Page 63 of Sinners Retreat

The door closes behind me, and I already regret agreeing to join everyone at the grotto. I’d rather sit alone and sulk. But if anyone can bring me out of this foul mood, it’s Ezra. And maybe Cat.

I squeeze into a shimmering silver one-piece suit and drape a black mesh cover-up over the top. After sliding my feet into some cheap flip-flops, I head down the boardwalk.

The Blood Grotto is gorgeous. Colorful tiki candles surround the giant hot tub, and light fixtures stick out of the sand and cast a red glow on the blood-stained stone altar.

It looks almost like a table; one solid slab lies over four fat stones. A channel winds beneath it, stained with the memory of blood as it slithers toward the hot tub. I’m assuming it’s so that one could bathe themselves in the blood of whomever was sacrificed on that thing.

I stare at it and wonder what my brother’s killer looked like when he lay there. How much blood did he lose before he died? Did it hurt? I hope so.

I hope it was agonizing.

“Kindra!” Cat screeches beside my head, and I envision dropping her onto that altar.

“What?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention, and you’re staring off into space. I asked you if you wanted a drink.”

I have never needed a drink so badly, but preferably not one with Ezra’s special sauce in it. “Yeah, I’ll have a glass of red.”

Ezra comes up behind me and grabs my shoulder. I lean into him and take my eyes off the giant rock.

“Wine for my pet,” he whispers as he places a glass in my hand.

I turn around and look at Ezra. He’s traded in my creation for a pair of swim trunks that fall past his knees.

“Who’s up for a game of truth or dare?” Bennett asks as he walks over. He’s double-fisting beer bottles, one of which he hands to Ezra.

“Are we twelve?” Ezra clips.

“No, even better,” Bennett says. “We’re adults.”

“I’ll play,” I say, and everyone turns to look at me.

“If Kindra is in, I’ll play too,” Cat says.

Bennett scoffs. “Of course you will, little tag-a-long.”

Ezra gets another glass of wine because I’ve already guzzled the first in one swallow, and then we all settle into the hot tub.

Cat turns toward Bennett. “Truth or dare, dickhead?”

“Truth.”

“Lame,” Cat mumbles.

“No, not lame,” Bennett says. “It’s smart. You’d probably dare me to jump into the bonfire and count to one hundred.”

“I would absolutely do that,” Cat says with a sly smirk. “Truth. Um. Tell us your real serial killer name and MO.”

Bennett takes a hearty drink before standing up, turning around, and lifting the back of his shirt. Between his shoulder blades, nestled among his other tattoos, are two words.

Chaos. Killer.

“They call me the Chaos Killer,” he says.

“By they, he means me and him,” Ezra says.

“Don’t hate me because my chaos is what makes me so unknown. That’s my MO. It might be a hammer this time, but next time it might be an ax. Maybe fire.”

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