14. Beatrix
14
BEATRIX
I hum along to the music that’s bumping in my head as I walk.
My off-tune humming isn’t the only sound around me. It’s hard to miss the sounds of the city, even as far out as we are from where we’d been only an hour or so ago, but this neighborhood is relatively quiet and I’m a bit lonely after a night of being around people.
Lonely and a little scared.
The buzz of alcohol mixed with the sick, perverse euphoria from killing a person last night is being overshadowed by trepidation. What sane woman walks in the dark, down city streets as scummy as these ones? None of them do. Especially not alone. I mean, I might not be completely alone, Thatcher and Sagan are probably creeping along down parallel streets or whatever, but I definitely feel alone. And what’s worse? I look alone. I know I stick out and I know that’s what the twins are banking on, but without their obvious presence, I feel like I'm a mouse and a horde of cats is just waiting to pounce.
Turning down another lane, I try to keep my pace even. The muscles in my legs bunch, ready to take me further and faster if need be. But as much as I’d like to simply take off down this street, running in terror isn’t going to help my cause. I’ll only draw more attention to myself. If I can just look like I belong, like I have a destination in mind, maybe people will just leave me alone.
I stop at an intersection and wait as a dark SUV drives by.
Once it’s gone, I cross the street and turn right. I don’t know where I’m going, and the guys didn’t really give me any clue as to which way I should be heading, so I just let my feet take me wherever. It doesn’t take long until my fingers go numb. The superficial warmth the alcohol gave me is wearing off. I take another turn. Unable to keep the paranoia at bay, I look back over my shoulder. There’s no one following me. Maybe the twins are waiting until there is before stepping out of wherever they’re watching me from. I hope that’s the case.
Up ahead, a navy-blue SUV slides down the street toward me, coming from the opposite direction. Hold on. My footsteps falter. That can’t be the same dark SUV that had passed me by a few minutes ago, right? My stomach clenches. Do the guys have a backup plan for if I get jumped and dragged into a car? God, I hope so. I wrap my arms around myself and look away from the vehicle that rolls on by.
The soft screeching sound of brakes that need to be replaced let me know that the vehicle has come to a stop behind me.
Ok, surely this warrants a slight pace increase. No, wait. I grit my teeth as I fight my terror. This could be an opportunity for the guys to strike. It takes everything in me not bolt.
“Excuse me, miss? Are you ok?”
My entire body tenses up as I look over my shoulder, expecting someone to be charging after me. Instead, I see an older gentleman leaning out of his car only a few feet behind me. I only know he’s old because of the heavy, slightly raspy drawl of his voice. Otherwise, he’s shrouded in darkness. No light comes from the cab of his car, and the random streetlamps don’t seem to reach into the hood of his jacket that’s up and around his face.
Not wanting to have my back to this person, I turn all the way around. Swallowing hard, I nod once.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” I call back.
The man says nothing. He simply stares at me. I wait a second longer, wondering if he has anything else to add, but he remains silent. I can feel his eyes on me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise in alarm. When I shiver, it has nothing to do with the cold. I take a step away from him, ready to put distance between us.
“Sure is a cold, dark night,” he says conversationally as I start to turn back in the direction I’d been walking.
I pause halfway around. My stomach knots as I wrap my arms tighter around my waist.
“Yup,” I mutter back, not caring if he can hear me or not.
“You shouldn’t be alone. It’s not safe for a young woman like you to roam these streets,” the stranger continues. He taps the outside of his car absentmindedly. “Not safe at all.”
No, it definitely isn’t. I glance left and right, waiting for Thatcher or Sagan to jump out and grab the guy. Or maybe this type of interaction doesn’t count. Swallowing hard, I nod. Rather than say anything else, though, I turn and hurry away. Headlights swing around, lighting up the houses beside me. My heart leaps up into my throat. A moment later, the SUV pulls up beside me. I don’t stop walking. In fact, I add a bit more pep to my step.
The passenger window rolls down slowly, stuttering as it gets stuck before it finishes its descent.
“You know, this neighborhood was vibrant once,” the man drawls, just loud enough for me to hear.
