Page 45 of Entombed In Sin

It takes me a second to realize I’ve simply forgotten to take a breath. I’m jerked out of my trance when Thatcher turns his attention to me. He tilts his head up so I can see beneath his cap. The smile he wears has twisted his handsome features, turning him into an unspeakably stunning, demonic presence. Is he Death in the flesh? Or is he someone even the Grim Reaper should fear?

“Come here, Little Sister,” Thatcher demands.

He doesn’t have to ask me twice, though I have to remind myself how to move as nerves and excitement make me slightly dizzy. That could be the alcohol’s fault too. When I step in front of Thatcher, his palm falls away from Knox’s chest to grab my hand. He pulls me close as Sagan pulls away from Knox. Knox breathes heavily, his gaze hooded as he looks away from Sagan to me. There’s a tightness around his mouth and his eyes are twisted with a haunted look, brightened by a crazed bloodlust.

I suck in a sharp breath. He’s a fallen angel, too beautiful for this world yet too corrupted for heaven.

“I like the Carrie bloodbath look on you, bestie. You look de-lici-ous,” he rasps, his chest heaving.

“Give our Pretty Boy a taste of victory, Little Sister,” Thatcher urges, pulling me toward his boyfriend.

Neither Thatcher nor Knox give me a chance to respond or think. Knox’s hand comes down from the fence, cups the back of my neck, and pulls me in. I gasp against his lips as they find mine. I’m surprised at how soft Knox’s lips are. His tongue snakes into my mouth and suddenly he’s Christopher Columbus, exploring an uncharted territory. Or maybe he’s Lewis or Clark as he maps out every inch of my mouth. The heat and bubbling inside me spikes and clouds all thought. I lean into the kiss, loving how dominant this flippant, Pretty Boy is and how he can make even this fun, just like every other aspect of his life. I can’t stop my moan, which Knox gobbles up like candy.

Abruptly, he pulls away with a loud groan. I draw back in surprise as he cums inside the intestines he’s been masturbating into.

“Fuck!” Knox rasps with contentment as his body sags.

He drops the organ as he pants. Both Sagan and Thatcher swoop in to give him a swift peck. Then Thatcher grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.

“We need to go,” Thatcher says.

“The bodies—” Knox rasps out.

Bodies? As in there are more than one? I look around to find that, yes, there arebodies. Four of them, to be exact. I gape. Knox did this all on his own? The absolute carnage of blood and guts all over the place is hard to miss now that I’ve seen it. It’s like a bear came through here. I’m not sure if I’m more surprised that Knox can take on four large frat-looking guys at once, or at how utterly savage he had been with each body.

“We’re leaving them this time,” Thatcher snaps. “Now let’s get out of here.”

Knox gives a lazy one-shoulder shrug. “Sounds like that might come back to bite us in the ass.”’

“Just where you like teeth to be,” Sagan points out. Knox laughs.

“Well, at least let me do this…” Knox huffs. He bends down to grab the end of the intestine he used to masturbate with. Reaching back, he pulls out his knife. With an ease that only comes to someone who's been doing this for a while, he cuts about a foot of the organ off with a single slice then pockets it. “There, I’ve cleaned up my DNA.”

“Good boy,” Thatcher growls with a wide, predatory grin.

I stare at the bulge in his leather pants, wondering if I should ask what he’s going to do with that. Something tells me I probably don't want to know.

From the distance comes the wail of police sirens. Thatcher and Sagan move then. Thatcher drags me toward the car as Sagan dips down and picks Knox up to throw him over his shoulder. Knox yips with delight and falls into a fit of laughter. I can’t help it. I laugh with him. I’m not sure why we’re laughing or if it’s really the time, but I can’t help it—I’mhappy. Why question it?

Knox and I are dropped and pushed into the back of the truck’s cab, and the twins take the front seats. As we take off, Knox reaches up and places a bloody hand on his window. He snickers at the sight.

“We’re going to have to clean the fuck out of this truck tomorrow,” he drawls.

He shifts abruptly, and suddenly his head is in my lap. I look down at him, surprised by the intimacy. Knox smiles up at me before his eyelids flutter shut. Can he hear how my breath catches? How is it that someone can look so innocent and charming while covered in all this blood? I ache to reach out and touch him. To continue to smear it over his face, making him up to be a bloody Ken doll. He’d be so fun to play with…

I smile as I think about the small, clear baggy stuffed between my breasts. The little gift I’d been handed as I stepped out of the bathroom in the last club by a complete stranger is like an answer to my sinful prayer. I want to play with the beautiful boy that can light up a room with his smile. I want to speak to the creature that lurks beneath the pretty mask.

Now I have the opportunity to do so.

“Do you forgive me now, Starr Girl?” Knox murmurs sleepily.

I think about it for a second, then shake my head. “No, I didn’t get to stab anyone tonight.”

“You hear that? We need to make a stop!” Knox says, his eyes cracking open and his cheeks dimpling as his smile grows more pronounced.

“Not with the cops out now,” Thatcher says with a sigh. “Next time, Little Sister.”

“Can I have my own knife?” I ask before even considering the words that come out of my mouth. My lips slam shut in surprise. Do I really want my own weapon? Am I going to make this a habit?

---