Page 87 of Entombed In Sin

He’s dead. Patrick can’t hurt her anymore.

But she might be dead too if I don’t get fucking moving. Luckily, there’s super glue in the first aid kit. I clean the glass out of both wounds and glue my skin together before throwing agauze over them. I set my broken finger and wrap that up, too. There’s nothing I can do about the gash in my mouth but it’s finally stopped bleeding, so I should be fine. When that’s done, I dress and head back downstairs. I grab the laptop in the office and bring it out into the kitchen. Taking a seat at the table, I open it and get to work.

By the time Sagan joins me, collapsing in the chair beside me, I’m smiling.

“Tell me something good,” Sagan orders, glaring at my face.

I flip the laptop around to show him the screen. “I have Knox’s location. It’s a house about three miles away from where those fucking asshats pulled guns on us the night we went out dancing.”

I tap a button and show him the satellite image of the street. Sagan leans forward, his pupils narrowing on the screen.

“Better yet,” I tap the mouse a few times until a pdf of a background check pulls up, “I know who lives there. Ronald Reed, age sixty-six, retired Chicago cop that, up until recently, had a part-time gig teaching people how to fuckingwhittle.”

“People still do that?” Sagan asks, studying the information carefully.

I shrug. “It’s not a hobby I plan to pick up.”

“He doesn’t live there alone. His wife, Shannon Ladory, lives there with him. She’s twenty-three, a stay-at-home wife, and they’ve been married for about seven years now.”

Sagan’s gaze flickers to me and he raises an eyebrow. I shrug. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t officiate the damn thing.”

“Do you think we need to worry about her? Is she a threat?” he asks.

“I would find it unlikely given how quiet he’s been all these years. I doubt he’d stop killing just to let his wife get some stabs in.”

My brother shakes his head. “Whatever. Let’s go pay Ronald and Shannon a visit and?—”

A sharp knock at the door interrupts him. Sagan’s mouth slams shut as we stare at one another. I glance at the time on my laptop. It’s nearly nine o’clock at night. If this was work related, a call would’ve come in. Then again, Bright Starr’s phone is routed to mine and Beatrix’s cell phones; both of which are no longer in use.

As I rise to my feet, I reach for the blade from beneath my shirt. Sagan stands too, pulling out his weapon and clutching it tight within his fist. Together we move toward the front door. As we get there, more loud banging starts up. Sagan steps to the side, just out of sight, as I fling it open. On the other side of the threshold is a young man, dressed in oversized jeans that sag, a bulky jacket that he’s layered over other clothes, and a backward ball cap.

The young guy smirks at me, as if he knows he’s not where he’s supposed to be and doesn’t care. As if I might be intimidated by his appearance.

“Hey, dawg. I got a super-special delivery for a Thatcher and Sagan Hunt,” he says as he sucks his teeth and jerks his head around as he talks. “You must be them. Angel Eyes said yous was twins.”

When I hold his gaze and say nothing, his smirk falters. He sucks his teeth again and rolls his eyes. He shoves his hand into his pocket and reaches for something. My body stiffens ever so slightly, but with my hand behind my back, I’m ready to strike if I need to.

Turns out, I don’t need to. The young man pulls out a small ring box. I frown as he shoves it toward me.

“For you, man.”

I take it but don't tear my eyes away from our guest.

“Thanks,man,” I say, realizing that I’ve found the perfect outlet for my murderous rage. With a smile, I step back and halfway into the house. “Would you like to come in and grab a bite to eat while I open my gift?”

“Naw, I don’t want any part of that,” the young man says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Knowin’ him? That ain’t good. Have fun with that shit.”

My smile falls. It’s the cue my brother has been waiting for. Sagan moves swiftly. My brother steps out and grabs our guest by the front of his jacket. Caught off guard, the young thug doesn’t get a chance to fight back before Sagan drags him into the house.

Sagan’s knife goes to the man’s throat as I calmly shut the door behind them.

“Let’s go down to the basement. We just moved in and haven’t spent much time down there yet. Right now seems like a great time to get acquainted with the space,” he growls into the thug’s ear.

“Yo, man, you can’t be shooting the messenger!” the kid cries out as he thrashes about.

Neither of us responds while we head toward the basement door.

Made up of cement floors and cinder block walls, spiderwebs and dust are the only things that fill the basement. I consider the space and how Knox plans to turn this into a large hang out room with a pool table, bar, and a movie theater. None of that will happen if I don’t get him back.

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