I look over my shoulder, searching for signs of the twins.
“Yup, this place was beautiful,” he says as if I’d replied in some way. “But in the early nineties, a man came through here and destroyed the peace the families in these houses had. Well, he visited all of Chicago really, but these few blocks? They were his favorite. You ever heard of Angel Eyes?”
Please leave me alone , I beg in my head.
“No, you’re probably too young,” the man continues. “Anyway, I remember those days like they were yesterday. Angel Eyes took his time slaughtering the men and women he caught in these houses, then left the bodies all over Chicago. It was a very dangerous time.”
I turn down another street abruptly, officially terrified of this guy. Who talks like this to a complete stranger? My senses go into overdrive when the SUV turns and follows, rolling leisurely beside me.
“It’s because of the horrors Angel Eyes left in his wake that people won’t buy these homes. Even as dirt cheap as they are now. The city can’t give them away. And because they’ve just sat, they have now become a breeding ground for trouble. Gangs, drug dealers, rapists, murderers, you name it. It’s all here.”
Thatcher? Sagan? Where are you? I mentally scream as I try to get as far away from the SUV as possible.
“Anyway, it would be a shame to be caught up in the dangers that lurk in the shadows,” the man continues, his voice growing soft, almost introspective. “I’d be more than happy to give you a lift and take you where you need to go.”
I don’t think I can shake my head any faster. “No, thanks.”
“Are you sure? I’d hate to see any harm come to you.” The way he says it, so calm and clear, as if it’s an unfortunate guarantee, makes the contents of my stomach threaten to come back up. There’s something wrong with this guy. Whoever he is, whatever he wants, everything about him screams danger.
As if to prove his point, a gunshot rings out over the city sounds. It’s followed by several more. I flinch hard. Even deep in the shadows, I can see the driver as he jerks his head toward the noise. As he looks away, I take the opportunity to put some distance between us. I don’t get more than a dozen steps before I hear his approach. The sound of the car accelerating causes me to tense. The stranger pulls up beside me once more then slows to a creep to keep pace.
“The city sounds awfully sinister tonight,” he says, his voice deepening as if annoyed. “Come on, hop in. Let’s get you out of here.”
“No! I mean, ah, no… Thank you, though.” Why am I being polite? I should be telling this guy off. Better yet, I should be running.
I don’t do either.
The man sighs loudly. “Well, if you’re not gonna hop in, let me give you some advice: Stay off the streets of Chicago, young lady. Wherever your friends are, I’d warn them to be careful too. You never know who you’ll run into.”
My footsteps falter. Had I said anything about my friends? Or if they were out and about? No, I’m sure I haven’t. Bile creeps up my throat. He doesn’t know about Thatcher, Sagan, or Knox, does he?
“Well, I suppose I should get going,” he says before letting out a sharp whistle.
I jump in surprise as the piercing sound bounces off the side of the houses and carries on down the street. He laughs loudly. I’m not sure if it’s because of my reaction or just because he’s crazy.
“I hope never to see you around here again, Miss Starr.”
With that, the man peels away, barreling down the road without another word. My feet stop moving. As I stand there and watch the SUV drive out of sight, I allow a moment to bask in my relief. The contents of my stomach start to settle. I’m safe. Well, safe-ish. There are still other people I have to worry about, but that was one encounter I can say I survived. I lift a foot, ready to start walking but pause.
Wait a minute.
Did he… did he just say my name ? I stare after the SUV that’s no longer in sight. No, I must’ve misheard him—my fear getting to my head. Shaking my head, I start walking again.
I make it two more blocks before I swing around and start heading back the way I came. Or at least I think I am. I have no idea where I am. It’s so late now that I’m sure Knox has left the party and has been having his own fun. Maybe that’s where the twins are? They must’ve gone to help him first since I couldn’t attract anyone.
My stomach drops at the thought of that. Would they leave me out here to fend for myself knowing I have no weapons? I don’t know the answer to that.
“Hey pretty lady, you workin’?” someone calls from across the street.
