Page 47 of Entombed In Sin

“No one!” Beatrix says with a squeak of embarrassment as she whirls around to look at him.

“Our sister was thinking about it,” I correct with another laugh. “She was asking for permission.”

Sagan snorts with amusement before he plucks the coffee cup from Beatrix’s hand and carries it with him over to the table. He sips the hot drink then collapses into the chair across from me.

“Given how bricked up Knox was last night, I’m surprised he didn’t initiate anything,” my brother drawls.

Beatrix sputters with embarrassment. Her hands come up to cup her cheeks, which I’m sure are burning, and then she drops them with a shake of her head.

“Yeah, no that… I doubt that he’d want to… I’m not sure if I…It doesn’t matter,” she huffs as she gives up while Sagan and I both laugh at her discomfort. She moves to leave the kitchen but pauses by the threshold and looks back at me. “Does the name Angel Eyes mean anything to you?”

Beside me, Sagan frowns, his brows coming together before his gaze drops to the cup of coffee. He tilts the cup, teasing the contents of it toward the rim before rotating it so it doesn’t spill.

“He was a serial killer. Why?” he demands.

“Was?” she repeats slowly.

I nod. “He was pretty prolific in the mid-nineties in Chicago, but he was shot and killed when the police caught up to him.”

Beatrix nods thoughtfully, her gaze going distant as she turns to leave once more. Sagan looks over his shoulder at her.

“Why, Little Viper?” His tone catches my attention. I glance at his face, watching his jaw ticking with irritation.

Beatrix shrugs nonchalantly. “Last night, while I was waiting for you guys, someone pulled up beside me and told me about him. I was just curious.”

My heart skips a beat as my phone drops to the table with a loud clatter. “You were approached?”

At my stepsister’s nod, the muscles in my chest tighten. Shit, she could’ve been hurt and we hadn’t been there. The blood drains from my face. When we pulled up to find her pinned tothe sidewalk, I hadn’t even considered that it could have been hersecondtime being accosted. My eyes slide over her body. She didn't walk into the kitchen this morning with a limp, and I don’t see any visible bumps or bruises. There are shallow scrapes on her palms, but other than that, there are no signs of injury.

“He didn’t try to hurt you, did he?” I ask softly, feeling the heavy weight of shame nestle in the middle of my chest. We promised her we’d be there to look out for her. Of course we could never have predicted we’d get held up by a bunch of wannabe thugs. Still, I’m a man of my word, and my stepsister could’ve been seriously injured.

“No. He was just warning me to be careful… I think.” Her brows furrow, and I don’t miss the way she shudders. Before I can press her on it, she shifts gears. “Today looks like it’s going to be relatively quiet at work; anything that comes up you’d be able to handle so, ah, would you mind if I take some time to myself?”

I raise a brow as I study her again. This question feels odd. I’m not quite sure why. Maybe it’s not the question but the body language that comes with it. Beatrix practically holds her breath while she struggles to meet my gaze. The floorboard creaks under her feet. The soft sound gives away the fact she’s subtly shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Something’s going on.

Anger rises in my chest, swift and hot. Secrets? Under this roof?Betweenus? Un-fucking-acceptable. She’ll be punished for this. Severely. Let’s just see how deeply she’ll dig her own hole.

I hold my smile and her gaze as I say, “Of course. Have anything special planned?”

She shakes her head but her gaze falls everywhere except on me. “No… I just wanted to relax. I have a body I need to embalm, but after that, maybe I could just come up here and work on rearranging the conservatory.”

Liar. Fuckingliar. The guilt is written all over her face. Curiosity laces with my fury. What is my stepsister up to that she doesn’t want us to know about? I’ll find out eventually.

“That sounds nice. You probably haven’t had a day off in a long time,” I say, making sure to hide behind a mask of indifference. “When we get back, we’ll hold down the fort.”

“Back? Back from where?” Beatrix asks.

“The pastor called yesterday morning and invited us to his son’s funeral today,” I tell her, keeping my voice even despite the storm brewing in my gut. “I forgot to mention it; sorry about that. Would you like to come? I’m sure Knox is capable of answering phones and taking messages for us while we’re out.”

Beatrix flinches hard. Her face scrunches up into agony—an expression my victims typically wear. She hides her pain quickly before her shoulders raise as she takes a deep, steadying breath. Beatrix looks from me to the back of Sagan’s head then back at me. Her mask doesn’t hold. Fear and pain shine bright in her eyes. Her bottom lip wobbles once before she can control it.

Her hurt only fuels my rage. If shetoldus what was wrong, we could find a way to make it better. To comfort her at the very least. I’ve not consoled many people in my life, but I’d try for her.

Beatrix’s mouth opens, and for a second, I think she’s going to tell me the truth. That her friend wants her to lie to his entire congregation, and the town, in an attempt to downplay the crimes his son had committed against her. That the pastor wants her to carry around the stigma of a liar around town, all because he’s too ashamed to admit he raised an asshole.

“Ah, no, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to go. Pretending that it was a suicide when I know the truth… I don’t know, it feels like a situation where I might accidentally slip up and say the wrong thing. I’ll give the pastor a call later to give him my condolences,” she stammers out. “You guys don’t really have to go either. You didn’t know Trevor and given that you… ah?—”

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