12. Beatrix
12
BEATRIX
“ S agan, remember to smile or you’ll scare people!” Knox calls as Thatcher and Sagan climb out of the truck. It’s almost comical when the twins turn in unison, reach back, and open the cab doors for both Knox and me to get out.
Or maybe it’s just funny because, well, everything has been funny today. The lightness in my body is indescribable. I never noticed how much tension I carried in my chest until it uncoiled, loosening with each stab of the blade into that man’s back last night. Nor did I notice how wonderfully unstoppable I am. The energy that surges through my veins right now makes me feel like I could take on Superman.
And win.
I thought when Patrick and my mother died, nothing could beat that feeling. How wrong I’ve been. If I felt buoyant then, I feel like I can fly right now. Who knew how heavy morals could be? Shackles have fallen off my limbs. I’m free and I’m… I’m happy . How messed up is that?
“What are you talking about? My brother always smiles,” Thatcher drawls as he steps back to give Knox space to hop out.
I giggle at Knox’s exasperated sigh. Sagan certainly doesn’t always smile. I’ve only known them a short time, but that’s long enough for me to come to the conclusion that out of the three of them, Sagan is the least likely to express his emotions outwardly.
As Knox climbs out of the back of the truck, my eyes dip to his butt. His tight black leather bell bottom pants hug it perfectly. It’s a pretty butt. Everything about Knox is just pretty. My gaze lifts to the flash of a gold chain hugging his exposed pale midriff. The heat, present all day in my body, grows hotter. It’ll cool a little in a bit, probably when I step out of the truck in this ridiculous outfit Knox put together for me. This crazy ebb and flow of glorious elation is like riding a float out on the ocean under a hot sun but I’m graced with the occasional gentle breeze.
I bask as the temperature rises under my skin, and I fight the urge to reach out and touch Knox’s butt. He’d hate that, and I’d be back to square one with him. At this point, I’m just glad he wants to make amends after burying me alive.
Jerking my gaze away from Knox, I take Sagan’s offered hand and allow him to help me out of the back. Immediately, I miss the warmth of the car. The cold is biting and the harsh wind adds to the intensity. Chicago, the Windy City, is living up to its name tonight.
The black lace corset and black mini skirt do nothing to keep me warm, especially since they’re both a little too tight. My boobs are practically shoved all the way up to my chin in this thing. Not only am I cold, but I’m super self-conscious. This is definitely not something I ever would’ve worn before. I’m out of my element for sure. I prefer my skin covered. I’m less likely to be noticed or singled out that way. But tonight, that’s gone out the door. The outfit, put together by Knox—I’m sure as an attempt at a peace offering—is made up mostly of his clothes and is guaranteed to draw the gaze of many. He even made me leave my jacket behind. There’s no hiding to be done tonight. At least he let me wear my own mini heels.
But despite how far out of my comfort zone I am and how cold it is, nothing seems to be capable of bursting my bubble.
“Smiling like the Joker doesn’t count,” Knox complains.
I laugh softly as I look up at Sagan. He shakes his head, a hint of exasperation twisting his brows upward before his lips twitch as if he might smile. He throws an arm over my shoulders to drag me close and tuck me into his body.
“I like you this way, Little Viper,” he murmurs, looking down at me.
“Cold?” I tease, snuggling closer to his side.
His body trembles with muted laughter. “I was going to say excited.”
I beam up at him and he bends down to kiss me. As our lips touch, a shudder rushes through me, and suddenly I’m no longer cold. My nipples harden.
“Ready to go have what Knox considers fun?” he murmurs against my lips as he starts to pull away.
My head bobs quickly. “Let’s go.”
Sagan steers us around the truck and up onto the sidewalk where the other two wait for us.
“Knox promised I could play like you guys do,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. “You’ll guide me again?”
“Should the opportunity arise, yes,” Sagan promises. I let out a little squeal of delight that causes my stepbrother’s mouth to twitch again with another almost smile. “But not only is this a different type of playground, Little Viper, we have to be careful. Remember, someone knows what we do for fun. We need to be cautious.”
That’s right. We were followed last night and the guys told me about the trackers at lunch. I know I should be concerned but… I smile up at Sagan.
“I’ll be super careful,” I offer quickly and eagerly.
This time a smile does pull at his mouth and he even laughs. “My eager Little Viper. I knew you were something special.”
I could melt at his words. Sagan doesn’t speak much, but when he does, each word uttered is spoken with purpose and thought. If he says I’m special, then he means that and that means something to me. In fact, that means a whole lot given I’m not anything to almost everyone who has known or knows me. My heart swells and I lean harder into Sagan.
Grinning, I look around us. There's a frenzy of activity as people pass us by. Conversations all blend together, swelling in volume and then fading. How do you kill in a place like this? As I stare, I notice that as busy as the sidewalk is, people seem to go out of their way to avoid bumping into the four of us as we join the masses. I catch a few people sizing up or openly checking out the twins who, at well over six and a half feet tall, certainly have an imposing presence. Add the fact that they’re both wearing similar long sleeve shirts, unbuttoned the same way, and dark pants—they’ve definitely leaned into the whole twin thing this evening. As much as I notice the attention the twins are attracting, I can’t help but notice the attention Knox is getting too. A few people side-eye him, swift looks of confusion or subtle sneers flicker over their faces before they disappear around us. I also see the looks of strange fascination.