My head jerks toward the speaker. He sits on the stoop of one of the few houses not completely boarded up, with one of his buddies. His friend takes a hit of his cigarette before pinching it between his fingers and pulling it away from his lips.
“No,” I answer in a voice too small to be heard. I don’t repeat myself. Instead, I hurry on my way.
“Where are you going? Don’t you want to make some cash?”
I wince. Without having to look over my shoulder, I know the man has gotten up and is heading my way. His voice is closer than I expected.
“I got fifty bucks, surely a blow-y from you is worth that.” This time he sounds even closer.
Dread fills my veins and my heart works overtime to not give out in panic. I’m not going to let him catch me. He’s already too close for comfort. Forget waiting for the twins to act. I take off, running without looking back to see how much distance is between me and the man closing in on me.
“Ha, ha! I love this game!” he whoops from way too close behind me.
My little heels click loudly on the cement sidewalk, the sound like bullets ricocheting off the walls of the houses. I manage to make it a full block before hands grab me and toss me to the ground. I fall forward, catching myself with my numb hands before I face plant. Hands wrap around my ankles and yank me back as laughter fills the air. I scream in terror and pain as my hands scrape against the pavement as I fight and claw to drag myself away.
“Do I get a discount for catching you?” The man above me sneers.
“I think you should get somethin’ fo free,” another voice says, this one a little more breathless than the first. Tears well up as I realize I don’t have just one assailant, but two to contend with. Hands grab me by my hips and flip me over.
I scream and claw at the guy above me. He laughs as he attempts to catch my hands while his friend comes around to stand by my head.
“Don’t be a spoilsport, girl,” the guy watching on snaps.
The man trying to pin me down shakes his head. When he grins, I can see he’s missing at least two bottom teeth and a top canine. “Naw, I don’t mind if she wants to be a sore loser. It’s more fun that way. Now help me get her up. Butch’s place is just over there. The back door is unlocked. We can have some fun in there.”
I scream as icy terror races through my veins, more frigid than the Chicago winter air. As I try to knee him with my other leg, headlights flash and the sound of tires screeching cause all of us to freeze. A familiar black truck peels up the street and slams on its brakes as it pulls up beside us. The passenger door opens before it comes to a complete stop.
A heavy sob of relief pours from my lips. Sagan rounds the car as Thatcher climbs out. Both have donned their black leather gloves now, their black ball caps cover their faces completely, and in their hands they hold their knives.
“Fuck,” the guy on top of me says with annoyance rather than fear.
“Hey, man, mind your own business,” the man standing by my head snarls. “We’re just having a bit of fun. We’re all good here!”
The twins attack as one. Thatcher lunges for the guy on top of me. My attacker doesn’t stand a chance. Thatcher’s blade sinks into his back. As the Hunt twin sinks his weight into the movement, my attacker collapses on top of me. I huff as the breath is driven from my lungs. Thatcher doesn’t stop moving. As Sagan chases after the second man, who was wise enough to attempt to take off, Thatcher yanks his blade free and slides it across the front of my attacker’s throat. The stranger’s eyes grow impossibly round as he realizes death has descended upon him.
In that same moment, a twisted glee slithers from the depths of my chest and sends champagne bubbles through my veins, chasing away my terror. He deserves this. This guy was going to hurt me and allow his friend to watch. How many women had he done this too before? How many women did Thatcher just save by stepping in and ending his pathetic life?
He wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been tempting him , a small, guilt-ridden voice in my head reminds me.
But did I tempt him? I didn’t bat my lashes in his direction or curl my finger in a ‘come hither’ motion to bring this fate upon me. All I did was walk up the street with my head down. I’m innocent. He’s not.
The small voice, along with the guilt, vanishes as blood pours from the neck wound in a torrent I’m not prepared for. The warm, thick liquid covers my face and neck. A strange, wretched cackle shakes my body as blood seeps into my mouth. I tilt my head back as the sound grows louder. This asshole got what he deserved. This is beautiful, poetic justice that I got to witness firsthand.
