Page 95 of Entombed In Sin

“The third rule is pretty fucking obvious, but turns out, it’s the hardest one to follow,” Knox growls. “And the punishment for it is pretty intense. The last rule, the mostimportantrule, the one we’ve all broken with each other is: don’t fall in love. Love is complicated, messy, and all-consuming. Too light for a world as dark as ours.”

I lick my blood-stained lips as we grow closer to the top of the stairs.

“Oops, I guess I broke that one,” I rasp. “Punish me… later, ’kay?”

“Too late, your punishment awaits you in thefarfuture, Shining Starr,” he says with a grim, half smile. “Eternal damnation awaits us all for being monsters capable of love. You know, I’ve already broken this stupid rule twice. I thought double the damnation would be as bad as it would get. I mean,being damned once is bad enough, right? But loving both twins, breaking that ruletwice?” He scoffs. “Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment because I’ve broken this rule a third time now, Shining Starr.”

A third time? As in… his love extends to me too? He doesn’t say the words, but this admittance is enough to make me smile as I leave this world.

“Now, like I said, don’t tell the twins I told you this one, ok? We’re supposed to find out about the rules through trial and error. They’ll?—”

A floorboard groaning on the other side of the partially open door is our only warning that we’re about to have company. It flings open the rest of the way and both Knox and I tense, expecting Angel Eyes to be there waiting for us.

It’s not him. The monster that opens this door isn’t the man who’s been holding us captive and using my body as a vessel. I look up into a familiar face and meet the single green and single brown eye as they skim over my face. As I let out the breath I’m holding, darkness surges forward and consumes me, as if the pain of holding it had been just a little too much for my brain to comprehend, to accept. Just before I’m sucked under the heavy blanket of death, I smile and whisper…

“Thatcher…”

32

THATCHER

The furniture inside the house is old and worn, but clearly well loved. There are handmade quilts thrown here and there—hung over chairs and piled on top of a chest. The kitchen is clean but cluttered with trinkets on exposed shelves. The smell of something baked reaches my nose. Whatever it is hasn’t been left out on the counter or anywhere in sight. As I pass the still-warm oven, I notice a collage of picture frames on the wall.

I don’t stop to stare at Angel Eyes and his woman. It’s too dark in here to really see anything, not that I want to see how happy they’ve been together. Any joy they found in their life is over. Even if we don’t kill them today—if this is just a rescue mission—their death is a guarantee. The blade of my knife will sink into their flesh as soon as I can make it happen.

Keeping my ears perked, my gaze sweeps around the space. Angel Eyes might be gone for the moment, but we don’t know anything about Shannon Reed. According to our new friend we’d kept in the basement until he spilled all the secrets he kept—which weren’t many given that he was just some low-ranking thug—Angel Eyes never spoke about his wife. When we broughther up, the guy had been just as surprised as we had been when we found out about her.

Apparently, Shannon Reed was his little secret. Someone he protected from the world. Maybe she’s a killer, maybe she’s not. All I know is that she’s important to him. A shiver of deadly longing creeps down my spine.

I can’t wait to get my hands on her.

As I round a hallway, I find a set of stairs that lead to the second floor. I pause, straining to hear any sign of life. Are they up there? The house is eerily silent. I know Shannon is here, but where? Is she up there, getting ready for bed? I take a step toward the staircase, but I hesitate. I don’t need to go up there. Sagan should be entering the house at any moment. He’ll be coming from that direction, sweeping the second floor for a threat. So instead of heading that way, I peer into a den.

It’s dark and empty.

In my hand, I grip the hilt of my blade tight. The sound of my teeth grinding is the only thing I can hear. It bothers me just as much as Sagan’s grinding annoyed me, so I quit doing it. My feet lead me away from the stairs and past the den. I’m almost down the hall when I hear something.

Voices.

Immediately, my body stills, tensing. I hold my breath, as if that will help me hear better. It takes about fifteen seconds for me to realize the voices are coming from beneath me. It takes another ten for me to recognize who’s talking.

Knox.

My feet twist and I redirect. In my chest, my heart gallops. He’s so close. Is Beatrix with him? Have they been kept together or have they been separated? I move a little quicker as I pick up on the urgency in Knox’s voice. There’s a bark of command, then silence. My feet stop moving as my breath catches in my throat. Why’d it go silent? What happened? What’s going on? My gazeswings around, searching for a way to get down to him. They need to keep talking or this will take too much time.

Like he heard my thoughts, Knox’s voice drifts through the floor again.

I’m on the prowl instantly, struggling to get a pin on his direction. My teeth are grinding again. I only notice because of the tension in my jaw. But I ignore it. My family needs me, and I’m going to tear this fucking house apart until I find them.

Knox’s voice grows a little louder. I must be getting closer.

I round a corner and then hurry down the hallway back in the direction I’d come in. I rush through the kitchen, through a family room, and find a door down another hallway. Knox’s voice drifts up from it. I still can’t hear what he’s saying, but it doesn't matter. He’s here, and he’s within my grasp. My heart races as I grab the door that’s already cracked open and fling it wide.

There, only three steps down from me, is Knox.

He stands there, frozen in a tense stance, bracing himself. I barely notice the dirty gray sweatpants he’s wearing, or his bare chest that’s peppered with bruises and splattered with old and new blood. My attention latches on to the gaping hole in his face where his eye once sat. Its’ raw, red, and oozing. The crusted, dried blood is a stark contrast to his golden wavy hair and pale, slightly green, sweaty complexion. Knox is a gruesome and beautiful sight, as he stands there with his one crystal blue eye blazing with determination. Relief releases my heart from the vise-like grip it’s been trapped in for days. The hollow shell of my body fills with a delicious type of warmth I hadn’t realized I’d been ignorant of since Knox stormed into our lives. That I didn’t realize I’d been craving since he’d been gone.

But that warmth and relief is short-lived when my gaze slides to my sweet little sister hanging limp in his arms. The blood covering her is still bubbling out of multiple gaping wounds. Thefrigid splash of horror that drowns the heat that had been filling my limbs causes bumps to rise and race all over my body. I look up from her bleeding naked body just in time for a weak, small smile to splay across her face.

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