Page 18 of Buried Beneath Sin

I know it is, but the way he fidgets and grows flustered at my mistake is fun. “Right,Barry, this is going to be a lot of fun. But before we candoanything, I need access to you.”

“What do you—oh!” He chuckles nervously as he reaches up to remove his scarf. He tosses it into the backseat, and then he's unzipping his jacket. When that monstrosity is off, he flashes me an uncertain smile.

I slide my hands into my jacket pocket. “Great. But I still can't get to your dick so, if you could just...”

The guy scoffs at himself, as if this was the most obvious thing he's missed. He fumbles with his zipper and pulls out his hard, average size dick. Just as it springs free, my knife slams into the middle of his chest. I laugh at the choked off cry of alarm. Barry looks down at the knife and at my hand that’s wrapped around the handle. Slowly, his head turns in my direction.

“This is going to be so fun reading about in the news,” I tell him as I yank my blade free. “I can see it now: Guy with dick out in his car is stabbed to death. Liver and spleen were missing from the scene. What do you think your wife will say when the police show up at your door, huh? Writing the eulogy for you is going to be a bitch.”

Berry tries to reach up to grab my wrist. I use my other hand to slap him away.

“Stop that, I'm working,” I scold, as if he’s a child that needs to be corrected rather than a full grown man trying to save himself from a gruesome fate.

My blade flies, finding purchase in different places in his chest. Barry doesn't listen to my order to stop. He tries to fightme. Fists go flying, as weak as they are. When he realizes that’s futile—he attempts to claw at me. Again, he’s too weak already to do any damage. It doesn’t take him long to realize that’s pointless too. So he tries to unbuckle his seatbelt. Unfortunately for him, it's covered in blood and his hand weakly slips over the button, unable to depress it.

I ignore all his attempts to fight me, I even let him try to get his seatbelt off. At the moment, I’m too lost in my need to kill to care about either. Especially when he’s so weak as it is. Each time my knife slides through muscle, cartilage, and tendons, I picture that I’m doing it toher.

Beatrix fucking Starr.

Somehow, during their brotherly jaunt to the Starr House three nights ago, Beatrix managed to ensnare Thatcher. NowbothHunt twins are wrapped around her pretty little finger.

Sure, Thatcher hasn’t changed his vote yet, but it’s coming. I just know it. The stupid stipulation, the one where Beatrix has to reach out to us and ask for help, will be met soon enough. From what Sagan’s told me of what’s happening under the Starr roof, I say it’ll be any day now.

She’s going to rip my life apart so that she can take the pieces she likes the most and carry them off—leaving me with nothing. I lived a life like that once upon a time—with nothingness and no one. It’s not something I want to go back to. I just can’t. Which means, as much as it will hurt to stand there and watch the two men that I adore fawn over their shiny new toy, I’m going to do it. I’ll be there, pretending to be part of a family I’ll always be on the outskirts of. All so I won’t be left to face a cruel world alone.

“Fuck you, Barry,” I growl at him like this is all his fault.

My knife continues to puncture holes in his chest and abdomen, each strike harder than the last as I lean into the rage and fear burning inside of me. It’s kind of ironic watching him die like this since I’ll be the one at the other end of a blade soon—metaphorically speaking with Beatrix as the blade. She’s going to gut me by taking away the two people who mean the world to me. So, while it’s not a real blade, the pain will probably be as intense as what Barry here is feeling.

I have toshareThatcher and Sagan. Could this situation be any worse?

When Barry finally stills, I stop.

“Well, thanks for meeting up with me, Barry. I told you it would be a thrill, didn't I? I really got your heart rate going.” I laugh at my own joke. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to grab my dinner and get out of here.”

11

BEATRIX

ONE WEEK LATER

“You’re looking tired, Beatrix. Are you alright?”

The heat in my face feels scalding. This is the fourth time someone’s said something to metoday,and I’ve only been out for a little over an hour. Do I really look that bad? I’ve put on my favorite outfit, threw on some makeup, and even decided to forgo my typical Dutch braids for a strategically messy bun. I thought I lookedgoodwhen I left the house.

“It’s, ah, been a long few days.” My excuse sounds uncertain but plausible.

Mrs. Anderson hums with faux concern as she scans my groceries. “I couldn’t help but notice how stiff you’re moving. Pull something?”

I fight back a wince of shame, not wanting her to see it and allow her imagination to run wild. The people of Chasm are painfully aware of my situation. They know how abusive Patrick and my mother can be. Sometimes, if they’re unfortunate enough, they might run into both Mom and Patrick who have somehow stumbled their way into town to harass everyone—bringing our personal issues into the light. If Mrs. Anderson knew how close I’d come to being on the receiving end of Patrick’s fists last night, she wouldn’t be surprised. Nor would anyone she told about it the minute I was out of earshot.

“It’s nothing,” I lie lightly, grabbing the bags she hands me and placing them back into my cart. Thankfully, my only injury from that brief encounter is a swollen ankle. I can still walk on it, which means running errands and working are doable.

“You know, Doctor Atwater is a great physician. I say make an appointment to see him now and maybe he can get you in later this week. I’d hate to see you out of commission. With all that you do for your family, you can’t afford to be nursing a bad leg.” She rips the receipt out of her machine and hands it to me. “But most importantly, you should seek out God. I can’t help but notice how absent the people in your family are at church every Sunday. Maybe if you came, God would forgive your sins and heal your soul and body. I mean, being a young woman around death all day, you must be stained with sins.”

I nod at her unsolicited advice.

“Thanks, Mrs. Anderson,” I placate softly as I push my cart away from the cash register. “Have a nice day.”

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