As I laugh, the man who ran from Sagan screams. It’s cut off abruptly. My laughter increases in volume at the sound of a life being snuffed out. He deserved this, too. The head of the man on top of me flops forward, coming to rest on my collarbone. It’s not there long. Thatcher yanks the body off me and, with ease, tosses him away. The warmth of the blood on my face calls to me. I reach up to smear my fingers through it.
“In the car, now ,” Thatcher barks.
A smile splits across my face as I slowly roll over to get to my feet. When I get there, my smile has evolved into a full-blown, idiotic grin. All I can see is Thatcher’s mouth as I approach the back of the car where he’s opened the door for me. He’s talking, but I can’t quite hear him. The sound of fizzing bubbles rings in my ears, overpowering everything else in this moment. As I approach, Thatcher stops talking. His mouth curves into a smile as I come up right beside him. Just as I reach up to climb into the back of the cab, Thatcher grabs my face and jerks it upward. My gasp is captured by his mouth. The harsh kiss is quick but it sends my pulse spiking to dangerous levels. When Thatcher pulls away, my grin is even bigger than before.
“In, Little Sister,” he orders, loud enough to break through the noise in my ears.
“Yes, Big Brother,” I murmur. His lips—smeared with the blood from mine—split into a grin in response. I flush deeply at it before I duck my head and climb into the cab.
Thatcher slams the door shut behind me before he steps forward and slides into the driver’s seat. Sagan joins us only seconds later, hopping into the passenger’s seat with a cold grin directed at his brother.
“You sure you want to leave evidence behind?”
“Absolutely,” Thatcher says, before chuckling darkly. “I want whoever is watching us to know we don’t give a wild fuck about his claim on a city like this.”
Thatcher guns the gas and we take off, tires screeching in protest as we barrel away from the bloody crime scene.
“I got a lock on Knox,” Sagan growls.
“Which way?”
“Turn left, drive six blocks, then right.”
I’m thrown back in my seat as Thatcher speeds up. Tilting my head, I relax against the headrest and stare up at the ceiling. The blood on my face cools, but the strange bubbling in my veins doesn’t lessen. I enjoy the pleasant tingling just beneath my skin. It warms me back up, chasing away the cold that had seeped into my body. As I focus on it, I realize that the tingling is everywhere. Including between my legs. The minute I notice, it intensifies and an additional warmth gathers there. With a breathy groan, I attempt to relieve the incredible sensation by pressing my thighs together.
This is so messed up. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know this. Right now, I should be asking the twins where they’d been or why it took them so long to show up. The questions drift away, though. I find I would rather hold on to this strange feeling of giddiness inside me. What is wrong with me? The twins just killed two people, and I’m sitting here smiling . I shake away that thought, too.
I rock to the right as Thatcher turns left, then I’m thrown to the left as he takes a sharp right. I’m thrown forward as he hits the brakes a moment later. Out my window are two houses sitting side by side, so close they look to be almost touching. Both houses are boarded up, dark and covered in graffiti. Is Knox in one of them?
Sagan and Thatcher climb out of the truck without a word. I’m slower on the uptake. Quickly, I scramble out of the back. As they prowl toward the houses, I look around. We’re in an even slummier section of the neighborhood than what I had been in. That being said, I can almost hear music from a house party drifting overhead. We must be relatively close.
Rather than head into one of the houses, the twins slip between them and into the darkness. I trot a few feet behind, not sure what to expect but ready for anything. As I let the darkness engulf me, I feel like it sticks to my skin. It’s cool, but not unwelcome to my overheated body. It also feels a little familiar. Like I’m getting used to a dark presence in my life and this is just another level of it.
My eyes adjust to the lack of light. Ahead of me, the twins stalk toward the back of the house. No, not the back—just to the chain link fence. There, leaning with his back against it, is Knox. His netted white crop top is blood splattered, as is his face. With his head thrown back, a hand up beside him with fingers hooked through the links of the fence as the other hand hangs between his legs, he looks like he’s a model striking a pose for some grunge magazine.
But as I get closer, I realize he’s not modeling, he’s jerking off.
His soft moan tips me off first, followed by the movement between his legs. I frown, curious to understand what’s hanging out of that hand. It’s certainly not his dick given that it stretches all the way to the ground.
