Page 15 of Entombed In Sin

His eyes widen with surprise, and he lifts his hands in surrender. “Shit, alright already!”

I choke on an angry sob and glare at Knox’s retreating form. When the door shuts behind him, I collapse back onto the couch.

Unable to hold it back, I let out a wretched scream.

7

SAGAN

Ican feel a storm brewing.

Within the walls of Bright Starr, thick, chaotic energy is crackling. I can taste a hint of it in the air. Getting to my feet, I move to stand at the threshold of the viewing room I’m currently tiling the floors of. Leaning against the doorframe, I watch as the pastor and Thatcher stroll out of Bright Starr. With my eyes trained on them, I don’t miss the guilty look the pastor throws over his shoulder at Bright Starr’s door.

Guilt. Not despair or heartache like a grieving father should be feeling.

My gut tightens. Something’s wrong. My intuition is confirmed a moment later. A wail, loud and twisted with agony and rage, pierces the silence of the funeral home. I stiffen, straightening from the wall, ready to go find my pet. Before I can take a single step, Knox scurries into view, his face red and twisted with shame.

“What did you do this time?” I snarl, grabbing his arm as he tries to slip into the viewing room.

“Nothing!” Knox denies, his eyes darting to my face. “She was upset when I walked into the office, and I slipped out to give her some privacy.”

The contrition on his face has me believing him. If it wasn’t Knox that caused the reaction, then—I look out the glass doors to see the pastor’s car pulling out of the parking lot. Knox jerks his arm out of my grip. I let him go as I wonder what made my Little Viper sound likethat. I’ve heard less pain coming from the screams of the victims I’ve gutted alive.

“You might want to just give her some space,” Knox mutters as he steps away from me, intending to slink off.

“Wait here,” I order.

“But I need to get started on the wallpaper or?—”

One look from me, and Knox rolls his eyes but shuts up. Thatcher strolls in a minute later. He pauses when he sees us.

“What is it?” he asks, his gaze jumping from between us.

Knox glares down at the floor. “Your sister is throwing a hissy?—”

“Someone knows we killed Trevor,” I interrupt Knox. “Beatrix said when she was taking care of the body, she noticed the boy’s eyes were cut out of his head. She thinks they’re the same eyes that were dropped off a few days ago.”

My brother’s surprise peppers me through our bond before Thatcher swears violently.

“What?” Knox gasps. “How? You’re usually so careful! Did someone see you when you carried him to the truck? Or when you hung him up? No fucking way does someone know!”

I wouldn’t have thought anyone would’ve known about our involvement with the kid. I’d knocked Trevor out once Beatrix was up at the house, then put him in a body bag before backing the kid’s car into the empty garage space in the cremation chamber and throwing him into his own trunk.

“No one would’ve seen him leave here,” I tell them both. “And there wasno onearound when I hung him off the bridge.”

Thatcher nods. “I didn’t see anyone when I came to pick you up either.”

“What do we do?” Knox demands. “Knock down every door in Chasm and demand to know if they saw anything?”

“I can go back to the bridge and do some tracking. Maybe I’ll find something that will help us figure out who left the eyes in our mailbox,” I offer.

“With the cops having stomped all over that place while they pulled Trevor’s body up, I doubt you’ll be able to decide whose friend and who’s foe,” Thatcher says grimly. “It will be a waste of time.”

He’s right. There were over a dozen people there yesterday, wandering all over the scene. Any evidence of the person who found the body first would’ve been destroyed.

“Well we have to do something,” Knox hisses. “Do we still have the eyes? No, wait, I remember you tossing them. Fuck, ok… Well, I guess we can’t check to see if Starr Girl is right.”

As we stand here, an internal warning in the back of my head goes off. A thick, pulsating energy crashes against me. It pours into my lungs. It tastes of rage and burns the back of my throat. The hair on my arms stands on end. I turn to look over my shoulder, readying myself for signs of trouble. Instead, I find Beatrix heading toward us, coming from the direction of the office. I watch as her grim expression morphs into a polite indifference.

---