Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (93 page)

Finally, it went to voicemail and she prayed as she stood there, water droplets falling off the ends of her strands onto her face and shoulders, that he wouldn’t leave a message, that he’d simply disappear. Moments later, the voicemail lit up, alerting her to a new notification.

Fuck!

He’d left a word or two, all right. She leapt out of the shower, grabbed the phone and played it back. Her heart beat out a tune, one that was all over the place and heavy, hard, painful. It had no rhythmic direction but gravity seemed to get stronger as her legs slightly buckled and her body tried to hit the ground. She braced herself and made her way to her bed, wrapping her robe around herself, reaching for an ounce of comfort in the form of sage cotton with a matching sash. She hadn’t even bothered to dry off and rinse the shampoo for her tresses. Instead, she sat there, her eyes glossing over.

I can’t…

Oh God! How did he find out?!

She didn’t want to contact Sinclair; her business with him was done. The man had left her alone, the phone calls ceased once she’d pulled a few strings to get this tangled ball of yarn rolling. She felt secure that Saint could never link her to this mess, but she was wrong,
dead
wrong. She’d allowed Sinclair to fool her, to think there was no way her ex would connect the dots. She’d feared this at the beginning, but…Sinclair was adamant and confident. He had no idea…

She continued to chew
on that nail until a stinging burn brought her back to reality. The bleeding caused her to wince and draw back from the pain. She looked at the clock. Four minutes left until he’d go through with his threat to get on the next thing buzzing toward New York. Maybe she could get out of town; maybe calling Sinclair would actually help. No, none of that would change a damned thing. She knew after looking into his demonic eyes that one time, the man or whatever he was would find her no matter what end of the Earth she ran to. He’d commanded the birds to fly, the trees to blow and the animals to dash away as if the Devil himself had stomped his hoofed feet onto the land of the living to snatch souls before the end of time. Mother Nature recoiled from the man, so how could she ever be safe?

Payton snatched the phone off the bed and returned the call, trying to keep her composure. She found herself on a bed of needles, wishing they’d just slice right through her and get this whole damned thing over with. She took a few breaths as the phone rang. Maybe she’d get lucky and the man wouldn’t pick up? Maybe he was calling about something else altogether? Yes…it was possible. She danced on a slimy slither of hope until she heard that all too familiar silky smooth voice.

“Hello, Payton. You had exactly one minute and thirty-two seconds left. I’m glad you didn’t make me come see you up close and personal. That would’ve been a pity.”

Well, so much for that theory…

~***~

“I want to see your face when I’m speaking to you.” Saint sat in his office alone while his finger traced leisurely over the neck of the African maiden carved in his desk.

“But…but you said if I called you in time that you wouldn’t—”

“No
.” He laughed as he turned his computer on. “I want to Skype with you.”

“Uh, I can’t.”

He knew she was lying, but it didn’t matter. Either she played by his rules, or not at all and if the game was over, she’d find out quite quickly that unlike the sly leopard she believed herself to be, she didn’t have nine lives. This was her last damned chance.

“Payton, if you don’t get your ass on that computer, I’m going to—”

“Alright! Hold on.”

Soon, he saw her face pop up, her body wrapped in a thick robe and her hair in a sloppy, white towel.

“Okay, now, let’s get down to business.” He saw himself in a small square on his computer, and playfully stuck his tongue out, amused even within the mess he was drowning in.

“Are you…sticking your tongue out at me?” Payton questioned,
confused. “What does that mean?”

“No, that wasn’t for you. Anyway
…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve no time for bullshit. You tell me what happened, from the damn beginning. Don’t miss one detail.”

“What happened with what?” He watched as she shifted her weight in her seat, looking indignant and confident in
the bullshit she tried to serve him on a silver platter. The woman was good, damned good, and if he didn’t know she was the Queen of Bluff, he may have gone for it. After all, she’d coached hundreds of people on how to lie on a witness stand and make themselves look like the slaughtered lamb, when in fact they were the wolves with blood dripping off their fangs.

“Payton, this isn’t the court room. That shit doesn’t work on me. Now
…” He grinned. “You tell me RIGHT NOW, GODDAMN IT, what you and Sinclair cooked up! I want the blow by mothafuckin’ blow!” His voice vibrated, echoing through the computer, and rang out like a singer singing too closely to the microphone. Payton put her hands over her ears and shook her head dramatically.

He sat back and folded his hands, waiting…

“You don’t have to yell.” She sat there, looking like a block of ice—unfeeling and cold. She simply looked like her normal self.

“You’ve got one last chance, Payton
,” Saint said calmly. “I won’t say anything else to you after this, you’ll just
see
me and
feel
me, and then, you’ll never see or feel anything else again thereafter.” He let the threat simmer in its own blood drawn bath.

“Fine
.” She pursed her lips. “Look, I don’t know Sinclair well, okay? He contacted me out of the blue, Saint.”

“Mmm hmmm
.” He swiveled ever so slowly. “That part is true. Keep telling the truth Payton because once you start lying, things will go downhill for you and I don’t have much time to patty cake and fuck around with you. Now, tell me about how it happened, how it all came to be.”

“Are you in trouble, Saint?” Her mouth twitched and her eyes slatted.
This woman was an enigma. It appeared as if, on one hand, she didn’t want him to be and had a tiny smidgen of concern for his wellbeing, but on the other hand, she showed sheer delight that he was suffering once again.

He snickered and stared at her in disbelief. “Are you fucking serious, Ms. Bishop? You know what the fuck you did, and you knew in advance the repercussions
, and I know you already are fully aware of what is happening to me!”

