9. Thatcher
9
THATCHER
I pull up to a dark house with a truck parked in the driveway.
A glance at the tires, all sliced, tells me I’m in the right place. The deep rumble of my truck’s engine dies as I cut it. Reaching over, I grab the small backpack I’ve stuffed with some clean clothes sitting in the passenger seat before climbing out. The bag gets slung over my shoulder as I straighten. Though I’m anxious to hurry inside, I take my time scanning the road and dark tree line. It would be poor form getting caught now that we’ve settled down.
When I’m sure there’s no one out and about, I shove my hands into my jean pockets and stroll toward the front door. It opens before I get there. My brother greets me with a curt nod. If I couldn’t feel the absolute firework show between us, I would’ve thought he was annoyed. I smirk at him as he steps aside to let me come in.
“Have fun?” I ask him.
“A blast.”
My shoulders shake lightly as I laugh at his heavily masked excitement. Of course, he had fun. Before I move too much further into the house, I stop and turn to him.
“Did she open up to you at all about what the pastor said to her, by any chance?” I ask him.
It’s been gnawing at me all day. I know Sagan’s right, that we’ve created an environment where Beatrix can’t come to us and talk about her feelings. That doesn’t make me want to hear them any less. Communication is the most important aspect of our lives. There can’t be any secrets between us. Emotions need to be expressed and dealt with before they drive one of us to extremes—which could end with the police on our heels.
Sagan shakes his head once. “No.”
“Damn it,” I glare past him, around the room as I check out the setting of my sister’s first kill.
“She’ll either come around,” my brother says with a shrug, “or she’ll learn about another rule. Knox learned the same way.”
True. These games, the punishments, it's how we taught Knox to be a perfect killer. Each rule is important but simply listing them isn’t enough. They need to be learned through trial and error. A person will remember their mistakes when the punishment is severe enough. It’s why we play our demented games: to drill in the importance of what and why we do things. It’s why we allowed Knox to punish Beatrix in the first place. She had to learn what she did wrong so she’ll never invade another’s privacy again.
You’d think, though, that while she was peeping on Knox as he got punished, she would’ve learned that communication is a must between us. That was, after all, the rule Knox had broken and was being punished for. If she doesn’t speak up soon, she’ll regret it.
“Patience, brother. I think tonight we’ve earned her trust back, but it's fragile,” Sagan says slowly. “She’ll come around once she knows we won’t bite her head off.”
I want everything from my little sister. Her trust, her body, her soul—it should all be mine. To get it all, I’ll need to find room to give her some grace. I suppose I can give her a little more time to find the strength to seek us out to let us know about the pastor and how he’d wronged her.
With a sharp nod, I push the thoughts of punishments away. Our sister took a big step tonight, and I want to share the moment with her.
I don’t need to be told where to go to find Beatrix or the body. I can see where Sagan’s shoes have tracked bloody prints along the floor. I follow them into the back of the house, past the first body in the kitchen, into a large casual family room where a strange scene halts me in my tracks. There, laying in the middle of the room, is a corpse, but it’s the woman curled around it, sleeping soundly, that stuns me.
Naked, covered in blood and with a hint of a smile on her face, Beatrix looks like a succubus that’s risen from hell. My gaze travels over her body as my dick swiftly grows hard. A swell of ghostly pride gathers in my chest, mixing with my own as Sagan stops beside me.
“She was incredible,” he says.
Judging by the state of the scene, and of her, I have no doubt about it. It takes guts to do this, and she hadn’t withered at the opportunity to strip the soul from the sack of meat she’s wrapped herself around.
“You were right about her all along.” I look over at Sagan, whose smug smile flickers to life then dies.
“When am I ever wrong?” he asks.
I roll my eyes and amusement flutters between the two of us as he catches sight of it.
“We need to wake her up,” I mutter. “Then get her showered and out of here.”
Sagan nods. “That’s why you’re here. I don’t want her falling asleep on the back of my bike.”
“Have you checked the garage for gas cans?”
We’ll have to burn the bodies with the house rather than take them with us back to Bright Starr. There’s too much of Sagan and Beatrix’s DNA all over the place to consider letting the bodies rot where they lie. My brother knows what to do in order to make sure not a lick of evidence will remain.
