Page 114 of Entombed In Sin

“We’re here to take over your life, Little Sister.”

I wonder if he realizes he’s succeeded. He, and the others, have consumed my life. In the beginning, I’d been afraid of him. Now, though, things are different. Looking at my stepbrother, whose gaze darkens further as it smolders, I find I’ve never felt so cherished. It’s more than that, though. Thatcher not only provided a safe space for me, but his love—as convoluted as it is—has made me stronger. When he first appeared, Thatcher had been there to take care of the men messing with me. Now,I’mthe one about to finish this with Ronald. Between Thatcher and Sagan, I’ve been given a safe space to explore this side of myself.

My heart swells as I finally look away from him.

“Siding with Knox will only get you in trouble,” Thatcher warns.

I shrug. “Maybe I’ll have Knox teach me some tricks so that I can win you over with my mouth as well.”

The two of them laugh, the love laced in the sound is so beautiful that I can’t help but smile along. My smile doesn’t fade as I stare down at my client. Ronald is nearly lifeless. The coloris all but gone from beneath his skin, his lips dry and cracked. His cheeks have hollowed and deep, dark shadows hang beneath his sunken eyes. There are ugly bruises—some old, some new—covering his naked body and cuts that haven’t healed. The worst part about him now, other than he’s still alive, is the odor radiating off him. God, does hestink. I’ve put some peppermint under my nose to keep from gagging. I’ve had corpses on this table that have smelled better.

“Good morning, Ronald,” I greet him. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

His eyes flicker, but that’s all the response I get. It pleases me. I hope he’s in there, in his own head, screaming. I hope he feels helpless and scared, too.

Last night, Knox had forced Ronald to eat his own cooked dick. It had taken prying Ronald’s mouth open, breaking teeth and probably his jaw, but Knox got every little bit down his throat. It was a sight to behold and a beautiful revenge, if I do say so myself. Knox would’ve slit his throat right afterward, but I stood up and halted him just before he could strike.

“Knox? Can I… play?”

My question had earned me three wide shit-eating grins from the guys around the table.

“Absolutely, Shining Starr! Would you like to do the honors?” Knox asked, flipping the knife around in his hand, so he held the sharp blade while presenting me with the handle.

“Not like this,” I shook my head. “I want to take him down to Bright Starr in the morning.”

Now here we are. Knox had his revenge, and now I get mine.

“I’m just going to make a quick incision and then we can begin, ok?” I tell Ronald, talking to him as if he was any other corpse on my table. He doesn’t respond, and I find I don’t care. I have a sinking suspicion he won’t be quiet for long. Not with what I have planned for him.

I reach down and take Ronald’s wrist in my hand. He tries to pull away. The motion is weak and gets him nowhere. Suddenly Thatcher’s hand lands on my shoulder. At the same time, Knox shoves his hand into my back pocket and gives my butt a squeeze.

Taking a deep breath, I take the scalpel and create a deep short slice in the crease of his arm where his forearm meets his bicep. Blood immediately wells up from the brachial artery. I place the scalpel down.

“Usually, I make an incision at the carotid artery,” I murmur. I’m not sure if I’m talking to Thatcher, Knox, Ronald, or myself. “But I feel like that would make this too swift.”

Before I can continue, one of the double doors opens to the preparation room. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Sagan who’s entered, but I do. How could I not? That dark energy that crackles around him, thick and intangible, nearly chokes me. Thatcher and Knox hold this same type of energy inside them. They hide it, wanting to lure people in with their perfect smiles. But Sagan? He doesn’t have finesse like them. He doesn’t want it. Sagan doesn’t care who feels his malevolence. He is who he is: my stalker. A devil. A killer. He owns me, like the pet he claims I am.

I love being owned by this madman.

The chemical smell of bleach hits my nose, causing it to wrinkle. He yanks off the old gardening gloves he’d been wearing and plops them beside Ronald’s head, where he stops and looks down at me.

“I’m glad I made it in time to see my Little Viper strike,” he says, a hint of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth.

I beam back at him.

“Took you long enough,” Thatcher deadpans coolly.

Sagan’s gaze flickers to his twin for just a moment before he looks back at me. “Sorry, pet. Forgive me for being late?”

I nod sharply. “Apology accepted,Sir.”

Sagan flashes his teeth in what I think is supposed to be a grin. To anyone who didn’t know him, he might as well have bared his teeth like an angry dog.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice deepening.

A wave of heat rushes through my body, and I can’t stop the way my breath catches. As my toes curl, I force my gaze away from Sagan and down to Ronald. Our guest doesn’t make a sound or react to Sagan’s presence. He simply stares up at the fluorescent lights overhead.

“Alright, this might pinch a bit, but,” I warn him, “That’s the least amount of pain you’re going to feel. It should get worse from there.”

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