Page 91 of Entombed In Sin

I say nothing. Instead, I bring my knees to my chest and stare at the wall, listening to each heavy fall of Angel Eyes’ footsteps as he comes down the stairs. The lighter set of steps that follow only confirms what Knox and I know is going to happen. I also know I won’t fight it. I can’t. If I do, they might notice during our struggle that the plate is practically no longer attached to thefloor. I’m not ready to run or to strike against both of them, so for now, I just have to endure their torment.

I take a deep breath and accept my fate.

30

SAGAN

I’ve never felt loss before.

The only person in my life who’d been close enough to inflict any type of hurt like that would’ve been my mother. But there was no love lost when we learned she’d hung herself.

I didn’t feel the cold sting biting into my flesh, the freezing of my bones, or the ache of my heart as it shattered from becoming so brittle. People talked like that about what it feels like to lose someone, and I just… I’ve just never understood that. Maybe because I’m numb to the world. I don’t give two shits about anything that most people would care about.

Or maybe because I truly haven’t experienced it.

Even now, in the absence of my pet and my Pretty Boy, I still have never felt it. For the past three days, I’ve wondered when it would finally sink in. I waited for that wretched feeling to take hold. Yet the sting of loss doesn’t strike.

That’s probably because, deep down, I know they aren’t lost to me. There is nothing and no one on this earth that will keep me away from them. I will split the multiverse apart, searching through every dimension in existence for the two of them. I haven’t lost anything. I’ve just… misplaced them. They’re alive and they’re waiting. No doubt my Little Viper is coiled and readyto strike. Knox is probably a ticking time bomb of bloody wrath who’s simply biding his time until we show up. He knows we’re coming. Even without a fucking tracker in his ass, he knows we’d move heaven and earth to find him.

The black, swirling mass of energy that is my soul has been agitated and restless inside me. It rattles my bones and keeps me going despite the lack of sleep and food I’ve had. I should take better care of myself. Keep myself strong. But the thought of my sweet, little pet and my Pretty Boy in the hands of a fucking psychopath makes both sleeping and eating impossible.

Can the two of them feel us nearby? I can feel them. For the past three hours since we pulled up two blocks from Angel Eyes’ house in our newly stolen car, my soul’s agitation has turned into full riot mode. It aches to reconnect to those it yearns for. I can hardly think straight with the chaos consuming my very being and the bloodlust that rises up and demands I act.

Beside me, Thatcher stews. His quiet rage simmers between us through our bond. It’s so intense that I know if I listen closely, I could hear the soft sizzling of it as races beneath his skin. IwishI had this connection with Beatrix and Knox. At least I’d have some clue as to what they’re going through. What condition they’ll be in when we find them.

“I can hear you grinding your teeth. Cut it out,” Thatcher snaps.

I don’t take my eyes off Angel Eyes’ house. Even in the dark, I can tell it’s a quaint place and well maintained despite its age. The house is a pale red with white trim, a white front porch, and even a white picket fence in front of the small front yard. I don’t even know if the three-by-three square patch of grass can be considered a yard but, there it is: a mini yard. It’s only about seven blocks away from where we had been when held at gunpoint by a group of kids.

The following morning, Beatrix had asked us about Angel Eyes. That should’ve sent up red flags. I thought it was strange that she brought him up. Even stranger that someone had pulled up and warned her about him. As if he was actually alive. We should’ve done some digging then and there. Instead, we blew it off. We had gotten the eyes, a signature move for this killer, and we had gotten a warning from someone stalking us. The name of the serial killer should’ve been the biggest red flag of them all.

“Sagan.”

“Stop listening,” I tell him coldly.

“It’s kind of hard when you’re grinding is so fucking loud.”

I flip on the radio and turn it up. “There, better?”

Thatcher shoots me a dark glare but falls silent.

We’re both on edge. Getting Beatrix and Knox back is the most important thing right now. But we have to be careful. We’ve been moving the car every twenty to thirty minutes to not arouse suspicion. One of us has walked several blocks around the house, scouring the area for any problematic neighbors or cameras that might catch us in the act whenever we decide to strike.

The pressing need that is urging me to run into that house, guns metaphorically blazing, is welling back up despite me having just shoved it down. We’ve been sitting here for too long. We should just sneak in and fucking stab everything that moves in that house. We never hesitate this long when it comes to a typical hit. Angel Eyes doesn’t know we’re coming. That gives us the advantage of surprise. Plus, two against one? Even as deadly and infamous as this man used to be, we got this. His death will be swift.

As will his wife’s.

It's uncomfortable, feeling this on edge. I usually pride myself on being the patient one. My greatest achievement had been stalking my Little Viper from the shadows for monthswithout allowing myself to indulge in the thing I coveted most. Where’s that man now?

Just as I’m about to demand we just fucking go in there, the front door opens. Thatcher leans forward and flips off the radio. Instinctually, we both move to tug down our black baseball caps to hide our faces. Dressed in black pants and sweatshirts, hidden behind an overly tinted windshield, and using the dark of night as cover, if Angel Eyes looked over here, he probably wouldn’t see us. Still, it’s better to be careful.

We both watch as the man lumbers out of the house, leaving the front door open behind him. He’s bigger and burlier than I expected a man at his age would be. With wide shoulders and a barrel chest, the man still has a good amount of muscle clinging to his body. His thick mustache and the stubble growing around his face only emphasize his round cheeks. He zips up his jacket as he walks toward the dark SUV sitting in a driveway, then says something over his shoulder.

A woman appears in the doorway next. She’s sporting a simple, overly modest dress, and wearing bulky looking shoes. Her red hair is pulled back into a severe bun, showcasing a young face. She looks… plain. Boring. And definitely not a threat. Then again, one look at Beatrix or Knox and you would never assume what they were capable of. Maybe Shannon Reed is a killer, just like the husband that groomed her.

We watch as Angel Eyes blows his wife a kiss before climbing into his car and pulling away. Shannon waves, watching as he takes off down the street. She stands there until he’s out of sight before turning and heading back inside.

According to Angel’s lackey that paid us a visit, Angel runs these streets. Sure, he’s not killing anymore, but he definitely knows who is and how to manipulate the people committing crimes around him. No one knows exactly what he looks like, and when he makes an appearance, he always seems to have theupper hand, no matter what. It’s how he’s kept hidden all these years.

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