“No, but I will now that you’re here,” my brother replies. “I didn’t want to leave Beatrix alone in case she suddenly felt conflicted about what transpired.”
I nod, understanding his reservations.
“I’m here now, so I’ll take care of her,” I tell him as I plod over to my stepsister and crouch down beside her. Carefully, so as not to startle her, I rub my hand up and down her arm.
Beatrix stirs. Her eyes gradually open halfway and she takes a deep breath. Turning her head, she looks over her shoulder at me.
“Sag-oh, Thatcher,” my stepsister murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. A smile forms around her lips. “What are you doing here?”
“Coming to take you home, Little Sister. I’ve brought you clean clothes and your favorite soap from your bathroom.”
My breath catches at the swell of something bright and warm in the depth of her eyes. It’s stunning. Whatever this is, I want more of it. I’ve only ever known darkness, but the light draws me to her. I want to feel what it would be like to bask in its warm glow. The only way to do that is keep my stepsister close.
“You did?” she asks. “That’s so sweet of you.”
I chuckle. “You’re easy to please, aren’t you?”
Her cheekbones pop as her smile grows incrementally wider.
“Did you see what I did?” Like a child waking up on Christmas Day, her eyes open the rest of the way and her smile shifts into a full blown grin as she sits up. There’s dried blood on her lips that cracks as her lips spread wide, and it’s caked all over the cheek she was resting on the dead man’s back. I didn’t think she could be any more beautiful but clearly, I was wrong. She’s captivating like this.
With a grin, I indulge her by looking over the kill. “You did a wonderful job.”
She beams up at me, and suddenly I feel a thousand feet tall. My body shakes as I laugh softly again.
“Sagan helped,” she admits. Her glazed-over eyes search my face anxiously, looking for signs of disappointment. Does she think this would diminish her accomplishment?
“As he should’ve.” I drop a kiss on the top of her head. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”
“No,” she nods slowly. “It’s not. It was fun, but I think I might want to try a different weapon next time.”
I smile at the thought of next time. I hope I’ll be the one to witness her brutal side.
“Of course. There are plenty of different ways to kill people. We’ll find your preferred method.”
I offer her my hand, and she takes it, letting me help her up. Her legs tremble, causing her grip on my hand to tighten as she finds her balance.
“Woah…” she murmurs.
“Don’t worry, I have you, Little Sister. I’m here to help you now.”
Beatrix leans heavily on me with a deep sigh. I frown. She’s utterly spent. A kill can do that to you. Take you on a roller coaster of emotions, leaving you feeling absolutely drained later on—at least the first few times it will. Then, once it becomes normal, you can ride the high for weeks before you need it again. But she went through an emotional ordeal yesterday too. She’s probably running on fumes by now. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close.
Brushing one of her two braids over her shoulder, I add, “One of the three of us will always be there to help.”
Beatrix’s gaze flickers up to my face before darting away. But not before I note the way her pupils narrow and her brows furrow. Unease twirls my stomach up into a knot. She’s not feeling better about the situation with Knox. A hint of my brother’s trepidation fuels my concerns as he stands back and watches us.
My fingers sweep under her chin, and I apply pressure, forcing her to look back up. Beatrix manages to shield her displeasure with an expression of neutrality, but it’s there in her eyes, snuffing out the excitement humming through her.
“We will be much more diligent with supervising things moving forward,” I tell her seriously. “We help each other, Beatrix.”
My beautiful, blood-covered stepsister nods once. It’s not a confident acceptance of my promise, nor does it convince me we don’t have to worry about her in the future. She wants to trust us, and I want her trust. But until something changes, I’m worried Knox is in trouble. Especially now that she’s had a taste of blood. This was supposed to help mellow Beatrix out, not fuel the fire.
“Knox will figure out how to apologize so that it’s satisfactory for you,” I assure her. My voice drops an octave in warning as I continue. “But he is your family, as much as we are, and we’ll look out for him just as we will you.”
Rather than harp on the issue any longer, I guide Beatrix through the house. It’s time to wash off the evidence of her first kill.
“One large chocolate milkshake please,” I say into the intercom system.