Gawking , that’s what Knox called it this morning.
I bristle for him, hating that Knox not only sees this but deals with it constantly. This is the price of being yourself. I suddenly understand Knox a bit better. He can wear the biggest smile, but it’s a mask. Knox is wary of the people around him and their intentions.
As he should be.
“The first place is over here,” Knox points, practically bouncing around with excitement. “We can grab real food before making our way to some of the bars a few blocks over.”
Thatcher steps close to him and repeats curiously, “ Real food ? As if restaurants serve any other type.”
I catch the brief moment as Knox reaches for his hand. Their fingers brush together and they trade a fleeting look before Knox pulls away. My heart flutters at the sight of affection their way.
“As opposed to just fried bar food,” Knox states matter-of-factly as he turns on his heels to face me and Sagan. He flashes the twin beside me a bright grin then falls in step with me. Sagan leaves my side to join his brother ahead of us.
“I’m going to show you what a good friend I can be,” he declares proudly, nudging me with his shoulder. “By the end of tonight, you’re going to love me.”
Absentmindedly, Knox tucks one of his blond waves behind his ear. My stomach knots. It tightens further as he looks back at me, his stunning bright blue eyes twinkling with mischievousness in the lights around us. Are they brighter tonight? Or is it because I’m still reeling over my kill and this is part of being blood drunk? There’s never been any denying how attractive I find Knox.
The thing is Knox’s looks are a mask to hide the dangerous person he is—as is his charm and friendliness. The way he can flip a switch is unnerving. Will I always have to question if Knox is being genuine with me? The thought is exhausting. I don’t know if I have it in me to give in and simply trust him.
I want to, though. Maybe I’m a little too desperate for some type of connection with anyone willing to be kind to me, fake or otherwise. It’s better than being outright mocked or disparaged against, right?
“I can’t love anyone on an empty stomach,” I murmur, shooting him a small smile—grateful that at least he’s trying . I can try too. And while I watch and analyze everything he does, I’ll be able to figure out what exactly I can do to level the playing field between us.
“Hear that Sagan? Thatcher? Walk faster peasants !” Knox cries out playfully. “My best friend needs food.”
“It’s called a Jager bomb,” Knox shouts over the blaring music, shoving the drink into my hand.
Around us, people are dancing, drinking, and making out. The heat in the club is stifling, despite the mist that rains down on us. I’m glad I didn’t bring the jacket now. It would’ve been put down at one of the last two clubs, or back at the restaurant, abandoned. In all of the five different places we’ve been to, the heat has been so intense that I had to remember to breathe on the off chance I might pass out.
Not that I’m complaining. How can I when I get to see Knox’s sweat glistening on his exposed skin… which is a lot. That long sleeve fishnet crop top doesn’t hide anything on his thin frame. Not that Knox has ever tried to hide anything about who he is. I love that. I love what I see, all his sweat, skin and… God, it’s really hot in here.
Tearing my eyes away from Knox’s body as he throws cash down for the busy bartender, I eye the drink in my hand. It’s the eighth or ninth drink I’ve had tonight, which is seven or eight more than I’ve had at one time ever. The room is spinning, and if I thought I was a little dizzy and out of it due to my kill, it’s nothing compared to this. Drinking all this alcohol might be something I regret later.
“This looks like it could stop my heart,” I say loud enough for Knox to hear.
“It probably could,” he confirms before throwing his drink back. I watch in amazement as his throat convulses, taking the entire thing down. When he’s done, he slams the glass down onto the bar top and grins at me. “Drink up and let’s go dance.”
Tentatively, I bring the glass to my lip and sip the contents. The last few drinks have been hit or miss. At least then I had Sagan and Thatcher to warn me about what I’d like and what to brace myself for. The twins have slipped away, though, leaving me to determine what I like on my own. I didn’t ask why or where they were going. If they wanted us to know, they would’ve told us. Or at least that’s what I would like to believe.
As the alcohol touches my tongue, I find this one isn’t great. My stomach protests. It's too full. Just as I start to pull the drink away, Knox reaches forward and tips my glass higher, forcing me to finish the drink or drown.
“There you go!” he cheers, his grin so bright it could challenge the sun’s rays.
When I’ve downed the contents, Knox takes the glass from my hand and places it next to his empty one.
“I think I preferred the last drink,” I admit.
“Of course you did, it was sugary and blue. What’s not to like? But tonight, we’re expanding your horizons. Isn’t that fun?” He replies, though he’s distracted as a guy walks by us, openly checking him out. Knox winks at the stranger before turning his attention back to me. “Cheap red wine isn’t all there is out in this big ol’ world, Starr Girl. Now let’s go dance.”