That’s when I see the corpse at his feet and the large abdominal wound it’s currently sporting. One end of the large intestine has been cut and yanked out of the body. It stretches up, out of the cavity, and is currently being used as a sleeve for Knox’s dick.
My feet stop moving as I gape at the bloody, gruesome scene before me.
“Oh hey, guys, come to party with me?” Knox asks, cracking an eye open as he begins to thrust his hips. “You’re more than a little fashionably late.”
Thatcher and Sagan approach him, coming up on either side of Knox. Sagan’s forearm comes to rest against the chain link fence just above Knox’s head. Thatcher takes Knox’s chin and turns Knox to face him. Leaning down, Thatcher kisses Knox just as he had with me. Knox moans.
With Knox distracted, he doesn’t see Sagan’s other hand as it comes up before landing right in the middle of Knox’s chest.
I jump in surprise as Knox screams in what sounds like agony. Thatcher captures the noise, eating it up. Knox’s hips jerk forward, and his hand, gripping the intestine hard around his dick, moves faster. Sagan’s hand drops away, and Knox stops screaming. Thatcher ends the kiss and smirks at Knox, whose smile is gone. His face is twisted in pain, his eyes squeezed shut.
The twins switch positions; this time Sagan’s the one to grip Knox’s face and kiss him. Thatcher reaches forward and presses a hand to the middle of Knox’s chest. Knox’s body tenses before he starts to scream again. But Sagan’s mouth is a great muffler.
Now I understand Knox's aversion to touch. It hurts him. What could have possibly happened to Knox that would cause this response?
Greg , a small voice whispers in the back of my blood-drunk mind.
The breath I’d stolen expels from my lungs in a single swoosh as understanding dawns on me. Maybe there were others along the way, but I’m sure, given what I know about Knox, it probably stems from his encounter with the guy who started it all.
I don’t quite know how to feel about this realization. As I watch the twins begin to caress Knox along his chest, stomach, and arms and Knox screaming in agony, I’m fascinated. No, I’m weirdly turned on. I like his pain. The way sweat begins to glisten on his chest and his face turns pink as he yells… It’s all so mesmerizing. And I think he likes it too. Why else would he allow this to continue? He’s not pushing the twins away or trying to escape. In fact, he looks like the pain is only turning him on even more.
I stare, open-mouthed, at the sight before me. The three of them should be painted. The contrast between dark and light is stunning. Magnificent even. Morbid too. The blood on Knox’s face transfers over to the twins’ faces. The delicious bubbling in my veins becomes more intense. My blood grows warm, and it’s getting harder to breathe.
It takes me a second to realize I’ve simply forgotten to take a breath. I’m jerked out of my trance when Thatcher turns his attention to me. He tilts his head up so I can see beneath his cap. The smile he wears has twisted his handsome features, turning him into an unspeakably stunning, demonic presence. Is he Death in the flesh? Or is he someone even the Grim Reaper should fear?
“Come here, Little Sister,” Thatcher demands.
He doesn’t have to ask me twice, though I have to remind myself how to move as nerves and excitement make me slightly dizzy. That could be the alcohol’s fault too. When I step in front of Thatcher, his palm falls away from Knox’s chest to grab my hand. He pulls me close as Sagan pulls away from Knox. Knox breathes heavily, his gaze hooded as he looks away from Sagan to me. There’s a tightness around his mouth and his eyes are twisted with a haunted look, brightened by a crazed bloodlust.
I suck in a sharp breath. He’s a fallen angel, too beautiful for this world yet too corrupted for heaven.
“I like the Carrie bloodbath look on you, bestie. You look de-lici-ous,” he rasps, his chest heaving.
“Give our Pretty Boy a taste of victory, Little Sister,” Thatcher urges, pulling me toward his boyfriend.