There’s a short pause before a young voice responds, “Anything else, sir?”
I glance over at Beatrix. She’s no longer covered in blood, which is a damn shame. Now dressed in a clean, warm sweater, sweatpants, and her feet wrapped in fuzzy socks, my stepsister looks comfortable, and drunk. Slowly, she shakes her head without lifting her forehead off the glass or opening her eyes.
“No, that’s it,” I answer.
“Alright, pull up to the second window,” the kid drawls, his voice thick with boredom.
I do as requested, pulling around the drive-thru. As I do, I catch sight of headlights flickering off from across the street through my rearview mirror. My teeth clench as I pull to a stop and dig into my pocket for my wallet. The sliding window opens, and a teenager appears. The piercings on his face explain why he got the night shift at this dingy little place. The owners probably didn’t want to scare off potential customers.
“Your total is four dollars and?—”
I shove a twenty into his hand. “Keep the change. Hurry up with the shake, will ya?”
The teenager blinks rapidly, staring at bill then back at me. “Ah, sure man. One sec.”
The sliding glass partition closes and he disappears to go make Beatrix’s shake. I grab my phone from the cupholder and type out a quick message to Sagan.
“Everythin’ alright?” Beatrix mutters, her question slurred.
My phone lights up before I get a chance to put it back down. I don’t check the incoming message as I drop it back into the cupholder. My brother knows what to do.
“Everything’s fine. Are you feeling ok?”
“Mh-hm.” She hums.
“Good.” I check the rearview mirror again. My focus falls onto the small, beat up sedan trying its best to blend into the heavy shadow of woods. Too bad for him, the dull lighting from this twenty-four-hour ma and pa burger and shake place has just enough wattage to reach him.
The sliding partition opens again and the teenager is back, handing me the milkshake with a bit more enthusiasm. I give it to Beatrix, who sits up to take it.
“Have a good night, man,” he says.
I give him a nod and pull away. Beside me, Beatrix hums as she takes a long swig of her treat.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“You don’t have to thank me, Beatrix.” My truck turns onto the two-lane road. “Drink it up, the sugar will be good for you.”
Headlights from the hidden car turn on as it pulls onto the street and follows us back toward Chasm. My grip tightens on the steering wheel. Who is this and why follow us? Whoever it is stays a good distance away. I can’t see how many people are in the car or if it’s a lone rider. I didn’t have a tail on the way to Briar Glen, but this car appeared as I pulled onto Main Street while I headed away from the abandoned town and it’s been following us ever since.
Five minutes later, movement out of the corner of my eye drags my attention away from what’s behind me to who is next to me. Beatrix tucks her feet beneath her as she twists in her seat to look at me.
“How long have you guys been doing this? Killing people, I mean.” Her voice is stronger now and when I search her face, there is some color to it again. Her eyes are still very much unfocused, but that’s going to last for a while. Being blood drunk is even more intense than any stupor alcohol can cause.
I direct my smile at the windshield.
“My brother and I have been doing this since we were fifteen,” I tell her.
“Why?” she asks. “I mean… why do you do this?”
“Why not? We’re all animals, aren’t we? We weren’t meant to be bound by laws.” I shrug simply. “We should be able to do whatever the fuck we want. It’s not our fault other people subject themselves to arbitrary rules that go against our very nature. That they’re trapped beneath a blanket of pathetic morality. Besides.” I tilt my head in her direction, grinning. “Isn’t it fun?”
Beatrix gives me a reserved smile but doesn’t answer me. Instead, she asks, “How do serial killers find one another?”
I laugh. “We don’t.”
“Then how did you meet Knox?”
This question takes me by surprise, but I’m pleased by her curiosity. Maybe by talking about Knox, I can bridge the gap between them.
“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 managed to 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 motorcycle headlight 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’t look like 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 is whose ? 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.
“ Who told you to follow us?” he demands.
The man shakes his head. “He’ll k-kill me if I tell you.”
“What do you think we’re going to do to you?” I ask curiously. “You don’t think we’re going to let you go, do you?”
Our victim whimpers. It turns into heavy sobs as my brother steps closer and lowers himself over top of him.
“P-please, I got people who need me at home. Call nine-one-one… please .”
