere again!”

  Holding my body stiff, I braced for the sound of him stomping up the stairs. Instead, I heard the sound of glass shattering.

  “There, bitch, how do you like that?”

  I heard my mother scream as more glass shattered.

  “Stop it, please, Henry! I won’t talk back again, I promise. Just please stop!”

  Another scream was followed by more breaking glass. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and I jumped out of my bed and ran down the stairs.

  “Stop it, Dad!”

  They both spun around to face me. My mother was lying on the floor holding her hands above her head as my father, drunk as ever, stood over her with a plate in his hand.

  “Boy, what the fuck are you doing down here?” My father demanded.

  “Bryan, please go back to bed.” My mother pleaded with me. Her hair was a tangled mess with trickles of blood dripping down the sides of her head. Her once blonde hair was red from the blood.

  “Dad, stop it!” I moved towards him. I was only thirteen years old and scrawny as hell. My father stood an impressive six foot six and all muscle.

  And he was drunk.

  “You gonna do something about it, boy?” He dropped the plate to the ground. It smashed sending glass shattering across the floor.

  Balling up my small fists, I stood my ground.

  Mustering up all my courage, I found my voice.

  “Maybe I am.”

  He guffawed loudly as if that were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. His huge beer belly jiggled as he laughed. My mother scrambled to her feet. She pulled her tattered pink bathrobe around her body.

  “Henry, he didn’t mean it. He’s just a boy.” My mother moved towards me.

  With a mighty shove, he sent her flying back into the wall. She landed with a thud and slid to the floor.

  That did it. With all my strength, I hurled myself at him. I caught him off guard and he stumbled backwards.

  For a brief second, I felt powerful. My dad must’ve weighed at least 250 pounds and I only weighed half of that, but I was able to knock him down.

  Almost.

  My father balled up his ham sized fist. Seeing what was coming, I tried to duck, but he caught me on the side of my head sending me reeling. Pain exploded throughout my body. My head was ringing. I could scarcely hear. At first, I thought he’d knocked me deaf. I felt tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  He reached down to pull me up by the back of my neck. “You got something to say to me, boy?”

  As he lifted me to my feet, I cradled my throbbing head. I looked at my mother lying still on the floor. “Yeah, I do.”

  “What’s that?”

  Shaking all over, my voice emerged as a whisper. “Fuck you.”

  His bloodshot eyes flared at me. “What was that?” Spittle flew from his mouth hitting me in the face. His breath reeked of alcohol. My heart pounded in my chest. I had no idea what I was thinking.

  “Fuck you!” I screamed as loud as I could.

  My mother sat up and stared at me. Her blue eyes were filled with fright. “Henry, no!” she cried as my father lifted me off the ground by my shoulders. For a moment, we were nose to nose. I felt like I was facing a roaring lion, as his fury at me was palpable.

  But I met his eyes squarely. I didn’t flinch.

  Suddenly, he head butted me as hard as he could. The audible cracking of my skull reverberated throughout the room. He dropped me onto the floor.

  I heard my mother scream.

  Then everything went black.

  My eyes fluttered open. Immediately, I felt intense pain pounding between my eyes. I tried to sit up, but couldn’t. The pain was excruciating. I looked to the side of me and saw that it was dark outside. I wondered how long I’d been out.

  The door swung open and there stood my mother. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Dried blood was crusted on the side of her head turning her dingy blonde hair red.

  “Mom, what’s wrong with me?” My words squeaked out. I hardly recognized my own voice.

  “Your father,” she whispered looking down. Those two words explained it all.

  “Why can’t I lift my head?” Tears began to well up in my eyes from the pain.

  “You can.” My mother walked over to me and pulled me up.

  I rubbed my throbbing head. There was a huge lump on my forehead that ached when I touched it.

  “It’s a slight concussion. You’ll be okay.” She brushed my head lightly before brushing her lips against my forehead.

  “Is he still here?”

  She shook her head slightly. “No, baby, he’s gone for the night. He stumbled out to his truck and drove off.”

  I nodded leaning back on my bed.

  “Just get some rest you’ll be better soon.”

  The house was strangely quiet as I opened the door. None of the usual sounds were present. There was no dishwasher running, no washer going, no TV blaring.

  It was completely silent.

  The silence frightened me. I swallowed hard and stepped into the house. I listened for signs of my parents fighting.

  Nothing.

  “Mom?” I called out.

  The lights were on in the kitchen, so I assumed she was in there. I knew my father wasn’t likely home, as I didn’t see any empty beer bottles on the coffee table.

  Checking the kitchen, I noticed several dozen empty bottles of beer littering the kitchen table. There were piles of crushed cigarettes in a stained ashtray. The stench of cigarette smoke still lingered in the air.

  He’d been here.

  The kitchen faucet dripped onto the pile of crusted dishes leftover from breakfast in the sink. My mother was a clean freak. She never left dishes piled up like that. It was her ritual: after every single meal, she would fill the dishwasher and run it for a cycle. It didn’t matter if it was one bowl or a cup she would place them in the dishwasher and run it.

  But the dishes sat in the sink as a glaring warning sign that something was wrong.

  My mouth went dry. I dropped my backpack on the floor.

  Maybe she was upstairs. Dad probably had come home after I left for school and he and Mom fought. She was still upset over what he’d done to me last week. He likely smacked her a few times and she hid upstairs.

  That’s what happened.

  Or that’s what I told myself to walk up the stairs.

  All I heard was the sound of my own footsteps echoing throughout the house.

  “Mom!” I kept calling her name as I made my way up the stairs.

  As I got to the top of the stairs, I stared
down the hallway to my mother’s bedroom door.

  The closed door at the end of the hallway loomed large in front of me.

  My heart thudded as I willed my feet to move towards her room. “Mom!” I yelled as loud as I could.

  Still nothing.

  Something was horribly wrong. I knew she would hear me even if she were sleeping. Maybe Dad had knocked her unconscious. If so, she needed me.

  My hand hesitated on the doorknob.

  “Mom!” I called out one last time.

  My stomach tightened as I turned the knob.

  Pushing the door open, I closed my eyes briefly.

  “Mom!” I yelled as I slowly opened my eyes.

  Her bed was unmade. Again, that was unlike her. The bedsheets were knotted into a ball. The table lamp was knocked over. The glass from the light bulb was crushed onto the carpet.

  Still, I didn’t see her.

  Where was she?

  A hard lump formed in my throat. My mouth went dry. Something very bad had happened.

  I continued moving towards the other side of the bed. The window was open and the curtains blew in the breeze.

  Maybe she was in the bathroom. I walked towards the bathroom and tripped over something.

  I looked down in horror as I realized it was her foot.

  Screams froze in my throat as I recoiled in terror noticing I was standing in a pool of blood.

  Her blood.

  My mother’s blood.

  Immediately, I heaved violently puking onto the carpet. My vomit mixed with her blood.

  Falling to my knees, I brought myself to look at her.

  Her blue eyes were open looking up at nothing. She was wearing a blue bathrobe which was soaked in blood. Her chest was covered in several stab wounds. Her hands were curled inward as though she’d tried clutching something. At her side was a long kitchen knife the handle covered in blood.

  Sobbing, I crawled over to her trying not to get the blood on me. I touched her cheek which was purple from the bruises he’d given her. She was cold to the touch.