Page 16 of Buried Beneath Sin

ANGEL EYES

Itake the last drag of my cigarette before taking the end and putting it out against the skin of my wrist. The burn mark sits on top of thick scarring of past burns created just like this. The pain feels nice. Familiar even. When it’s out, I shove the butt into my pocket. No need to leave evidence behind if I can help it.

The sky overhead grows lighter. Sunlight will be snaking its way through the trees soon. The light will force me to vacate the premises. But I hold out. Staring at the beastly house on top of the hill, I wonder what’s taking so long. Usually, when it’s just the one, he sticks around for about two or three hours tops before dipping out and prowling around in the funeral home.

But tonight, he’s brought his brother. It’s an unexpected change of habit. From what I’ve gathered over the past few months, of the three men who keep creeping into Chicago, ontomyold stomping grounds, it’s only been the one brother that’s been keen to snoop around here. The others don’t seem to care about this place. But they’re both here tonight. What does that mean? And what about the other? Their third is out tonight, killing in my city. I contemplated sending people after the fucking twink but thought better of it. Killing that one mightspook off the other two, and then I’ll never find out why they’re here.

Because it’s certainly notjustto kill.

What are Thatcher and Sagan Hunt and their little boy toy up to? Clearly it has something to do with Patrick Hunt, their father, since this is where he lives with his wife and stepdaughter. But what exactly is ‘it’? I’m curious. I haven’t been this interested in anything for a long time. It’s nice to feel the wheels in my head turning once more. I was beginning to feel my age there for a bit. Now that’s changed. I have a new hobby: stalking the Hunt twins to figure out their game. I won’t tolerate much more of their killing, but for now, I want to see what they’re doing so I’ll let them play in my playground a little while longer.

As I let go of the smoke in my lungs, I watch as the back door finally opens. Two shadowy figures emerge from the house. Neither seems to be in a hurry as they stroll down the hill in my direction. They draw close but dip into the trees a few yards away from me.

I smile as I turn to follow them through the woods.

10

KNOX

Ilean against the brick wall of a townhouse and take a drag on my vape pen. The cupcake flavor slides over my tongue then dives deep into my lungs. The slight burn as the mist tumbles down my throat is warm and welcome given the cold January night.

A Jaguar rolls down the one-way street. The fancy vehicle, clearly new judging by the lack of dings, scratches, and salt along the bottom, isn't out of place. This neighborhood I'm currently loitering in is high end. All the cars parked along the street are just as nice. The ones out of sight, hidden in garages, I'm sure are too. I suppose it would be weird if they weren’t given how nice the properties are. The townhouses are three stories high, and as I walked up the street earlier, I noticed a few basement windows along the sidewalk. They're all new builds. Some still have the 'sold' signs on the little patch of grass in front of them. In this part of Chicago, you have to have money to afford places like these.

I pull the edges of my fur hood closer to keep my cheeks warm. It’s so fucking cold out here. I’m thankful the jacket is thick. It’s black though and lined with brown fur around the edges of my wrists and hood.

Black is such an ugly color. I wish this jacket the guys had gotten me was pink, purple, or even a nice teal. Colors that stand out. Ilovebeing an accent piece in a boring room, or in this case, along a boring street. But I get why they didn’t buy me a jacket like that. Those colors would stand out. Especially if anyone notices someone like me—you know, someone with a penis—wearing such feminine colors. Not that I mind that part. I wear what I want, when I want. The only thing that keeps me from complaining about the color is that discretion is necessary for what I do. For whatwedo.

Although black isn’t the only thing I have to complain about this evening.

My hands stretch and flex before I curl them back up into fists to keep them warm. I hate the cold. I understand why the Hunt twins decided that this area would be the perfect place to settle down, but I don’t have to like it. I trust their judgment, however, and they prepared me for this. Other than this nice thick jacket, they got me the designer snow boots I’m currently sporting. We may not be super rich, but we have money—thanks to a bit of stealing, the way Thatcher plays the stock market, and Sagan’s ability to pick up side work wherever we go. I love these boots. They’re gorgeous. I saw them on a mannequin a month ago and have been talking about them ever since. Then, one day, sitting on the motel bed was a big old bag with these fancy fuckers inside.

God, the guys really do love me. I smile at the thought. I’ll have to take good care of them.

The slush beneath my nice boots is just as much of a pain in the ass as the cold weather is. Stalking around in the slush and salt will ruin these bad boys and I'll have to buy new ones sooner rather than later if I’m not careful. Annoyance comes and goes, like the Uber driver that rolls on by. Stuff like thatusedto be a problem. For years before I met the Hunt twins, I struggled topay for my room, food, and clothes. But it's been ages since I've struggled like that. A lot has changed since then.

In fact, now I'mthriving.

But will my life be so great with someone else in it?

My thoughts briefly turn to Sagan. He’s withhertonight. My breath catches as jealousy and anger violently surge forward. I was once the center of Sagan’s world. Now I’ve taken a backseat. God, this new reality hurts. It hurts so fucking bad that I have to push all thoughts of him, and his brother, away. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll crumble to the ground and not be able to get back up.

Later. I can sulk about itlater.

The door to the townhouse I'm waiting outside of opens, and light spills out into the night. The man who emerges is dressed in a dark peacoat. The same one he was wearing only hours before. The scarf around his neck is covering a little too much of his face, and his shiny shoes catch in the streetlamp that sits across the street. He pulls the door shut behind him slowly, quietly, then turns and hurries down the steps.

I push off the wall as he makes it to the bottom and shove my vape pen into my pocket.

“Hey, you,” I greet, smiling as he whips around at the sound of my voice.

“Shit! What the hell are you doing here? I told you to meet me down the street!” the man hisses. He hurries over to me, grabs me by the elbow and practically drags me away from his house. “My wife is home!”

Of course he has a wife. These types of assholes always do. They wouldn’t want their dirty little secret to come to light—the one where they secretly like the idea of another guy touching them. Oh no, that would bescandalous. It’s no skin off my back. I knew the type of guy he was the minute I caught his eye and he answered my come-hither smile rather than just turn away.

I snicker. “Wife? What will she think if she catches?—”

“Nothing! She won't think anything because I won't let her catch me. Got it? Now, if you want to do this you have to play bymyrules,” the man growls.

“Sure.” I nod, placating him with a bright smile.

---