Page 90 of Buried Beneath Sin

I half expect someone to be standing there waiting for me, like Sagan, but the room is empty. I’m not sure how I feel about this as I get ready for the night. On one hand, I’m relieved I’ve been given some space. It’s so rare to have these moments of solitude. But on the other hand…

Now that you think you're safe, Little Viper, you crave attention.

Sagan’s words come back to haunt me as I stand there. Is that true? Do I feel so safe now that I yearn for company, any type, as long as they don’t kill me? I shiver as I think about what transpired after those words. How his hands and mouth hadforced my body to climb a peak and fall, over and over, until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think… It had been a glorious torture.

Heat climbs up my neck and into my face and I don’t fight how my thighs clench together.

While attention would be nice, especially after a harrowing moment where my life had flashed before my eyes, I know what I need to do right now. Dropping the towel, I make quick work of pulling on soft pajama pants and a thin top. After dressing, I head to the bathroom and take the few minutes to part my hair down the middle and braid both sections. It’s such a habit putting my hair up like this that I don’t even really have to think about what I’m doing. My fingers move on their own until each braid is done.

When I slip out of the room, I head for the second flight of stairs. I need to talk to Knox. At the very least I need to apologize to him. And if he’s willing to explain, maybe I can learn where I can touch that won’t trigger that type of reaction again. We’d become more friendly toward one another over the past few days. I’d hate to lose what grounds I’ve gained with him over this.

I make it only a few feet out of my bedroom before freezing. Drifting down from the third floor comes a wail. The sound, coming through the closed door, gives me pause. Is that… Knox? I bite my bottom lip nervously as I stare up at the only door at the top of the second flight of stairs.

Knox has taken Patrick and my mother’s room. It’s the biggest out of all of the bedrooms in the house and comes with its own private bathroom. With great, sweeping views of the property from nearly every angle, it’s a great room to pick. But as great as it is andcouldbe once cleaned up and renovated, it's also a room of horrors.

As another wail, one twisted with pain, drifts down to me, it sounds like the horrors have continued. A cold sweat breaks outalong the back of my neck. That’s Knox! Is he ok? What’s going on? Does he need help? Is this like a mental breakdown caused by me? Where’re Thatcher and Sagan?

“I’ll just take a peek, and if he’s alone… I’ll let him be,” I mutter to myself. If he’s in this much pain from my touch, he’s not in a place to hear my apology.

Rather than take the next flight of steps, I slip around them and grab the large mirror leaning up against the wall. I shift it to the right ever so slightly. When I’ve moved it just enough so that I can see the paint drop cloth behind it, I rest it back up against the wall. Reaching forward, I pull the cloth to the side and step into the large hole in the wall.

The narrow space and darkness doesn’t bother me. It’s the sounds that come from the floor above me that do.

Using the tight space I used to frequent as a child to check up on my mother, I turn sideways and make my way through the narrow passage. My hands shake as I brush away the dust and cobwebs. When I get to the end, I use the wood and plaster to climb up to the next floor. Making it to the ledge above, I shuffle to the side where the wall opens up. Here, I can walk almost normally. The space between the walls is wide enough for my thicker hips to move without too much issue.

I round the perimeter of the bedroom room, aware of the groans and wails coming from the other side of the wall. There’s someone else in the room with Knox. I can hear a low, muffled voice as whoever it is speaks. I can’t hear what’s being said. But I’ll know soon enough. The space behind the wall ends, the bathroom blocking the rest of the path around the room. But I don’t need to go further. My feet slow as I turn and brace my hands against the wall. The two small holes, one beside the other, are at the perfect eye level.

As I peer into the room, I choke on a gasp.

There, in the middle of the large bedroom, Knox and Thatcher come into focus. My gaze lands on Knox first. Naked, with his hands bound behind his back, and on his knees, Knox is in the most vulnerable position I’ve ever seen him in. But while he whimpers and pants heavily with his cheek pressed against the floor, there’s a shaky grin shining through the strange muzzle on his face.

A muzzle? I blink rapidly, not sure I’m seeing things properly. It looks like one that Sandy Jenkins’s German shepherd used to wear before it got killed running across Main Street. It’s attached around Knox’s head with a leather strap and metal bars protruding about four or five inches away from his face. As far as muzzles go, this seems like a bit of an overkill for Knox.

The pearl necklace I gave him is an oddly glamorous contrast to the muzzle around his face.

With his hips up and the way he’s angled, I can see his back clearly. There are straight, long, red welts that crisscross against his skin that are raised and angry looking. My stomach lurches at the sight of them. As Knox breathes in deeply, I notice the short, braided rope that sits along his spine. One end is tied to a loop attached to the strap of the muzzle. The other end is knotted around a smaller hoop. This one is part of a stainless steel rod that is curling half way up Knox’s spine from between his butt cheeks.

Whatisthat?

“You wear red so prettily, Knox.”

Thatcher’s words draw my attention to the Hunt in the room. Shirtless, I get to admire how sweat drips down Thatcher’s torso as he prowls in a wide circle around Knox. The rod he holds in one hand is twirled around in his fingers with skill only someone who uses it often would have. He reaches out with it, skimmingthe rod down Knox’s back and over the welts. Knox flinches, hissing as his face twists with pain.

“I’m pretty no matter what color I’m wearing,” Knox gasps then lets out a shaky laugh. “I’ll prove it to you. Make me black and blue.”

The rod moves so swiftly I don’t see it. But I hear the whistle as it swings and the sickening crack as it hits flesh. The sound it inspires from Knox makes me flinch.

“We can do this all night, Knox,” Thatcher drawls. He drags the rod over Knox's skin again. “But I have a feeling you want that, so here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to talk, or I’ll leave you here, tied up on this filthy floor for the night and then—this will be the kicker, Knox, so pay attention—I’ll wake you up early by touching you. You won’t be able to pull a blade on me then, will you? Not like you did with my sister tonight.”

“Fuck!” Knox hisses, his playfulness evaporating. I watch as the muscles in his back flex. My breath catches. As thin as he is, Knox is clearly not lacking in strength. “Just the threat makes me want to kill you, Thatcher.”

There’s another crack as Thatcher brings down the cane on Knox’s back again without warning. Knox grunts.

“You could try,” Thatcher muses. The rod comes down three more times, swift and sharp, cracking against Knox’s skin until he lets out another wail. “But given your current state, I think I’m safe for now.”

Knox grumbles something, but having his face pressed against the floorboard stifles whatever he’s saying.

“Truth be told, Knox, this is a bit of a surprise. You know the rules, and yet here we are, playing games. It’s disappointing.”

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