Page 24 of Buried Beneath Sin

“What is it? Has he found a new hiding spot in our soon-to-be house? Let me guess, he's curled up on top of the refrigerator like a cat?” I ask bitterly.

Thatcher doesn't answer me right away. I hate how he’s trying to choose his words wisely. As if there is any way to make this new situation better with just a few choice words. Well, good luck with that. Ever since he and Sagan came back a week ago from their joint stalking session and let me know that Thatcher had changed his vote, things have been tense between us. The news stunned me. How did the Starr girl manage to ensnarebothtwins? Their interest in her has me all tangled up with bitterness and confusion. What happened to it just being the three of us?

Since their announcement, years of insecurities have swelled back up and have been loud whispers in the back of my mind. Are they losing interest in me? Have I done something wrong? Is the Starr girl the new flavor of the year? Is she their preferred type? I know I’m different. My clothes are loud, and my personality isn’t for everyone. I’m a flirt and my emotions swing in every direction at a moment’s notice. Are they tired of dealing with me? All these questions have kept me on edge and left me feeling nauseous.

And what’s worse, with Thatcher’s vote planted firmly in Sagan’s court, I no longer have the majority rule on my side. As much as I hate the idea of sharing, I’m now forced to go along with the change of plans. I hate the idea so much that just thinking about it makes me want to stab someone.

This plan the twins concocted was to steal everything away from Patrick Hunt to givemea better and more stable life. Not to give it to some fucking twat. We are so close to seeing this come to fruition. With the new will signed and filed, thanks tomoi, all we have to do is wait a little longer so their deaths don’t look suspicious.

My teeth grind together as I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The weak water pressure that trickles out from the showerhead only darkens my mood further. I put my handunder the water to test the temperature. It's lukewarm. Knowing that's the best it's going to get, I undress.

Just as I step under the water, Thatcher appears in the doorway. “Actually, there was a fire at the house.”

What? My future house went up in flames? I pause halfway under the water to look back at Thatcher in alarm. “Is the house still standing?” At his nod, I shrug. “Ok, so what am I supposed to do with this piece of information?”

“It’s what followed the fire that you might be interested in,” Thatcher says. “Sagan got the sign he was looking for. It's time to act.”

I stiffen as fury warms my body faster than the water dribbling from the shitty showerhead. “Great, so we just come at her beck and call now? Like some fucking guard dogs?”

There's an exasperated sigh. “Knox...”

“Don't Knox me, Thatch.” I reach down and grab my bottle of shampoo. “Don't expect me to be thrilled when this is not what I wanted.”

“You know how this works. We voted?—”

“IthoughtI knew how this worked,” I counter loudly with a heavy scowl. “But you betrayed me and swung the vote in Sagan’s favor!”

Thatcher’s pupils narrow on me as I glare back at him. “I didn’t betray you, Knox. Neither did Sagan.”

“Yes you did! It happened the minute you decided she was worthkeeping. Now what? Are you going to tell me you’ve changed your mind about who you’re doing this for? Are you going to give the house to the Starr girl and let her run things? Am I about to be tossed out on the side of the roadagain?—”

“Knox!” Thatcher cuts me off sharply, his jet black brows soaring high toward his hairline. He steps into the bathroom, staring at me with… well, I don’t really understand the look. It sits somewhere between bewildered and concerned. “Is this whyyou’ve been dragging your feet? Because you thought this was an attempt toreplaceyou? That we don’t want you anymore?”

Thatcher must see the answer on my face because, before I say anything, he laughs. It’s not a happy noise. Instead, his laughter is full of frustration and disbelief.

“Oh, Pretty Boy, if you don’t realize by now that you are our world, that we would move heaven and earth for you, then we’re not doing something right,” he says with a shake of his head. “There is nothing and no one that could ever compare to you.”

My face heats at his words. Still, I can’t help but ask, “Then why do you want to keep the Starr girl when you have me?”

“It’s not you versus Beatrix. It’ll never be like that,” Thatcher states firmly. “I’ll admit, it’s complicated, but I swear it’s not a competition. It’s like when Sagan and I didn’t realize we were parts of an incomplete puzzle until you came into our lives and fit perfectly between us. Beatrix is the last piece of the same puzzle. Her signal today confirms that. She’s one of us and she needs us, Knox. Just like you were lost, she is too. You remember how that felt, being alone in the world, right?”

I do remember a life without the Hunt twins. The years were long, days were cruel, and I was just surviving in a world where I couldn’t quite find my footing. And when he puts it like this, I almost feel bad for the Starr girl.

Almost.

My nails dig into my scalp as I wash the blood out of my hair.

“Trust us, Knox,” Thatcher urges, lowering his voice as his dual-colored eyes sharpen on my face. “We wouldn’t bring anyone else into this family unless we were both positive that it could work forallof us.”

I swallow hard as the tension that’s been knotting in my chest over the past week eases. There’s no denying the passion in his voice—not that I believe he would lie to me even if he spoke without inflection. We don’t lie to each other. It’s a rule that weall follow to a T. If Thatcher says he’s not replacing me, that I still hold an important place in his life, then I believe him.

And, as annoying as it is, I believe him when he says Beatrix belongs in our little family. I’m not a compassionate person by nature. That would be a strange trait for a serial killer. But Idounderstand the position Beatrix is in, and I can… sympathize.

“You said she’s thelast pieceto your metaphorical puzzle, right? No more after this?” I ask warily, shoot him a dark look.

Thatcher’s flashes me a stunning smile. “The last.”

I let out a heavy sigh before I force the negative whispers in my head to quiet.

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