Page 9 of Sinners Retreat

Gary already sits in the luxury sedan’s passenger seat. I told him I knew his boss and would make sure he had the time off so that he’d agree to join us. In truth, I know his boss about as well as I know American history, which is to say, not at all.

But that doesn’t matter. We didn’t book a return flight for him.

“Gotta hop in the back, pal,” I say to Gary. “I get motion sickness if I’m not up front.”

I’m not worried about hurting his feelings. The Cattle are housed away from the Sinner villas until they’re needed for the activities.

Gary nods and smiles and climbs into the back seat, unaware of the strings we had to pull to have a chance to kill him some place scenic. We’ve given him a gift he doesn’t deserve, really. Instead of dying in an abandoned warehouse, he gets to bleed out on a beach.

Bennett didn’t want to bring him along, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter. I refused to leave this scum on the street while I headed off on holiday. He had to make the arrangements, or I would’ve stayed behind. Thankfully, the event coordinator owed Bennett a favor after last year’s debacle. One of the Cattle managed to get hold of a switchblade, leaving my brother with a permanent scar over his right eyebrow.

“I really appreciate you guys bringing me along,” Gary says from the back. He’s smiling and peering out the window like a kid on his way to Disneyland. Unfortunately for him, the animatronics at this park wield weapons. “I can’t remember the last time I flew on an airplane.”

“The pleasure is all ours, I assure you,” I say.

Gary talks our ears off for the remainder of the drive to the airport. My brother and I aren’t the talkative types, so we mostly just smile and nod. Traffic is fairly light, even close to the city, so the drive isn’t half bad.

When we reach the airport, Bennett maneuvers through the winding parking garage before finding an empty spot. We grip our luggage—which is blessedly light—and make our way into the building.

The airport hums with activity. People of every color, shape, and size tread the shining floors, none of them concerned with anything aside from their own destinations. Some are headed to far-off places while others are returning from distant shores.You can tell which are which by the looks on their faces. The arrivals look much more exhausted than the departees.

When I reach the ticket counter, I’m greeted by a smiling woman, though the grin doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Ah, the good old Plasticine smile.

She takes my tickets, and the false smile doesn’t drop as she says, “I’m sorry, but we’ve overbooked this flight. One of you will have to sit in economy.”

I turn to my brother. Gary sure as shit can’t be out of our sight, so that means one of us will have to give up our spot. That also means one of us will be forced to listen to him yammer on for an entire flight.

“I’ll take the economy ticket,” I say.

Realizing what I’ve done, Bennett sends the toe of his boot into my Achilles tendon. I suffer in silence because it’s only fair. He’ll have an awful flight, so I don’t mind walking with a limp for a few days to make up for it. It’s still better than sitting with Gary for three hours.

With our tickets settled and our luggage sent off with a prayer of return, we trudge toward our gate.

“I’m starving,” Gary whines.

“I’m sure there will be food on the plane,” I say.

“Peanuts ain’t gonna cut it,” Bennett chimes in, and now I’m outnumbered.

With a longing look at our gate, I follow the pair toward a fast-food booth. Bennett and I order burgers, and Gary orders the chicken sandwich.

We gather our bags and head to the gate when we realize the three measly tables in the dining area are full. We’re still very early, so we have our choice of seats. I take one by the large window, and Gary and Bennett settle in the central area. They tear into their food like beasts, but I’m not as eager to swallow the grease trap within the silver wrapper.

A pretty stewardess ambles by, probably on her way home after a flight. Bennett watches her with male amusement, eyeing her trim waist and large breasts. Gary doesn’t spare her a second glance. I’m not surprised. At twenty-something, she’s a bit too old for his perversions.

God, I can’t wait to kill him.

It’s been months since my last slaying, and my fingers itch to use the new meat hooks I purchased six weeks ago. I only target the rapists and pedophiles, so I’m forced to share some of my potential victim pool with my brother and the Heartbreak Killer. The lack of victims is a good problem to have, I suppose, but it does nothing for my bloodlust.

Time passes, and more people begin to fill out the empty seats. I study each person, wondering if they could be the illustrious HBK. Any of them could be.

Well, maybe not the little old lady clutching a sleeve of cookies to her chest. She lacks the upper body strength to crank open a chest cavity.

Speaking of cookies, a pang in my gut reminds me of the very mediocre burger waiting for me. I peel back the wrapper, inhale the sad aroma, and take the first disappointing bite.

I’m broken from my mindless chewing when two women choose to sit close enough that I can hear their whispered argument. Listening would be rude, but I never said I had good manners.

“I don’t want to sit in the middle,” the blonde says. “Can’t I have the window seat? It’s my first flight, and you fly all the time.”

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