Page 3 of Buried Beneath Sin

So why am I intrigued now?

I take my time drinking in her short legs, thick thighs, wide hips, and plump ass. My eyes linger on her ass a moment longer,appreciating it like a fine painting. The clothes she wears are unextraordinary—her pajama shorts have holes, and the color of her tank top has faded away to a color somewhere between purple and gray.

She lets out a soft whimper that breaks halfway through to turn into a sob. A hard tremor races through her.

If Lauren is downstairs, then this must be her daughter, Beatrix Starr. From what Knox unearthed from the sparse information online about her, she’s twenty-two, just graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in mortuary science, and is home now to help run Bright Starr. Unlike her mother, Beatrix’s warm brown skin has a healthy glow to it, albeit marred with a few bruises here and there. Her hair, a few shades lighter than her mother's, is parted down the middle and kept in tight braids. And judging by the dramatic feminine curves that create a mouthwatering silhouette, she’s not a junkie.

The young woman tries to pull herself across the floor again. Her attempt this time is even more feeble and less successful than the last. Where is she going? I follow the direction she’s headed and eye a small, antique vanity. Sitting on top of it is a phone.

Is she trying to call for help? Why doesn’t she just call out?

The near silence in the room is interrupted by the thundering of footsteps coming down stairs. Beatrix whimpers—the noise desperate and frightened now rather than simply distressed. It's a sound I know only too well.

The footsteps stop on the second landing then start this way. Shit, I need to get moving. I’m careful as I step over Lauren’s daughter and grab the handle of the folding door to her closet. I pull it open and step inside. Just as I pull it shut, the bedroom door bangs open the rest of the way.

There’s a scoff. I lean ever so slightly to the side to peer through the slats of the door. There, standing in all his six foot,four inch glory, is my father. My insides riot at the sight of him—a momentary explosion of pure rage. It’s crazy that I came fromthisbastard. Other than inheriting his height, I never once believed we were related. The differences between us are even more pronounced now since he’s aged quite a bit. With wispy hair that he’s combed over a near-bald head, a beer belly that hangs off a thin frame, and clothes stained with food, he’s really let himself go.

What hasn’t changed is that sneer he’s currently hosting. It’s the same one he would wear just when he was about to dole out a special type of punishment. Fear and anguish are like ghostly fingertips skimming across my chest, causing it to tighten for just a second before they disappear and I relax.

“You fucking bitch,” Patrick hisses as he steps forward to straddle the young woman. “You really thought you could convince your mother toleaveme?”

He crouches down, grabbing her two braids and yanking up her head. She lets out a soft gasp.

“Well, you heard her. Sheneedsme. This businessneedsme. How else would Bright Starr have survived this long? I have put blood, sweat, and tears into that place! And the shit I have to deal with from your mother—it’s enough to drive a man mad. But I do it because I know what’s best for her and us. We werehappywithoutyou!”

He slams her face down onto the floor. Her answering whimper is soft.

“You listen to me good, Beatrix,” he snarls. “You got bold while you were away at college. Did you really think you could just storm back through those doors with divorce papers in hand and try to plant lies about me in your mother’s ear? You’re fucking pathetic. Don’t you get that by now? Lauren loathes you. Your constant nagging and pushing her to do things—she can’tstandyou. I’m the one she wants around, not you. Luckily forme,youstill love her. So here’s my proposition: from now on, you start listening to me and doing as I say. If you don’t, I’ll kill that bitch downstairs and then I’ll come for you.”

Patrick’s snicker is the same one that chases me in my nightmares. My hand reaches for the knife sheathed on my belt. I catch myself in the act. With a great deal of effort, I force myself to hold still.

“Up and at ’em,” my dad says gleefully.

He stands, yanking the woman up by her hair and dragging her limp body over to the twin bed. She doesn’t fight him. I don’t know if she can at this point. Clearly she’s been incapacitated. I can’t tell if it’s self-inflicted like Lauren downstairs or otherwise.

Patrick throws the young woman onto the bed and flips her onto her back. She tries to reach up—whether it’s to push him away or claw at his face, I’m not sure—but Dad just slaps her hands away and slams a fist against her cheek. Her head flops to the side, facing me. Her mouth hangs open, her eyes half-drooped.

“You can’t fightme,” he snarls before laughing. “That sedative is kicking in nicely. Soon all you’ll be able to do is lay there and feel me.”

When my father flicks on the lamp that sits on the vanity, light floods the room and allows me a clear view of my stepsister’s face. Her brown skin is lighter than her mother’s by several shades; her lips are fuller too. As my father rips open her top, large tits spill out. He groans. While theyarenice, I’m unimpressed by the overall package. She’s just another body we’ll have to dispose of later.

We can’t have her inheriting this place once her mother and my dad are dead.

That’s if wewantthis place. I’m not convinced inheriting any of this would be in our best interest.

I glance around the room. Unlike the rest of the house, this room is immaculate. I’m almost positive there’s not a speck of dust anywhere. It’s also the most updated, though that’s not saying a lot. The furniture has been purchased within the last decade, at least. Items on her dresser are neatly organized, her windows are clean—unlike the film that covers the rest that I’ve seen—and there’s a pile of neatly folded clothes sitting in a basket by the foot of the bed. By the windowsill, there’s a small potted plant. Even from here I can tell the soil is damp and new. Whatever she’s cultivating is still young, just a single leaf that has yet to unravel.

“You know what the people around here call you?” Patrick asks, unbuckling his pants. He chucks them off with a grunt. When his belt hits the floor, he straddles his stepdaughter. “A weirdo,freak, the Starr with a fat ass but no brains. And you know what I say when I hear them? I agree. Youarea freak, and I’m disgusted I can get my cock up for you. But you’ll take care of it, won’t you?”

He yanks down her pajama bottoms.

“You won’t make a sound now, will you Beatrix?” he asks, leaning over her as he grabs his dick and positions it between her legs. He chuckles darkly. “No, no, I don’t think you will. Not that you do much talking anyway.”

As he snaps his hips forward, his stepdaughter lets out the softest of whimpers. My gaze falls back to her face just in time for the light to catch in her eyes.

I stifle a grunt as the floor beneath me drops away—my stomach going with it.

Those eyes… Holy shit. Like liquid amber, the rich molten color is as striking as it is unusual. From here, they almost look like they’re glowing. I’ve never seen anything like them. My lungs expand, searching for air to fill them, but I can’t seem totake a full breath. The longer I stare, the more I feel like I’m slowly melting into them—sinking into their abyss.

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