Page 82 of Entombed In Sin

“Fuck,” I groan as the throbbing in my head gets to be too much for me to ignore. “Why the hell do I feel like shit?”

It feels like I’ve been hit by a train. Every inch of my body is sore and stiff. Even breathing kind of hurts. What the fuck happened?

There’s a soft gasp that comes from some distance away. “Knox! You’re awake! Oh, thank god…”

Beatrix? I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment, promising my pounding temples that I’m going to down an entire bottle of aspirin in a second if only the throbbing will chill the fuck out enough for me to get up.

“Knox! Come on, open your eyes!” Beatrix whimpers softly.

“Gimmie a second,” I groan.

“We don’t have a second, Knox!”

If it wasn’t for the urgency in Beatrix’s voice, I’d probably ignore her. My heart is pounding so hard, it feels like with each beat, my head is growing bigger and bigger like a cartoon character. I roll my shoulders, feeling the stiffness in them, then open my eyes. Well, I manage to open my eyes. The rolling my shoulders part turns out to be more difficult than I thought, given my wrists are tied tight above my head.

I blink the bright, sterile lighting out of my eyes. The first thing I notice is the white tile floor beneath me since my head is currently hanging down. Groggily, I lift my head to I find the walls on either side of me are covered with those same white tiles. Looking around, I find that I’m in what was probably once a bedroom. The wall separating it from the rest of the house has been removed. There’s an old bucket in the corner of my tiled space. I don’t know what it’s for, but then again, I don’t reallywantto know.

Ahead of me is a basic looking basement from the seventies with the flannel patterned couch, shag rug, a box television with antenna, pictures of various ducks hanging in wooden frames and wood paneled walls. Thatcher, Sagan, and I have hung out in basements like this before. Most people don’t care what this space of the house looks like. Probably because no one ever sees it. Why spend the money then?Iwould never allow a space to look this dated. I also wouldn’t have this weird cut out room I’ve found myself in beside it either. Seems a bit out of place, really.

But that’s not important at the moment. I look up. My wrists are tied with padded shackles that are attached to a thick chain which has been stretched high above my head and attached to a hook in the ceiling.

“What the fuck?” I mutter and move to stand.

Except, that doesn’t happen either. I look down to find myself on my knees, my calves tied down with leather straps which are attached to the slanted tile floor. I look over my shoulder as best I can and find a drain behind me.

Oh, fuck… That can’t be good.

The groggy feeling in my head evaporates as I realize the trouble I’m in.

I can’t move. Like,at all. The chain is pulled tight above me; I can hardly do more than swing an inch in any direction, and my legs are bound so tight I’m losing circulation in them.I’m trapped here on my knees. It doesn’t take a genius to put together that being in a basement, in a room with a tile floor, and being bound is a bad thing. A really fucking bad thing.

“Knox, they’re going to come back soon. We have to get out of here!”

My head jerks toward Beatrix’s wobbling voice. She’s on the other side of the basement in her own tiled three-walled room. But while I’m all strung up, she’s tied down naked, on some type of medical bed. Her feet are up in weird stirrups, her vagina on display.

Huh, this really doesn’t feel like a kink the twins would be into.

“What’s going on?” I ask her.

As I speak, I notice an ache in my jaw. My tongue slides over my teeth to find I’m missing a back one. I also notice that my lip is split. The more awareness comes creeping back, the more I realize I’m hurting all over. I look down to find I’m still shirtless. Bruises pepper my skin. A particularly large one creeps up from my left side, almost up to my armpit.

Internal bleeding… cool. At least I still have the gray sweatpants on. That’s better than being naked and strapped to a table like Beatrix.

“I don’t know, but there are two people involved. They haven’t said what they wanted yet,” she says quickly.

I grimace. Great, we’re being held captive. They must be the ones who’ve been watching and tracking us.

“Alright, where are the twins?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Beatrix replies, her voice wobbling. “I saw you being taken after the accident, and I ran after you. I should’ve checked, but I was so scared…”

My heart freezes mid-thump. “So we have no idea if the twins survived?”

Beatrix shakes her head slowly.

The blood drains from my face as my heart starts to race. No, they can’t be dead. They’re out there and they're ok. Because a world without the Hunt twins is a world not worth living in. They’re myeverything. They’re the saints that saved me from my dull, miserable life. They’re the devils that corrupted my soul and gave me a new purpose for which to live. The Hunt twins are the men who have loved me no matter what. They were the only good thing to have happened to me up until meeting Beatrix. How can I even consider breathing when they no longer take a breath themselves?

“They’re alive,” I snap, refusing to believe otherwise.

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