Page 70 of Buried Beneath Sin

I look from Thatcher to the others who are waiting. With each step toward Knox’s car, my heart swells in small increments. My smile reflects the growth. They want me to join them? To do what? It doesn’t really matter. My life usually consists of isolation, either self-imposed for safety or due to being an outcast. Being invited out to do anything is a rare moment I won’t take for granted.

I look up at Thatcher. “Where are we going?”

“Chicago,” Knox offers up quickly, overhearing my question as we approach.

He’s sitting on the roof of his car now, his feet dangling off the side. The bright smile on his face is gorgeous, boyish, and full of hope. Judging by the excitement on his face, he’s a fan of the city.

“We’ll see where the night takes us,” Sagan says.

The hard lines and press of his mouth give away nothing of what he’s feeling. Is he excited to be going out like Knox? Or could he care less about tonight’s plan? He’s so hard to read. As we approach, Sagan opens the back door of the sedan and nudges his head—indicating for me to climb in. Unable to hold back my own excitement, I give him a shy smile before I let go of Thatcher’s hand and slip into the back.

“Knox,back!” Thatcher barks as he rounds the front of the car.

“What? No way!” he whines. “I’ll get us there much faster.”

“You don’t even know where there is, and I’d like to make it to our unknown destination in one piece,” Thatcher objects. “Last time we let you drive we almost died. Since I’d rather not experience that again, get the fuck in the back and keep our little sister company.”

As I settle into the back seat, I take note of how clean it is in here. There’s not a smudge on the windows, a stain on the cloth seats, and the cheap plastic floor mats don’t even have scuffs on them. For some reason, I’m surprised. I expected Knox to be a messy person. I don’t know why exactly, but his exuberance and lackadaisy attitude doesn’t really scream organized and tidy. The other back door opens. Knox flops into the seat beside me and shoots me an annoyed look.

“These two are so fuckingcontrolling.” He slams his car door shut. “God, they might as well have put a horse’s bit into my mouth with how they control me!”

The image is ridiculous, and I can’t help but giggle. Knox’s expression cracks as he chuckles with me. Thatcher climbs into the driver’s seat and adjusts the rearview mirror. Our eyes meet.

“Knox has a flair for the dramatics, ignore him.”

“Dramatic?Me?” Knox sputters, his expression twists into a look of faux indignation as he glares at the twin that sits in the driver’s seat.

Suddenly, his head whips around to face me. He leans close. The mischievous grin he flashes not only sends a surprising bout of butterflies into flight in my gut, but it also brings bumps up on my arm and sends shivers down my spine. Unease uncoils in my gut. Knox is attractive, but he's definitely a bit of a psychopath.

“Starr Girl,” he says through his toothy grin. “You haven’t seendramaticyet.”

Thatcher drives in the direction of the Windy City, but just as the lights of the city brighten the dark sky, he takes an exit andveers away from it. Knox chats nonstop. Thatcher seems more than happy to entertain Knox’s conversation, which seems to be just a stream of conscious thought spilling past his lips. Sagan only grunts here and there. I try to keep up but when Knox talks about the different places they’ve traveled or about the latest pop culture gossip, I’m a bit overwhelmed and underprepared.

We grab food at a diner, eating quickly. The guys snarf down burgers, in Knox’s case two, and their fries. I sip on a milkshake, content with just my dessert to hold me over. I’m not finished when the others are, so I put it in a Styrofoam cup and take it with me. I sip it as we head out again.

We drive through the suburbs of Chicago, winding aimlessly through the side streets. The streets are busy at first. Cars congest the streets and people mingle or walk on the sidewalks. A smile grows but falters on my face. The world we drive through is full of normalcy. People walking their dogs, friends running together, neighbors that wave to one another. In Chasm, I can’t just drive around. People know the Bright Starr van and when they see it—when they seeme—all my family’s sins are brought up. There’s no escaping the dark cloud that hangs over the Starr name.

I swallow down the bitterness as I stare at the lives that we pass by.

The streets begin to empty as it grows later and darker. I begin to recognize landmarks. We definitely passed that gas station, and I remember that atrocious yellow and brown house with boarded up windows. We drive for another twenty minutes before Thatcher pulls down a dark street between two buildings that look uninhabited.

“Ah man, don’t tell me we’re playing Kiss the Babysitter?” Knox groans beside me.

“You and your need to name shit,” Sagan grumbles, shaking his head in the passenger seat.

Thatcher chuckles as he cuts the car off. “Yes, we are.”

Knox groans louder. “Fine, but I’m implementing a new rule. With Starr Girl, that’ll be four of us, making things easier. That’s no fun! We’re going to make this harder.Twokissesthenwe act—got it?”

Seatbelts are unbuckled and the headlights are shut off. No one explains anything as they climb out, and I’m left wondering what game this is and how to play. I’m not exactly sure what we’re doing here either. I don’t remember seeing a bar or anything of any real interest as we cruised down the semi-lit street. Do they know someone here? I zip up my jacket as I climb out of the car. The cold is biting tonight. A wind is winding down the narrow passage, making it feel even chillier.

“Did anyone think to bring Starr Girl something sharp?” Knox asks, falling in beside me as the twins lead us toward the mouth of the alley. He points to something along the side of the building. My eyes follow its direction to find a broken beer bottle. “If not, I found something!”

I stare at the broken glass with a frown. Why would I need that? What could we possibly being doing that would require me to carry around something sharp—Oh!My feet stop moving on their own accord as my mind goes blank with shock. With their backs turned to me, the twins don’t notice, but Knox stops as he reaches into his jacket pocket.

“I was just joking,” he assures me. “Those pieces are too small and not sharp enough. We’ll find you something. Oh, you know what? I can help you into the dumpster I saw before we turned down here. Maybe we can find you a rusty fork? Or at the very least we can turn a spork into a shank.”

Words are impossible to form as I watch Knox pull a pair of fine black leather gloves from his jacket pocket. He yanks each one on, unaware of my gaping. My heart thumps hard against my ribcage before it suddenly takes off.

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