Page 42 of Buried Beneath Sin

For the first time since I started taking lives, I experienced a rush so intense, so powerful and raw, that it left my body feeling shaky and weak afterward. Catching my breath has been difficult, going to sleep last night was impossible. My heart feels overstretched. The adrenaline that coursed through my body last night was so exquisite that I’m sure I leveled up to a god’s stature. So full of wonder and drunk off power, I hadn’t thought to savor the moment. Now I can’t think properly. All thoughts were just a soundless exclamation of marvel. How am I still reeling in the aftermath?

All that power, and I didn’t even kill Beatrix Starr.

I feed off fear, tears, and pain. With each life I take, I only grow more addicted to it all.

Yet with Beatrix it was different. While others fight me to stay in this world, she’d given me her life with eager anticipation. She coaxed me wordlessly to take what I wanted and then some. I was her dark salvation, guilty pleasure, a forbidden treat. Her soul spoke to me, encouraging me to take it away from here. To keep it close to my heart as I tore it from her body.

Fuck. All that power just handed to me willingly… I suck in a deep breath, aching to soak up more of it. But the motion is hollow. That feeling is gone. In its place? A vast, bottomlesscavern inside my chest. I’ve never felt so empty and lost. I hate this. I ache to be filled once more. I just need to experience that again.

And this man beneath me is not doing it for me.

“P-please, stop!”

Oops… I slip my hand back over his mouth. Quick as a flash, my hand dives into my back pocket to pull out my box cutter. It’s not my typical weapon of choice. I prefer my hunter’s blade. But given how many people I’ve killed this morning, I need to change things up. I can’t have it looking like a serial killer is on the loose in Chicago.

Not when Knox, Sagan, and I plan to use the city as our permanent playground.

As I pull it free, the blade slides out of its sheath. Almost in the same motion, it slices across the man’s neck. The blade is so sharp that the motion is smooth. I let go of his mouth to watch as my victim tries to scream. All that comes out is a soft, gargled wheeze, then a fountain of blood. The wild desperation in the man’s face is fleeting as despair and hopelessness crush his spirit. His thrashing lessens. Bloody lips open and close, gaping like a fish out of water.

I sit here, watching angrily, as the light in the man’s eyes dims. What a waste of my time. Beneath me, my victim stills. He lets out one last croak before his eyes turn dull and his mouth goes slack.

My hand grips the box cutter handle tight while the other balls into a fist. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I need that high again. I want it so badly that I would do anything for it. With a grimace, I rise to my feet and step over the body. Someone will find it here eventually.

Leaving him there to rot, I shove the box cutter back into my pocket, yank off my leather gloves, and tuck them into the interior pocket of my jacket before stepping out of the bushes.The jog back to the parking lot is filled with internal berating. By the time I get there and slip into the passenger side of the waiting black truck, I’m practically blowing smoke out of my ears as I rage at myself for not taking my time last night.

“I haven't seen you spiral like this in a while,” Sagan's head rolls lazily in my direction. I can feel his gaze drift over me and the acidity in our bond.

I look over at him incredulously, surprised by the fleeting emotion. “Jealous, brother? Really? You know you can go kill if you?—”

“It’s not about the killing,” he snaps, cutting me off. I blink in surprise; it’s rare to get under Sagan’s skin enough to get him ruffled.

“Then what’s this about?”

“I told you before you left me and Knox that Beatrix would get under your skin. Look at you, I was right,” he says, his voice deepening into a growl. “You’re spiraling and that’s dangerous. You’re going to get sloppy if you keep this up.”

“I won’t?—”

“Shut up,” he demands sharply. Slowly, his brows come together.“Iknowhow she tastes, how she feels, Thatcher. There’s no one who knows better than me how addictive she is. My warning wasn’t a possessive claim. Our stepsister is dangerous to our health in the best and worst way. In order for this to work, we need to lay low and keep our heads straight.”

“Iknow, Sagan,” I growl back, frustrated thathe’sthe one telling me this.

We can’t be seen with her until after the funeral and once we have the paperwork from the lawyer that gives us possession of everything. Otherwise, this—our presence, the death of Patrick and Lauren, and the sudden acquisition—could all look premeditated. We have to be careful.

And yet all I want to do is throw caution to the wind.

Maybe Iamspiraling. I take a second to rein in this chaos that’s riding me. Then I take another second when the first isn’t enough. And then another. Nothing happens. My fists hit the dash with a bang.

“Damn it, Sagan, is this what you’ve been dealing with these past few months?”

My brother doesn’t answer but he doesn’t have to. The confirmation comes as a swift breeze through our connection. No wonder he’s been so preoccupied and obsessed.

“It’s worse now that I’ve gotten a taste, but yes. It’s easier to breathe, to concentrate, when she’s present,” he says after a moment. “Once the place is ours, we can have her too.”

My head bobs slowly in agreement but my thoughts are already ten steps ahead of me.

It could take weeks, months even, depending on how quickly Patrick’s estate attorney gets around to handling business. I don’t want to wait that long. At the start of this, Beatrix Starr was just a pawn. I could be patient because I didn’t know her. I didn’tcraveher. And I certainly didn’t realize the extent to which my brother suffered in her absence. Things have changed though. If Knox is one of our lungs, Beatrix is the other. We need her if we’re going to survive.

We’re not going to wait any longer.

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