Neither Thatcher nor Knox give me a chance to respond or think. Knox’s hand comes down from the fence, cups the back of my neck, and pulls me in. I gasp against his lips as they find mine. I’m surprised at how soft Knox’s lips are. His tongue snakes into my mouth and suddenly he’s Christopher Columbus, exploring an uncharted territory. Or maybe he’s Lewis or Clark as he maps out every inch of my mouth. The heat and bubbling inside me spikes and clouds all thought. I lean into the kiss, loving how dominant this flippant, Pretty Boy is and how he can make even this fun, just like every other aspect of his life. I can’t stop my moan, which Knox gobbles up like candy.
Abruptly, he pulls away with a loud groan. I draw back in surprise as he cums inside the intestines he’s been masturbating into.
“ Fuck !” Knox rasps with contentment as his body sags.
He drops the organ as he pants. Both Sagan and Thatcher swoop in to give him a swift peck. Then Thatcher grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.
“We need to go,” Thatcher says.
“The bodies—” Knox rasps out.
Bodies? As in there are more than one? I look around to find that, yes, there are bodies . Four of them, to be exact. I gape. Knox did this all on his own? The absolute carnage of blood and guts all over the place is hard to miss now that I’ve seen it. It’s like a bear came through here. I’m not sure if I’m more surprised that Knox can take on four large frat-looking guys at once, or at how utterly savage he had been with each body.
“We’re leaving them this time,” Thatcher snaps. “Now let’s get out of here.”
Knox gives a lazy one-shoulder shrug. “Sounds like that might come back to bite us in the ass.”’
“Just where you like teeth to be,” Sagan points out. Knox laughs.
“Well, at least let me do this…” Knox huffs. He bends down to grab the end of the intestine he used to masturbate with. Reaching back, he pulls out his knife. With an ease that only comes to someone who's been doing this for a while, he cuts about a foot of the organ off with a single slice then pockets it. “There, I’ve cleaned up my DNA.”
“Good boy,” Thatcher growls with a wide, predatory grin.
I stare at the bulge in his leather pants, wondering if I should ask what he’s going to do with that. Something tells me I probably don't want to know.
From the distance comes the wail of police sirens. Thatcher and Sagan move then. Thatcher drags me toward the car as Sagan dips down and picks Knox up to throw him over his shoulder. Knox yips with delight and falls into a fit of laughter. I can’t help it. I laugh with him. I’m not sure why we’re laughing or if it’s really the time, but I can’t help it—I’m happy . Why question it?
Knox and I are dropped and pushed into the back of the truck’s cab, and the twins take the front seats. As we take off, Knox reaches up and places a bloody hand on his window. He snickers at the sight.
“We’re going to have to clean the fuck out of this truck tomorrow,” he drawls.
He shifts abruptly, and suddenly his head is in my lap. I look down at him, surprised by the intimacy. Knox smiles up at me before his eyelids flutter shut. Can he hear how my breath catches? How is it that someone can look so innocent and charming while covered in all this blood? I ache to reach out and touch him. To continue to smear it over his face, making him up to be a bloody Ken doll. He’d be so fun to play with…
I smile as I think about the small, clear baggy stuffed between my breasts. The little gift I’d been handed as I stepped out of the bathroom in the last club by a complete stranger is like an answer to my sinful prayer. I want to play with the beautiful boy that can light up a room with his smile. I want to speak to the creature that lurks beneath the pretty mask.
Now I have the opportunity to do so.
“Do you forgive me now, Starr Girl?” Knox murmurs sleepily.
I think about it for a second, then shake my head. “No, I didn’t get to stab anyone tonight.”
“You hear that? We need to make a stop!” Knox says, his eyes cracking open and his cheeks dimpling as his smile grows more pronounced.
“Not with the cops out now,” Thatcher says with a sigh. “Next time, Little Sister.”
“Can I have my own knife?” I ask before even considering the words that come out of my mouth. My lips slam shut in surprise. Do I really want my own weapon? Am I going to make this a habit?
I’m almost relieved when Sagan shakes his head.
“Until you know how to wield one with confidence, no. You’ll just end up hurting yourself or get it taken from you by your victim.”
“I’ll get you one,” Knox whispers conspiratorially, winking at me before his eyes close again.
I wonder if he’ll be so inclined to help me get my own weapon with what I have in store for him.