Page 86 of Entombed In Sin

I thought Sagan would always be the most important person to me. Not because we shared a womb but because of the bloodlust that makes us an unstoppable force. I liked the power we wielded over others. I enjoy the screams of terror that only the threat of death can bring. The tears that fall due to pain are like gifts that only someone like me deserves. Sagan understands that. He understandsdeathand how exciting it is to be the one with the power to deliver it. We are gods among sheep. There were only the two of us, and it was us against the world. And I was sure I was fine with that. I never had the need or longing for love like most people do. I had my brother, and I had death. I thought there was nothing else I could possibly need more than those two things.

But I was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

Accepting Knox into our life had been easy. He was like carbon monoxide poisoning, dangerous, unsuspecting, and by the time I realized how deep he’d sunk into me, it was too late. He was there to stay. And I loved that about him. The way he thrived in the dark with us was proof he was meant to be ours. My toxic, insidious, Pretty Boy. He’d corrupted my heart in ways I didn’t realize were possible.

And Beatrix? She was like a brain aneurysm. A sudden, violent shock to our family nuclei that had us all taken aback. Knox may be a little bit crazy, but my stepsister? She was very much sane, which made her even more dangerous. She was quiet, cunning, and while she may not search it out, she was quite willing to be Death if the occasion arose. There’s no fear in Beatrix’s heart for the bloody games we like to play.

Knox and Beatrix have become a part of me so fully that as I sit in this passenger seat, I have to constantly look down to remind myself that I haven’t been physically amputated. Where the fuck are they? Who has them? Can it really be Angel Eyes? Or is this a copycat killer? The thought of them being at the hands of someone as capable as we are when it comes to pain and death causes my insides to freeze. My heart keeps skipping beats. How could I have lost them so easily in a game we play constantly?

Sagan and I have been playing our games for over two decades. Killing and stalking have been our life. We should’ve seen this coming. Sure, there were clues, but we didn’t take them seriously. Why would we? There are four of us—we should’ve been able to beat any adversary out there.

And yet, here Sagan and I sit in some stranger’s car, battered and bleeding, while the two others of our family are in the wind. My hands clench into fists on my lap. I ignore the pain in my knuckles. I’m pretty sure my middle finger on my left hand is broken in two different places. My thumb on my right hand is probably sprained. All the pain that covers my body—the dull, sharp, and throbbing—isn’t important. Getting Knox and Beatrix back and killing the fucker who came after us consumes my thoughts.

I spit out the window again.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop at the emergency room?” the kid asks.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Usually, small talk and manners are my thing, but at the moment I’m trying my best just to hold on to a single shred of my sanity. If this kid asks me one more time about stopping anywhere other than the border of Briar Glen, where he said was the furthest he could go without his mom questioning the mileage, I was going to gut him.

“I’m sure,” I growl out between clenched teeth.

We had to leave Knox’s car behind. It, along with the car that hit us, was completely totaled. But calling for a tow service or the cops wasn’t possible. One, because both our phones shattered in the wreck. Calling anybody was out of the question. And two, since it was a stolen vehicle with fake plates and a VIN number that belongs to a separate car, I figured it was better if we just cut and run. We can get Knox a new car once we get him back.

Too bad our version of running was really more of a gimped walk. It had taken us until the early hours of the morning, when the sunlight just started to creep over the trees, to make it to a main road. Another two hours before this kid picked us up. Now, time is creeping by at a snail’s pace because he can barely go above the speed limit.

All this time, wasted. We need to be doing everything we can to find Knox and Beatrix. Yet here we are, sitting in tense silence, going a measly three and a half miles over the speed limit.

Sagan, sitting in silence in the backseat, is death incarnate. His need for blood outweighs all else. I can feel his wrath, deadly energy pulsating through our bond. But even if we didn’t have this unique connection, I’d still be able to feel his crackling energy. It’s almost tangible as it hangs in the air of the car. When I suck in a deep breath, I can taste the fire and brimstone as if he’s risen from hell to collect souls. I’m pretty sure the only reason our driver is still alive is purely due to spite for our enemy. Sagan won’t allow for any setbacks getting to Knox and Beatrix. So as much as he wishes to gut someone, he knows not to kill the kid.

We just need to get home. There we can clean up and figure out our next steps.

I spit another glob of blood out the window and hope this driver gets us home before our sanity snaps.

It’s sunset by the time we trudge up the wide steps built into the hill that lead up to the house.

The trek from the edge of Briar Glen to here had been brutal. With slivers of glass in our boots, our feet are bloody messes. Sleet started to fall about an hour into the walk, and it turned to hard snow. I suppose that was the universe giving us the big, fat middle finger. As if the last twenty-four hours hadn’t been hard enough. Our jackets were warm, but battered and bruised as we were? It made the journey miserable. At least it had stopped about two hours ago and was completely melted away by the time the house had come into view.

Sagan limped the entire journey. Not once did he complain. I’m inclined to believe he probably didn’t notice the pain after a while. His quiet seething wasn’t all that silent though. I could feel his rage, like a roiling energy gathered around him. It fed into mine and made the dark thoughts in my head all that much louder. And worse yet, neither one of us had Knox to distract us. While we constantly bemoan his incessant chatter, none of us truly mind it.

My heart squeezes in my chest. Knox can survive anything. That little fucker could swan dive into hell and drag himself back up with a smile on his face. He’ll be ok. I know it. Beatrix on the other hand… I shake my head, refusing to think of my soft-spoken, slow-to-smile, sweet-natured stepsister in the hands of some sadistic motherfucker.

We make it to the top steps and I shove the front door open. The eerie silence that greets us is too loud. I grimace as Sagan slams the door shut behind us.

“Get cleaned up then meet me in the kitchen,” I snap, already heading for the stairs.

“Tell me you thought of a plan,” Sagan demands, following me.

My teeth gnash together as my nostrils flare wide. “Knox has the tracker. We’ll find them.”

“There’s no fucking way that thing has juice. We put it in his ass as a joke after?—”

I whirl around to face my brother as we get to the top of the stairs. Leaning into his face, I snarl, “It’ll work, and we will figure out where the fuck they are, brother.”

Sagan glares at me, his doubt loud and clear despite not having said a word. I can also see how exhausted he is. After the last twenty-four hours we’ve had, we’re not in a state to argue about this.

“Just go clean up. We’ll figure the rest out, alright?” I tell him. Rather than waste anymore words on the matter, I leave him standing there.

My shower is thorough but short. When I’m done, I assess the damage. I have a gaping cut across my chest that is bleeding profusely and one across the back of my right calf. I find a small first aid kit under the sink. It’s clear that it’s been used over and over, re-supplied and used up again. The broken plastic hinges and the off-brand bandages are a dead giveaway. I push away the thought of Beatrix slipping in here, hiding while she tended to the wounds my father gave her.

---