Page 27 of Entombed In Sin

“Knox was one of our victims that we didn’t get a chance to finish off.”

Beatrix’s mouth pops open with surprise. I laugh at her nearly cartoonish gaping. It takes her a second to compose herself before she can ask, “Really? You tried killing him?”

I flash her a grin. “Yes, really. Your indoctrination and his were vastly different.”

“How did Knox end up with you guys if you tried to kill him?”

At this, I chuckle. “Sagan and I were at a dive bar when Knox showed up. We’d just marked our target when Knox slid between us and started chatting us up. He flirted, charmed, and managedto get us alone. Neither of us realized it at the time, but he’d been trying to steal from us. I only realized it when I went to stab and my blade hit my wallet instead of his spleen.”

I shake my head in amusement. At the time I’d been pissed, but looking back, it was such a Knox thing to do.

“We were interrupted before we could finish him off,” I continue after a moment. “So, we grabbed him, threw him in the car, and took off. We drove for miles in a random direction before dumping him in a ditch along the side of the road. We were in such a rush, neither of us realized the other hadn’t checked to make sure he was dead.”

Beatrix lets out a soft hum that sounds suspiciously like disappointment. I shoot her a warning look that she studiously ignores as she begins to play with her straw.

“Knox survived, healed up, and then took off after us. Somehow, he found us a few months later and four states over,” I continue. “He barged into the house we killed the owner of and were bunkering down in, then had the nerve to demand we take him with us on our adventures. I liked his spunk, and it didn’t hurt that Knox is easy on the eyes. But he drove Sagan crazy for a while.”

I’d stopped counting the times I had to step in to keep Sagan from killing him. It was a relief when Sagan finally came around.

“So how long has Knox been with you?” Beatrix asks after a short pause. “Is it just his desire to kill that?—”

“No,” I cut her off before she can finish, already knowing where this is going. “Knox’s place is by our side. His soul compliments ours perfectly. He belongs with us just as much as you do.”

My stepsister purses her lips before turning to look back out the window. Whatever she wanted to hear, it wasn’t that. Before I can say anything else, a single flash from a motorcycleheadlight half a mile behind us lights up the darkness behind the car tailing the truck.

I let off the gas pedal and allow the truck to slow gradually. The sedan catches up quickly, not expecting my sudden decrease in speed.

“Beatrix,” I say her name slowly as I keep my eye on the car behind us.

“Hm?”

I watch as my brother speeds up, coming up beside the sedan on his bike. Just as he pulls slightly ahead, I tell my stepsister, “I want you to stay in the car, ok?”

“Ah, o…k?”

Sagan throws something hard at the windshield of the sedan. The glass shatters and the car swerves off the road. The headlights of the vehicle swipe over us once, before the car slams into a tree. Beatrix gasps, twisting around in her seat as I pull off to the side of the road.

“What the hell?—”

“Stay in the car, Beatrix,” I snap as I throw the truck into park, remove my seatbelt, and push open my door.

“But—”

I slam the door behind me and jog toward the totaled vehicle. As I move, I reach back and pull out my black leather gloves and slip them on. Sagan is already off his parked bike, pulling on his own gloves. The front of the car is wrapped around the trunk of a tree. One headlight is out, the other hanging on by a thread. The horn is blaring loudly, and exhaust pours from the muffler.

Coming around to the driver’s side, I yank open the door. Sagan reaches in and grabs the middle-aged guy from his seat and pulls him out of the car. The man groans as his back hits the ground. I take a step over his body to straddle him and smile as he cracks open his one good eye. The other is already too swollen and bruised to be of any use to him.

“Look, man, I?—”

“You what?” I ask him softly. “Were following me and my sister home? Yeah, I know. What I don’t get is why.”

The guy looks worse for wear and not solely because of the accident. His clothes are shabby, looking like third, maybe even fourth generation hand-me-downs judging by the holes in the sleeves of his thin zip up sweater and the ragged neckline of his filthy shirt. The graying scruff on his face is patchy, and his shaggy hair, pulled back into a ponytail, is thinning dramatically. He doesn’tlooklike a threat.

Then again, appearances can be deceiving.

“H-he told me to,” our tail whimpers. “He’s just making sure you don’t head onto his turf. Chicago is his.”

Chicago iswhose? My brother must be wondering the same thing. Sagan pulls his foot back and kicks him in the side. The man screams before coughing up blood. The sound fades away as he sobs.

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