Page 84 of Entombed In Sin

His mouth twitches up into a tight smile. “Ah, there’s my Old Lady.”

The woman on the stool rises, her smile growing impossibly bigger. The newcomer goes to her. When he comes to stand in front of the strange woman, he bends down and kisses her. It’s a swift peck, but when he pulls away I can see, even from across the room, the absolute adoration that shines in the woman's face.

I make a gagging noise. “You kiss your grandpa like that? Gross. I’ve done some disgusting shit in my life, but I draw the line at messing around with senior citizens.”

“Knox!” Beatrix gasps, looking at me with wide eyes. “Shut up!”

The man who joined us chuckles. The sound is cold and unperturbed. He shoots Beatrix a look before he strolls across the room toward me. I hold his gaze as he approaches. I’m not afraid of him or what the fuck is going to happen to me. All that matters is keeping this guy away from Beatrix.

When he stops, it's at the threshold to this weird little three-walled room. Up close, he doesn’t look any more intimidatingthan he had far away. There’s something very blue-collar about the man. Maybe it's the thick mustache, or the scruff covering the rest of his face from not shaving recently. It could be the wear and tear on his clothes or how dirty and scuffed his steel-toed boots are.

“I wasn’t going to bring you here,” the man admits, his midwestern accent thick and drawn out. “I didn’t think a twink like you could be of any use to me. But I saw an opportunity, and I couldn't resist.”

I chuckle. “Like what you see? Sorry, like I said, I draw the line at grandpa fucking.”

The woman on the other side of the room gasps and the man in front of me scowls. He steps forward, pulling a meaty fist from his pocket. Beatrix screams in warning as he pulls it back, but what the fuck am I supposed to do?Duck? I can’t move an inch. All I can do is accept what’s coming. His fist hits me straight in the jaw. My head snaps to the side as I see stars. As I gasp through the pain, the man steps back.

“We don’t use that type of language in this house,” the man snarls.

Another chuckle slips past my lips. “Oh, I’m sorry. Then you should probably let us go because I fucking swear, all the fucking goddamn time. Your bitch whore of a?—”

I’m cut off by a fist as I’m struck again. It doesn’t stop there, though. I’m struck again and again. He hits my face, my chest, my stomach, then goes back up to my face for good measure. I can’t flinch far or move in any direction. I just have to take it. By the time he steps back again, my vision is blurry, I can hardly breathe, and blood drips from my broken nose.

“Aw, shit,” I groan. “Someone needs to set this before I have a crooked schnoz for the rest of my life. That's not a cute look.”

“Knox, be quiet!” Beatrix begs.

I expect to be struck again, but the man only sighs this time. “Look at me, twinkle toes.”

The unexpected nickname catches me by surprise, and I laugh breathlessly. I look up only so that he can see my bloody smile. “Checking out my toes, huh? Didn’t peg you for a foot person, but hey, we all have our kinks. I’ll let you suck one if you let my girl go.”

The man sighs before he shoves his hand into a pocket and pulls out a small blade.

“You aren’t funny, Knox Keele,” the man drawls, ditching the nickname already. “In fact, I’ve been having a hard time laughing recently, knowing you and your boyfriends have been running around in my streets.”

I give him a one-shoulder shrug. “Oh yeah? I guess I could drudge up some knock, knock jokes and?—”

“Shut up,” he orders darkly. “Or I won’t just cut out one of your eyes, do you hear me?”

Oh, we’re going to do the whole torture thing. Great, well maybe I’ll come away from this with a few badass scars. Then again, he’s talking about touching my face. That’s the prettiest fucking feature about me. Other than my bejeweled dick, of course. Maybe I could talk him into carving up my chest or something.

“Don’t hurt him!” Beatrix screeches. “Or I’ll kill you myself! I stabbed you once!”

My brows raise to my hairline as I hold the gaze of the man in front of me. “My girl stabbed you?”

“Right in the back,” he confirms with no inflection in his voice or change in his expression. Even his eyes remain flat.

My heart swells with pride. Sagan’s Little Viper, Thatcher’s Little Sister, and my Shining Star struck. Sure, she didn’t kill him, but she tried. My baby killer is growing up so fast. When we get out of here, I’m giving her a gold star sticker.

“Good girl, Beatrix,” I call over his shoulder, giving her a bright, albeit bloody, grin as my nose bleeds.

The man before me huffs as regards me with boredom.

“I made a promise to my Old Lady here, Knox, that I would never kill again. You know why?” he asks me while searching my face for something. “Not because I didn’t want to kill. No, I don’t think you ever outgrow that. Once you get the taste for blood, you always crave it. But you know what I love more than killin’? Shannon. For her, I would put away that side of me so that the only thing that would take me away from her would be death. Not the cops, not a wound inflicted by one of my victims, just the Grim Reaper. For all intents and purposes, Angel Eyes retired. I’m just plain old Ronald Reed, and I’ve been ok with that.”

The Old Lady in question, Shannon, sighs. The sound is so full of love and wonder as she stares at his back, I can almost taste it. I make a face. There is something fucked up about their situation. Maybe it’s the whole age gap thing. He’s just, like, so fucking old compared to her. Sure, the twins have a few years on me and Beatrix but not, like, amillionyears. I try to picture the Hunt twins aged up another thirty years. Rather than feel disgust, my cock twitches.

Ok, maybe I get it a little.

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