I chuckle. “You should’ve thought of that before you came after us.”
“I w-wasn’t gonna do nothin’. He just told me to follow you.”
I pull out my blade. The man sees it and lets out a pained wail before he jerks his head back and forth in denial. I lean forward and press the blade to his throat.
“Let’s try this again,” I growl. “Tell us who this ‘he’ is.”
The man beneath me coughs. Blood bubbles up and drips from the corner of his mouth. When he tries to breathe, it’s a rattling sound. We don’t have much time with him. The fucker is already dying.
“Come now, don’t be shy,” I urge, lowering my voice as I pull my blade away from his throat to drag it down his cheek. He lets out a weak scream as my knife tears open one side of his face. The sight of blood brings back memories of Beatrix covered in it from her first kill only an hour ago. I smile before I remember what the hell I’m doing. I hold the man’s gaze as I leave my blade in his face. “Tell us who is watching us.”
Our stalker opens his mouth, gaping like a fish. More blood bubbles up and spills out. I swear as I watch him twitch and flail beneath me while he drowns in his own blood.
“Fucking useless piece of shit,” I snarl, yanking out my knife from his face. “Give me something , asshole!”
The death wheeze that follows my demand is followed by the body beneath me going slack. His eyes glaze over and stare past me at nothing.
Sagan sheaths his blade and moves over to the smoking car. While he checks the vehicle for any information about this guy or whoever sent him after us, I check the body, looking for a wallet or phone.
“There’s nothing in here,” Sagan announces.
“There’s nothing on him either.” I shake my head in frustration. “How the hell did this guy know where to find us tonight? I wasn’t followed on my way to meet you guys. I was watching the whole time.”
“We weren’t followed on the way there either,” Sagan says darkly.
Pissed off, I kick the dead guy for good measure. “Who has the resources to send people after us?”
I wrack my mind for possible answers. This man didn’t have a weapon on him, making his claims about simply being tasked to watch us true. But to send people after us means whoever is behind this already knew we were on the move. What’s the point of sending people when you know—the answer hits me like a bolt of lightning. I whirl around to face my brother.
“Sagan, whoever this is can see our location but not what we’re doing! Our cars—they have trackers on them.” I’m moving before I’m done talking. “That’s how whoever this is knew about Trevor’s body. He didn’t see you kill or even hang him off the bridge. There must be a tracker on our vehicles, so when I came to pick you up, this person probably just went looking to see why we stopped there and found the abandoned car and noticed the rope tied to the bridge.”
“Fuck,” Sagan hisses, as he follows behind me. “How long has this been going on?”
“Who knows.” I get to the back of my truck and immediately crouch down to check beneath it. I don’t see anything but that doesn’t mean shit. It’s dark and I’m not quite sure what I’m looking for in the first place.
“I’ll check for them when we get back,” Sagan says, bending down to search the other side of my truck. “They could be hidden anywhere.”
What the fuck is going on here? We’ve never had someone get this close without us knowing. Given that whoever is watching us is now putting tails on our vehicles tells me this must have been going on for a while. How else would they be this organized? And who has the power to incite so much fear that a blade digging into flesh doesn’t get information? The only small comfort I can take is that whoever it is, they aren’t the authorities. That small fact only assures me we won’t be heading to jail anytime soon. But that doesn’t mean we’re safe.
I straighten as my thoughts race. “Leave the body here. Let’s give the police around here something to do. We’ll disregard the warning. I’m not being chased out of town by some asshole.”
“Even if that means we’re putting the others in danger?”
At this, I pause. Knox can handle his shit. He’s just as dangerous as the two of us, especially in his element. But are we willing to go head-to-head with an unknown threat, knowing we’re putting Beatrix at risk? She doesn’t have the skill, confidence, or even her own weapon. Are we ok putting her in danger’s way?
“She has the three of us.” I clench my jaw as I consider the rest of my answer carefully. “We can prevent anything from happening to her.”
Sagan stares into the passenger side of the truck and doesn’t say anything. When his brows come together, I wonder what he’s thinking. Or does this have to do with the woman inside the cab? Curiously, I lean down and peer inside, only to freeze in surprise.