Page 41 of Buried Beneath Sin

I suck in a deep breath, savoring the slight burn from the smoke as it slides down my throat and collects in my lungs. In my rearview mirror, I watch the Hunt twin and his twink talk. They don’t stand there long. The Hunt twin shakes his head, running his fingers through his black hair-—a clear sign of frustration, then he storms back into his room with his boyfriend right on his heels.

How very interesting.

A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. I don’t know what’s going on yet, but I feel like the answer is getting closer. As if all I have to do is reach out and it’ll be there for my fingertips to brush against. I love a good mystery. It’s why I’d become a detective all those years ago. I miss it sometimes. Retirement can be a bit of a bore. Giving up killingandmy career at the same time? Well, without my old lady, I’m pretty sure I would’ve gone mad by now.

But now I have something else to pass the time, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it. This strange game the Hunts are playing has me absolutely enthralled. Especially since it looks like they’re about done. Whatever they want, it’s in that big old house in Chasm. That’s why they killed their father and took out their stepmother. Maybe Beatrix has something to do with that, maybe she’s just a mouse they’re playing with. Who knows? Ihope to figure it out. I’d hate to think I’ve grown rusty since I’ve been out of the game.

As long as this game has nothing to do with trying to claim Chicago as their own—which I’ve been a little concerned about—I’m quite content to let them see it to the end. Sure, they come to visit and they kill on my streets, but if they’re almost done here, then I can allow it to go on for a little while longer.

I turn on my car and pull out of the gas station.

“I’ll figure out your end game before it happens,” I mutter to myself, still smiling. “Because I’m just that fucking good.”

20

THATCHER

“—yeah, no. I’m definitely not going to do that. Wait, really? He said that? Aboutyou? No! I hope you ditched him right there at the table. You could get triple that from the right client.”

The jogger chuckles. The sound is breathless as he keeps up his steady pace. I’m actually pretty impressed that he’s still going. When I picked him from the plethora of morning runners, I was sure he wouldn’t be going further than three miles tops. But here he is, going strong on mile four, hardly winded and keeping up an easy conversation with whoever is on his Bluetooth headset. I check my watch. Because he’s on his fourth mile, that meansI’malso on my fourth.

While I would normally be annoyed and let my prey go by this point, the exertion this morning is exactly what I need. At this pace, I could probably run ten, maybe even thirteen miles. Hell, why not run a marathon? At least it keeps my body busy, if not my mind.

With how frazzled I feel, the fracturing of my mind seems imminent.

I hadn’t expected to see Beatrix Starr stroll into the same bar the three of us had been hanging out in last night. We’d promiseKnox that until after the funeral, he would have our complete and undivided attention. He deserved that after we’ve made him feel so forgotten. But fate, it seemed, had a different plan for us.

“Go see what she wants,” Knox pushed, just as curious as both Sagan and I had been. Because what were the chances she’d just show upthere?

“You do it,” Sagan urged darkly, wrapping his fingers around the back of Knox’s neck possessively. “I have some making up to do with our Pretty Boy. Be careful, she’ll get under your skin if you’re not.”

With the green light from both of them, I’d gotten up and strolled over to her. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her who I was. But conversation has always come easy to me, so when I sat down in the stool beside my stepsister, I was certain getting answers from her would be simple.

I was wrong.

At twenty-two, I expected the typical self-centered and airheaded nature that came with interacting with people her age. Instead, I found Beatrix alluring with her reserved nature. When she did speak, her words were spoken softly while she struggled—and failed miserably—to hold my gaze. Her eyes would drop to her hands or lap, where they’d stay until she’d gather enough courage to glance my way again. It was utterly charming. I had to pull out all the stops for a smile. When one would appear, it would come in slow, be filled with an unintentional seduction, and would fade before I could catch my breath.

“Ok, give the kids a hug for me. Tell them Uncle Seth will be there sometime next month. No, I promise this time. I know, I know, I need to be better about seeing them. It’s just—What? Yeah, ok. I’ll talk to you later.”

The jogger reaches up and taps his headphones. He glances at his watch and swears before picking up speed. I adjust mysteps accordingly. We round two bends, go over a small bridge, and pass about ten different people who are walking their dog, running, or gossiping as a few walk together. No one looks at the jogger and no one notices me.

Still, I make a point to keep my chin tucked close to my chest. This way, the visor of my ball cap covers the majority of my face. I can’t have too many people be able to identify me.

We round the bend into a thicket of trees. Here, the lack of sunlight from the rising sun makes the shadows appear extra dark. A perfect place to strike. My strides lengthen. I close the distance between me and my target easily. When my hand comes up to cover his mouth, my foot slips between his legs, causing him to trip. With a practiced move, I use his momentum to jerk him sideways into the bushes—effectively tackling him out of sight.

I’ve done this so many times that I’ve even learned to use their body as a cushion to soften my landing.

Branches from the bushes catch on my windbreaker before effectively engulfing us in their embrace. My target struggles the minute we hit the ground. He kicks and flails his arms about, too breathless to scream just yet. Tired and confused, my victim doesn’t stand a chance against someone as vicious and well-versed in killing as I am.

Without much effort, I gain the upper hand. Quickly, I pin my victim down onto his back and straddle his waist before slapping a hand over his mouth. This position to kill is my favorite. Like this, I can watch as confusion and fear turn to understanding and horror—all flashing in their eyes like a shooting star.

The eyes are the best part of the body. Why? Because they hold a person’s soul. Seeing such a beautiful and delicate thing rise up to meet me is exhilarating. Unknowingly, by presenting itself, it marks its own demise. I have the power to snuff it outor allow it to continue to shine. At this moment, I’m the thing that this soul fears more than anything else in the world. It’s a heady sensation. This particular soul is currently screaming at me, begging for me to let it stay in its host body. While I enjoy seeing its brightness, something’s missing.

Thissoul is uninteresting.

Disappointment and contempt pool into my veins. This man is filled with nothingness. His life meaningless. I stare into this man’s eyes searching for something, anything that would spark the same feeling of euphoria and awe I’d experienced last night.

My effort is in vain. This man’s soul is worthless.

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