It’s not the first time I’ve caught Knox enjoying the positive attention. Nor has it gone unnoticed that he turns his own flirtatiousness up when someone sneers at him. It’s like a challenge to see if he can get a reaction from those that outwardly oppose his uniqueness. Or maybe Knox acts unabashed as a shield to keep from being hurt. Maybe it’s a little of both. With insight into his past and from what I know of him now, I think I’m starting to understand Knox. He’s an eccentric individual with a deep well of feelings and a host of insecurities that he tries to hide behind his big personality.
Knox grabs my elbow and drags me through the throng of bodies toward the dance floor.
“Aren’t you worried the twins will notice you flirting?” I ask him curiously as he leads the way.
Knox’s laughter is louder than the music. He pulls me closer and leans in to say, “Naw, they know it’s all for show. I’ve given these people an opening. All I have to do now is give them the look and they’ll come running. Then I’ll have my pick of victims.”
I gasp. This is what all the smiles and winks are about? Luring victims? He laughs with me as incredulousness turns into amusement.
“Now stop dragging your feet and move ,” he urges, tugging on my arm harder as we pick up the pace. I stumble after him toward the dance floor.
This is the most crowded place we’ve been to. People brush up against us, and we them. Hands grope my ass but when I look over my shoulder, no one looks guilty or meets my gaze. By the time we get to the dance floor, I’m not sure if I’m relieved, annoyed, excited, or need to pee.
Knox turns and reaches for my hand. I hesitate.
He buried me alive . He nearly let me suffocate to death , a small voice whispers in my head.
But the words are slightly slurred and the music practically drowns the voice out. The outrage and fear from the incident has been shaken loose with each drink and help from the booming bass of each club’s speaker system.
My fingers wrap around Knox’s hand, and I smile as he pulls me close to his body. I yearn to close the gap and press myself up against the prettiest man in this room. I don’t allow myself to indulge in the impulse. I stop before he can pull me completely up against his chest. The decision to keep a hair’s breadth away is for the both of us. I know he doesn’t like the contact, and I don’t feel like getting my throat slit again. His knife is nowhere in sight but I have a feeling it’s close by.
The answering relief in Knox’s eyes, as brief as it is, tells me it’s the right decision.
What the hell?
Was this a test? Did Knox think I wouldn’t remember his aversion to touch? Or was letting me close a way to show he was sorry—allowing me to cross his hard line in the sand just to assuage the tension between us? Is the relief in his eyes because I’ve acknowledged the boundary and am not looking for his forgiveness in this way? My mind spins harder as the alcohol works to push away all rational thought and doubts, fears and misgivings. I let it. I don’t want to think too hard tonight. I just want to have fun.
“I don’t dance, Knox,” I tell him.
“Lucky for you, I do. Just follow my lead and let the alcohol do the rest!” he calls back with a laugh.
I roll my eyes and grin. “Where do you want my hands? In the air or…?”
I didn’t realize the tension Knox has been carrying around until I see it drain away from his shoulders. The corners of his mouth curve upward. This smile that he bestows upon me is different from any of the others he’s directed at me, or his potential victims, all night. It’s real, raw, and full of vulnerability.
It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. My thighs clench together as he gazes down at me.
Knox reaches for both of my hands. “You can put these pretty things around my neck, Starr Girl.”
I allow him to guide my hands upward, and when they get to his neck, I wrap them around it and loosely weave my fingers together. Knox’s hands come to rest on my hips. Like this, we’re forced to stay close. But this seems to be ok with Knox and if he’s ok, I’m ok. Except, despite the blasting heat, I swear I can feel Knox’s body heat scalding my exposed flesh. It makes me ultra-aware of him in ways I’m not sure I want to be. Not with this psychopath. The room spins as I stare into Knox’s twinkling blue eyes.
The spinning only worsens as he forces my hips to move in time with the beat.
“Relax, Starr Girl. I got you,” he promises.
I have to force myself to move to the music and look away from his eyes. It feels like I’m falling forward into their depths. But I know better than to allow myself to fall too deep. Knox is off-limits. Even if he wasn’t unpredictable and dangerous, he’s not mine. Not like Thatcher and Sagan are. Which is weird to think about. I’ve never thought of them so possessively before.
My stomach clenches, and for a moment I’m irrationally frustrated. How come I can’t have Knox? Why do the twins get to play with such a pretty toy, and I can’t? I should demand that they share him. I’ve given Sagan and Thatcher everything . I should be able to borrow their boyfriend and play with him however I want. Imagine the fun I could have if I could have Knox all to myself.
I shake off the alarming strangeness of my thoughts.
This isn’t me, I’m not like this.
At least, I don’t think so. But when an idea forms in the back of my head, a small bubble growing in size and beauty, I can’t help but acknowledge that maybe I’m just as strange and eerie as the questions spinning around in my head.
With a deep breath, I force myself to enjoy the music, my dance partner, and the heavy buzz from drinking. It’s easier to let go than I thought. By the second song, I’m lost in the beat and the lights. My body sways, and I give myself over the absolutely perfect night.