Page 113 of Entombed In Sin

Knox is the last to join us at the table. In his hand is a small, silver, ornate dish topped with a matching cloche. It looks old but freshly polished. His grin, sharp and full of mischief, is reflected in the silver.

“Ronald, you’re our guest tonight, so I made you something extra special,” he announces as he stops beside the man.

Ronald manages to lift his head to look up at Knox, but it's clearly a struggle for him. Sweat is dripping down the sides of hisface and, if it’s even possible, the rest of the blood leeches from his cheeks. This fucker is going to pass out on us soon.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Ronald manages to get out before he has to drop his head back down. He breathes heavily, groans, and then shivers hard.

Knox places the fancy dish right in front of him. Ronald only stares, not bothering to ask questions or to assure Knox he’s not playing any games. Judging by the hard way he’s breathing, Ronald’s just struggling to survive sitting there in his seat. To us, Knox waves his hand over the meal waiting for us.

“Dig in guys, I want our guest to see how much time and effort I put into this night to make it perfect for all of us,” he declares.

The three of us don’t wait. I’m starving, and I know Beatrix must be too since she hasn’t been eating much of the hospital food given to her. Between me and Thatcher, we fill her plate to the brim before we start to serve ourselves.

“I can’t eat this much,” Beatrix says, giving me and Thatcher a rueful smile. “You better help me with this.”

“Trust me, once you have a bite, you might find you’re hungrier than you originally thought,” Thatcher tells her confidently.

Once our plates are full, the three of us wait expectantly for Knox. He hasn’t taken his eye off Ronald. The vehement hatred in his gaze is twisted with mirth and excitement. I smile. This is my favorite side of my Pretty Boy. The one where his viciousness comes out to play. My dick grows even harder. To my surprise, my Little Viper’s hand slides over my crotch and gives me an unexpected, tight squeeze. I lift my hips into her hand. Without taking my eyes off Knox, who places a hand on top of the cloche, I lean toward Beatrix and tell her,

“Don’t tease me, Little Viper. I might just throw you on down on top of this table and fuck you right here.”

She laughs softly. The sound is so easy and pure. My heart squeezes before it suddenly swells. I have her back. The relief that comes with that knowledge causes a knot to form in my throat. It’s rare for me to allow emotions to overwhelm me, and I don’t let them now. But it’s difficult to tamp them back.

“Now, it’s your turn to fill your plate,Ronny,” Knox declares.

He pulls off the cloche slowly. As it comes away, I see what Knox has prepared for Ronald. Plated on top of a white doily, surrounded by a bed of small colorful, roasted potatoes, and garnished with some type of greenery, is Ronald Reed’s cooked dick.

Beatrix gasps in surprise while I let out booming laughter.

Ronald lets out a whine and tries to pull back in his seat. Tears spill down his cheeks, mingling with the beads of sweat. He starts to shake his head but Knox grabs a fist full of his hair with his free hand and yanks his head up so Ronald is forced to look at him.

With a grin so wide it threatens to split his face into two, Knox says, “Bon ap-fucking-petit, Ronald.”

38

BEATRIX

“While I was scrolling through my phone this morning in bed, I saw a woman who had a prosthetic eye that she had specially made and the iris wasglittering pink,” Knox says with excitement as he practically skips over to the embalming table where I stand waiting. “How cool is that?”

I chuckle as I take the scalpel from his hand.

“I have a sinking suspicion that they cost a lot,” I point out. “But it would be very cool.”

Knox opens his mouth to reply, but it’s Thatcher, leaning against the wall of refrigerators watching the two of us with his arms crossed over his chest, that speaks up first.

“Knox has always had expensive taste. Why would it be any different when it comes to this?”

“I didn’talways,” Knox counters, shooting him a glare. “You guys made me that way. You spoil me.”

“I think you just brow beat us into submission,” Thatcher objects. “And how could we refuse when you use that talented mouth on us?”

Knox snickers as I shoot a skeptical look over at my stepbrother. Freshly showered, there’s some pink in Thatcher’scheeks this morning. His hair is carefully combed back out of his face, held in place by gel, like always. Dressed in an expensive, tailored, all-black suit with a matching black tie and shoes, he looks ready for a day of helping the bereaved.

“I’m not sure if you can complain about Knox’s taste and the price it comes with when you’re dressed so sharply,” I point out calmly.

“Exactly,thank you, bestie,” Knox agrees at once with a sharp nod.

Thatcher holds my gaze as a smile creeps across his face. That smile, along with the darkening of his eyes, reminds me of the day he’d appeared here in Bright Starr. He had stood in the cremation chamber with my bullies at his feet and with one goal in mind.

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