She
raised an eyebrow and slowly crossed her legs, giving him a quick beaver shot, then grinned.

“For all I know, this is your brainchild, and Sinclair was there for the ride
,” Saint goaded, putting fire under her ass and to wipe that silly smirk off her crooked face.

“No, no!” She waved her hand frantically. “It was
not
my brain child, Saint. I promise you that I wished to not have any further contact with you and I told Sinclair he shouldn’t do this…but…but he blackmailed me,” she said woefully.

“Nobody blackmails Payton and gets away with it.”
He leaned in closer, to make sure she didn’t miss his expression. “You see, I know you, Payton. And, well, after you violated me, I knew you that much better.”

She sighed and turned away.

“Look at me! Turn your ass back around!”

She snapped her neck in his direction, a snarl on her face. She hated him as much as she did the day she slid her pussy down his stiff pole.

“You are a vengeful, manipulative con artist. A waste of a good brain!” he growled. “You
never
allow someone to make you do anything unless there is something in it for you. Now, you at times show periods of lucidity, where you are a bit remorseful about your devilment, but those periods are short and fleeting. Sinclair is a tricky one. He looks harmless, but I found out he is more than I bargained for. A desperate man will go through desperate measures to exact revenge, and he is doing just that. He hit the jackpot when he found out about you and he knew it. I have a hard time believing he blackmailed you, I honestly do. There was a catch, you got something in return.”

“The person you are describing, Saint, I am not her anymore.” She
lifted her chin and looked at him sternly as tears welled in her eyes.

Damn, she is amazing actress.

“He found out…about the incident.”

Saint burst out laughing. “Incident? So that’s what we’re calling it now? An incident?” He steepled his hands and
smiled—a smile without mirth. “No, Payton, it
wasn’t
an incident.” He put his fingers in quotes. “You slipped something into my drink, led me to your car and—”

“Okay, just—” She held her hand up to stop him from continuing.

“And then you undressed me and gave me head
without
my permission, and sucked my dick, quite liberally I might add, until it was fit to straddle.”

“Just stop it, okay!”
she screamed, unable to look at him.

“And then after that, you climbed on top of me, and
fucked
me!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “I begged you, the best I could, I
begged
you to stop!” His voice shook with anger, rage, embarrassment and pent up frustration. This was his first time being able to confront his rapist about the assault, and it was all coming out, bubbling forth in a way he didn’t expect.

“Saint, please—”

“…And you laughed and laughed, Payton.” His eyes welled with angry tears. “The more upset I became, the more turned on you were, you sick fuck!” He shook his head and turned away to stare at a picture of the sun setting on his wall. “It
wasn’t
an incident. You raped me, Payton. And you’re still not sorry for the shit. You took all of your aggressions toward men, me included, out on me, my body and my marriage. For every mothafucka that did you wrong, you got back at them through
me.
You are a sexual predator and you are so lucky,
blessed
actually…” He turned back toward her, feeling the heat in his eyes. “Blessed that I didn’t hunt you down and gut you like the goddamn piranha that you are.”

They sat in silence for quite some time.

“Now, please continue,” he finally said, calm and demure.

Payton
sighed and swallowed. “He called me one day, while I was at work. He somehow had gotten the report that Xenia had filed in California.” She paused, wiped a tear from her eye and continued. “He threatened my job. I’m lucky to be practicing law at all.” She briefly looked away, her lips twisted in a frown. “…And all of that would be taken away, Saint, if I didn’t do what he said.”

“You rotten piece of shit.”
He pushed the words out between clenched teeth. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be allowed to practice law in the first damn place! I am the one who didn’t want it to go that far, because I didn’t want my family dragged through the mud and for everyone to know. Xenia did you a favor by respecting my wishes or there would have been a media frenzy for both of us. Fuck your damned career! Finish telling me about Sinclair,” he snarled.

“He wanted to know about your finances but I didn’t have any information, nothing current anyway. Then, he brought up your taxes and wanted me to uh
…” She looked down fleetingly into her lap. “He wanted me to get in contact with the people I knew to get the records pulled and questioned. During that process, the…police got involved.”

“So, you in turn dropped a dime on me, a fake dime, but one nevertheless.” Saint shook his head in disbelief. “If you
really
didn’t want to do it, Payton, why didn’t you just call me and tell me what the motherfucker was cooking up?”

“You can’t be serious? After what happened the last time I saw you?! I was frightened, and you may not have even believed me. You would have accused me of another plot or scheme.”

“He used you, Payton, but you’re lying if you are trying to sit there and tell me you didn’t enjoy sticking it to me. That has been your dream, to ruin my damn life. He used another woman, too, and she will get hers as well but even after all of this, I expected better from you. Sinclair needed you more than you ever needed him. You were too eager to fuck me over and there is no doubt in my mind, you were compensated. Now,” he said, pausing briefly. “Who did you talk to, and what did you tell them?”

“I…spoke with some people there and said I received a notice regarding your filings dating back to the original years and time frames in question. I pulled up the dates
when I hand-handled your accounts, and they were able to corroborate my information. I pretended to still be your financial advisor. Then…” She looked away, her face full of shame, another actress move no doubt. “Then I told them that some of the information had been inaccurate, and I needed to reexamine the records. I also gave them an incorrect contact number, so you could not be notified directly—that was Sinclair’s idea, actually. He wanted them to show up at your house or job, so that you’d be humiliated.” She coughed; it seemed forced, as if she really didn’t want to utter another word. “I also told them I had helped you on the bank deposits as well.”