Page 8 of Entombed In Sin

Then, yesterday, we were kicked while we were down. The local adoption agency had reached out to tell us that, due to my age, they had to reject our application.

Since that phone call, my ShayShay hasn’t gotten out of bed. I’m worried about her. This woman laying here isn’t who I fell in love with. Shannon has all the brightness and purity of an angel. She deserves the world.

I’ll give her a child, no matter what it takes.

But first, I need to make her shine again. I can’t continue to run off to keep a watch on the Hunt twins and the family they’re creating when my own family needs me. The trackers will have to do for now. At least I’ll know if they get close. I can also use Jakob’s guys to keep an eye on them whenever they’re out and about. It would be easy to send them a pin of the Hunt’s location. Then Jakob’s guys can report whatever they find back to me.

With a sigh, I stand and look down at my Old Lady.

“I’m going to run you a bath, and then I’ll bring dinner up for you to eat,” I tell her. “I’ll make sure to light your favorite candles so you can enjoy every moment of that warm water.”

“I’m not hungry,” she murmurs, unblinking as she stares ahead of her.

“Now, now, I won’t be havin’ none of that. You’re going to eat, go to sleep, and tomorrow you and I are just going to sit around and relax. Ok?”

Her green eyes shift then. They land on my face, and the smallest of smiles pulls at her mouth. “You’re going to stay with me? All day?”

The hope in her voice is like a blade shoving into my chest. The guilt and shame that follows is my own doing. I’ve been letting my ShayShay down recently, leaving her to suffer alone. Damn those Hunts. I’ll keep an eye on them from a distance while I concoct a plan to get them out of my hair and city.

“Yeah, darlin’,” I smile down at her. “I’m all yours.”

4

SAGAN

Beatrix is perfect.

Snuggled close, with her back against my brother’s chest and deep asleep, her face is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen. I’m jealous of Thatcher—I’m man enough to admit that as I study how tightly he’s curled up against her.

I wish I was gentle enough to do the same.

But if I had been the one to climb into bed with my Little Viper last night, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to let her sleep and recover. I’d have buried myself in her and kept my cock warm in her wet, tight pussy, where I could feel her heartbeat as she shuddered around me all night long.

She gave us a scare yesterday. That fear stuck with me all night. Around midnight, my desperation to check to make sure she was still alive drove me to slip into my brother’s room and watch her chest rise and fall. It’s been a few minutes since the morning light started spilling into the room and yet I still won’t move from my spot. I can’t stop watching. Coveting.Cravingmy pet.

Beatrix’s lips are slightly parted; her lashes rest against her cheeks. It doesn’t seem to bother her how Thatcher lightly grips the front of her neck possessively, or the way his leg is swungover her hips to keep her body trapped against him. Could it be that it’s his hold on her that keeps her sleeping so soundly? Does she feel safe with him? I’d like to think so. Though it could just be sheer exhaustion after a harrowing experience.

My gaze drops to her fingers. I’d managed to bandage them without waking her, but I can see red bleeding through. I’ll have to change them before she heads down to Bright Starr for the day. The sight of her blood causes my temper to creep forward. My teeth snapping together is audible, though soft enough not to bother either of the sleeping bodies. I’ve seen marks on her body before. Bruises, a split lip, welts… I’ve seen them all. It never pleased me, but they inspired hope that it would drive my viper to evolve. To rise above the abuse as she has. Now, with Patrick gone, I thought it would be different if one of us were the ones to leave them. Given that the three of us play rough, marks are bound to happen. But my stomach twists, knotting uncomfortably. A prickle of unease raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

My Little Viper has gone through a great deal since I’ve known her. She has worn enough marks for a lifetime.

Beatrix stirs. I glance at the time on my locked phone screen. Right on time. It’s like she has an internal alarm. Every morning at five she begins to wake. Today seems to be no different. Slowly, her eyelids start to flutter. A moment later, they open.

There’s no moment of confusion or disorientation in those liquid amber eyes. The moment Beatrix’s eyes open, she’s awake, aware, and—judging by the sudden tightness bracketing her mouth—remembers exactly what happened yesterday.

I’m hit with a wave of hot anger, scorching and growing more intense as her gaze lands on me. It’s chased by a well of suspicion and trepidation. These feelings aren’t my own. They belong to the woman lying there on my bed.

My pet feels cornered. That much is clear. Beatrix’s gaze is piercing, with narrow pupils and a vibrant flash of warning in her eyes… Her feelings are coming in loud and clear. My dick responds as it always does to the threat of danger and to Beatrix: it hardens.

But even as desire floods my body, a small part of my brain warns me that I need to tread carefully. We’ve lost a killer’s trust. She might not have struck yet on her own but yesterday could’ve been the catalyst to reaching her full potential. In fact, as I stare into her steely gaze, I’m positive of it.

Blinking rapidly, my Little Viper manages to tamp down the murderous rage running through her. When her vision clears, the sweet, quiet Beatrix Starr is staring back at me. She’s so good at hiding her intentions. No wonder Patrick and Lauren, the two people in her life that should’ve known her better than anyone else, never saw their deaths coming. She’s the perfect killer. I want to pull her close so she can whisper in my ear how she'd kill us.

My cock grows even harder.

Her body slowly stiffens as she awakens further. Thatcher’s hand slides up and down the column of her neck, the gesture lazy and soothing. He sighs loudly.

“Must you stare so intensely, Sagan? It’s fucking weird,” Thatcher drawls without lifting his head, his voice thick with sleep.

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