Page 64 of Sinners Retreat

Cat curls her lip. “You tattooed your own killer name on your body? That is?—”

“Why don’t you let me know what you do once you kill at all? As of right now, you’re someone who desperately wants to be part of this little group, and you aren’t.” Bennett’s smile widens as Cat’s fades. “You probably won’t ever be one of us.”

Maybe it’s the glass of wine I chugged as soon as it was placed into my hand. Maybe it’s the absolute absurdity that has become my search for my brother’s killer. Either way, the way Cat’s lip wobbles as Bennett’s words hit home strikes a nerve inside me.

I sit forward and take another pull from my wine glass. “Do you always have to be so goddamn cruel, Bennett?”

He spares a quick glance at Cat. She’s already stuffed her pain deep down inside her, and she’s done so at such a brisk pace that I can tell she’s had a lot of practice.

“Let’s move on,” Ezra says, trying to keep the game going.

Bennett turns toward Ezra. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

I don’t miss the devilish gleam that runs through Bennett’s eyes when he says, “How did you get the name Crumpet Killer?”

“I’m not getting into this again.” Ezra shakes his head and lowers himself in the water until only his head sticks above the bubbles. “Give me the dare.”

“I dare you to show Kindra your tattoo.”

“Absolutely not,” Ezra says, and my curiosity is piqued.

I’ve seen Ezra’s body. Most all of his body, I think. But I haven’t noticed an embarrassing tattoo. Then again, I was pretty busy looking at other things.

“Don’t be a poor sport,” Bennett says.

“Fine, you twat.”

Ezra stands up, turns around, and lowers his swim trunks. On his left cheek is a greenish...snake? I think it’s supposed to be a snake. I squint really hard because it looks like a penis sitting on top of a red rose.

“Who did this to you?” I ask, dropping my hand from my mouth.

He raises his swim trunks and slips back into the water. “When I first moved to the States, my brother and I got drunk and decided to get tattoos. He got his stupid name on his body, and I picked out a cobra on a rose. That tattoo ‘artist’ clearly hasn’t seen a cobra in his life, so now I’ll look like I have a dick on my ass for the rest of eternity.”

“That’s not even the best part,” Bennett says through a laugh. “When he dies, the coroner is going to flip him over and come face to face with that beauty.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Ezra says.

“If it makes you feel any better, I almost got a drunk tattoo myself,” Cat says. “I ended up throwing up all over the guy before he could start.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better, but thanks,” Ezra says with the cutest pout I’ve ever seen. “My turn. Kindra, truth or dare?”

While I have a nice little buzz going, I haven’t imbibed enough to play this game. I shake my head and wave for him to pick someone else, but he levels me with a pointed stare that tells me I’m not getting out of this.

“Truth,” I say.

“Tell us about your brother’s death.”

I study Ezra’s face, but I find no malice in his eyes. So what possessed him to ask such a painful question?

“Well...I found him in the garage. His killer bled him out and hung him from meat hooks.”

“Don’t forget the other details,” Cat adds. “It might help to talk about it.”

It won’t. Years of therapy proved that.

I shake my head and swallow the rest of my wine in one gulp. “I think I’m ready for another one,” I say as I jiggle the glass toward Ezra.

---