Page 48 of Entombed In Sin

“Killed him?” I supply, keeping a firm grasp of my nonchalance despite the fact that Beatrix has just hammered the last nail of her coffin in.

“Yeah, that.”

“That doesn’t bother either of us in the least,” Sagan says with a shrug and a hard half smile. “In fact, it’ll be fun to see others’ pain. We don’t get to see this side of our kills often.”

“Oh…” Beatrix takes a step out of the room. “Well, in that case have fun, I guess?”

My brother laughs darkly. “Oh,Iwill.”

“I’ll go get Knox up so he can help you down at Bright Starr,” I offer, holding onto my smile. “When we get back, you can have the rest of the day off.”

She takes another step out of the room. “Alright, well… I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

I watch as she scurries out of the room. My brother chuckles darkly before he mutters, “I’m looking forward to showing Beatrix what a proper punishment is like.”

At this, I smile. “Me too.”

Sagan stands but pauses before leaving the table to ask, “When was the last time you heard the name Angel Eyes?”

It takes me a second to flip through my memories before I answer, “I think we watched a documentary about him in one of the motels we stayed at a few years back. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Sagan admits with a shrug. “It’s weird someone would bring him up with Beatrix. He’s an old school serial killer, like Ramirez or Bundy. Think they were trying to scare her?”

“Who knows?” I reply.

Sagan says nothing more. He simply stomps over to the sink, dumps the last bit of coffee down the drain before placing the cup down, and then slips out without another word. I stare after him, wondering what he could be thinking.

16

ANGEL EYES

Jakob: They fucking killed my men

Jakob: You said they weren’t a threat

Jakob: Where do they live? Imma gonna fuckin kill em

Iknow about the killings. The news anchors on the television are currently talking about the unexpected spike in dangerous criminal activity. It’s all they’ve been talking about for well over an hour now. I peel my eyes off the television, only to stare at the small screen in my hand.

Anger roils in my gut as I look at the text messages. Jakob is right to be mad at me. When I demanded he send some men to stop the car rolling through my streets, I hadn’t thought to warn him about the twins. How the hell could I have known they’d get the upper hand? I figured if I sent Jakob’s men to stall them, they’d be humbled. They would look death in the eyes and realize they were in over their heads. That they should back the fuck off.

But they hadn’t.

Instead, they painted my streets with blood. They’d killed seven gun-wielding gang members in a blink of an eye. But that’snot all. They left bodies piled in an alley and two more littering the streets.Mystreets. These fuckers came with the intention of stirring up trouble, that much is clear. Well, they succeeded. The police are searching all over the area, but they won’t find the perpetrators. Nope. The Hunt twins left the city and went back to sleep in their nice cushy beds.

Not before they threw their fucking trackers in Lake Eerie, though. It was like one last ‘fuck you’ before they took off. Well, the jokes on them. The trackers aren’t the only way I’ve been keeping tabs on them. It’s almost funny that they thought they were through with me.

How fucking stupid.

Rage, hot and black, grips my heart as I stand and stomp into the living room. I grab the remote to the television and power it off. I’m tired of the news. Tired of being patient. And I’m fucking tired of the Hunt twins. The chaos they’ve left in their wake can’t be taken lightly. I’m not, and have never been, a pushover. Letting this transgression go will only allow more to happen. I glare at the dark, blank screen. My reflection is that of an older man. I hate who I see. That’s not me. In my head, I’m in the prime of my life. A man capable of horrible things.

I jerk my head away to look toward the stairs.

My sweet ShayShay is sleeping. Lately, that’s all she’s been doing. I hate seeing my once energetic, lovely little wife reduced to a husk of a person. Last night, I had to help her into the shower given how weak she’s gotten. I think it helped a little. She regained a bit of color in her cheeks after that, and she managed to eat some food.

But then she went right back to sleep.

My hands curl into fists. The gesture reminds me of the burner phone in my hand. Flipping it back open, I type back a response.

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