Page 85 of Entombed In Sin

“I’m going to need you to get to the point, my knees are starting to ache,” I tell him, dragging my attention back to the topic at hand.

Angel Eyes’ gaze doesn’t leave my face. “I may not have killed in a long time, Knox, but the people in these streets—the ones thatreallyknow what’s going on? They know I’m still around. The ghost of Angel Eyes haunts these particular streets of Chicago, keeping everyone in check. Reminding them that if they don’t want to see me again, they listen to my orders. They follow the rules I’ve laid down. There’s an ecosystem in place that keeps everyone happy, and it was working just fine until thethree of you showed up. Letting you run around to make messes everywhere you went made me look like I’ve been slipping in my duties. I can’t have that. Control keeps my Old Lady safe. You needed to be stopped before things got out of hand. So I’ve ripped this little family apart. I got to say, I'm pretty proud of myself for not killing any of you—you’ve really been trying my patience.”

I grab hold of that piece of information, my heart leaping for joy.

“So the twins are alive?” I ask, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

Angel Eyes shrugs. “One was when I left, though he didn’t look like he was in great shape. I’m not sure about the other. I hope they are, though. Because I’m going to put the fear of God in them. I want them to suffer. It’s been far too long since I’ve really had any fun, and since I can’t kill anyone, I have to do the next best thing. They’ll wander through the rest of their lives wondering what happened to the both of you. If you’re still alive, dead… they’ll never know. And I hope that keeps them up at night. I hope it drives them to madness.”

Bile creeps up my throat. Damn, and I thoughtIwas an asshole for enjoying fear. This guy takes it up a notch. My victim’s fear lasts all of a few hours, tops. This guy has long-term plans, though.

“So you’re going to torture us?” Beatrix asks, her voice so small I’m surprised I can hear it from here.

Angel Eyes looks over his shoulder at her, having heard her as well. “Not you.You, we need, Miss Starr.”

“For what?” I bite out, hating the icy fear that shoots down my veins.

Angel Eyes’s head turns and our eyes meet. “I made another promise to my Old Lady. I told her I’d give her a family. Unfortunately, everything we’ve tried has failed. Shay’s bodycan’t carry a child, adoption for someone my age is off the table, and most surrogacy programs are too expensive to even consider. So, when I decided I’ll destroyyourfamily, I figured I could take pieces of it to make my own. Beatrix Starr is going to raise our child in her womb. Maybe more than one if we can manage it.”

The blood drains from my face quickly, leaving me feeling strangely lightheaded. Bile creeps up my throat. If I opened my mouth to scream in protest like Beatrix starts to, I’d end up throwing up all over myself.

“Shush, shush… We’ll take such good care of the baby!” Shannon exclaims with excitement, clearly unable to keep quiet any longer. She strokes Beatrix’s face, but my Shining Starr whips her head out of reach as she fights harder than ever to break the straps holding her down.

Angel Eyes smiles then. His mustache covers most of it, but I see the delight that sparks to life in those dead eyes.

“This is my gift to you and the others. It’s the gift of suffering,” he says, then chuckles darkly. “Every one of you will suffer for as long as you live. The twins will always wonder about you and who bested them. Beatrix will be here, taking my cock until she swells with our child, and then I’ll have her watch with a chain around her neck as I raise that child. And you? You’ll rot here in my basement while, over time, I cut pieces of you off your body. Eventually, Miss Starr will look over here to gaze upon a torso and an unrecognizable head.”

His words ring with promise and truth. Angel Eyes, the serial killer that once ruled these streets, has risen and plans to make up for lost time, using me and Beatrix as his punching bags. I know I should probably be concerned. This fucker really means it. He’s going to make our lives hell. Or he’s going to try to, at least.

What Angel Eyes has failed to realize is that he’s given me two gifts. Sure, suffering sounds all fine and dandy, but I could do without that. His first gift, though, the gift of hope? Boy, that was the best present a guy like me in my situation could ask for. Angel Eyes said he knew at least one twin was still kicking. While the thought of either being dead is enough to steal my breath and crack my soul into tiny pieces, that leaves one Hunt out there. One full of fury, spite, and a whole hell of a lot of determination to get back what is his. Whether it’s Sagan or Thatcher, they’ll come for me and Beatrix. They’ll scour this entire planet until they have us back. And with a tracker planted deep into my right ass cheek, I have a feeling they’ll be here sooner rather than later.

With that thought, I flash my teeth in a wild grin.

“Sounds swell, old man. Let’s see if you still have what it takes to cut me up,” I jeer stupidly. “Want to start with my cock first? Maybe you could shove it up your ass to see if that does anything for you.”

Angel Eyes gives me a cold, half smile while he twirls his knife in his hand. “Once I’m done with you, the Viagra should’ve kicked in, and I’ll go visit your friend.”

My smile drops away. It’s replaced with a scowl and gritted teeth.

“Touch her, and your death won’t be far off.”

“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?” Angel Eyes taunts and takes a step forward, lifting the blade in his hands.

28

THATCHER

Ispit blood out the window. The wad hits the wall of air rushing by before it flings backward in an almost cartoonish manner.

The roof of my mouth hasn’t stopped bleeding since Sagan yanked out the shard of glass that had somehow shoved itself up there. It hadn’t gone very deep, thankfully, but I wish it would stop bleeding. I find that I’m not particularly keen on tasting my own blood. Between that and the burns, cuts, and bruises that cover my body, I’m certainly not physically feeling my best.

“You alright, sir?” the driver of the Oldsmobile asks nervously. He’s a kid, no older than sixteen and probably in high school if I’m going off the backpack in the footwell of the passenger seat.

“Just fucking peachy,” I mutter.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the teenager shooting me a worried glance. He’s been doing this for the past thirty-odd minutes. I don’t blame him. Picking up two blood-covered hitchhikers probably isn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made. I’d prove that to him under different circumstances. But killing him isn’t in the cards. My blade rests in its sheath against my back beneath my shirt. I could reach back to grab it, and then when the kid pulls over to drop us off, I could shove it intohis chest. It would probably make me feel a smidge better… for about a minute.

Then I’d drop back into the murderous, boiling rage filling every crevice of my body.

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