27. Knox
27
KNOX
“ F uck,” 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 really want to 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? I would 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 my everything . 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.
I remember being flung around the back of the car and vaguely when I went sailing out of it and hitting the cement. Yes, the accident was bad. But the Hunt twins are an unstoppable force.
My heart clenches so painfully in my chest that I can’t breathe. Sweat begins to bead over my skin. They can’t be dead. Please don’t let them be dead. I’ll give the devil a thousand souls in return for theirs. Fuck it, I’ll fight the devil himself if that means keeping the twins. This can’t be happening. They’re not fucking dead. I don’t have to fight some fictitious red guy with horns. They’re alive, they’re alive, they’re AL?—.
“Knox?” Beatrix calls softly, her voice pulling me out of my spiraling. “Please tell me you’re ok.”
Lifting my head, I look over at Beatrix. Her body, littered with cuts and bruises, trembles with fear but her eyes are locked on my face. Her expression is twisted with fear, but there’s also an anxiousness there. She’s concerned, not just for herself, but for me as well.
I take a deep breath to steady myself. Losing the twins would be devastating. But I could survive it. As painful as the loss would be, I have an anchor to this world. As long as I have Beatrix, I could wake every day and find a reason to crawl out of bed. Because of the twins, I have one more person in this world that loves me. Who loves me for me. I won’t take this gift for granted. Beatrix needs me to be strong and to stay focused, and for her, I will be.
“Yeah, I’m alright, Shining Starr,” I answer her firmly. “You?”
She stares at me for a long minute. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, and her expression doesn’t shift to give me any insight. Is she wondering if I’m lying? Is she mentally assessing her situation? Is she freaking out?
After a moment she nods. “Yeah.”
The sound of a door opening captures both of our attention. Beatrix flinches and falls silent, her wide eyes darting to the staircase. I follow her gaze and watch as a young woman comes into view and enters the basement holding a stainless steel tray in her hands. When I get a good look at her face I’m little… stumped.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask, more curious than worried.
The woman doesn’t look much older than Beatrix, meaning she’s closer to my age. Her dress is modest, reminding me of something the Amish would wear. It covers her arms, legs, and neck. Her deep red hair is pulled up into a severe bun at the back of her skull and the splatter of freckles across her face is emphasized by the paleness of her creamy skin. She smiles at me. Rather than answer the question though, she turns her attention to Beatrix as she walks toward her.
“ Please , let us go,” Beatrix whimpers.
“I can’t. I need you, Miss Starr. You’re the answer to our prayers.” The woman’s voice is light, almost airy. I watch as she sets the tray down on a small rolling table and rolls an old leather stool between Beatrix’s hiked legs. When she sits, she blocks most of my view of Beatrix. All except for her face, which I can see is twisted in terror. “Now, I need you to hold still. I don’t want to hurt you if I can help it.”
Huh, how considerate of a kidnapper. Thatcher, Sagan, and I make it a point to cause pain.
Beatrix shoots me a hopeful look before turning her attention back to our hostess. “Wait, if you don’t need Knox, why keep him here? Let him go, at least. Please? I’ll do whatever you want just?—”
“Shut up, Beatrix,” I snarl, my heart hammering in my chest once more. The thought of splitting up is worse than our current situation. No matter what happens, we have to stick together.
“That’s not up to me,” the woman says to Beatrix. “Ronny wants to keep him around. But I’ll see if I can make sure you have your friend with you through this journey.”
Licking my dry lips, I force myself to ask, “For what journey?”
The woman doesn’t look back at me or respond. It’s like she’s pretending I don’t even exist. While not the typical response to my presence, it’s not exactly atypical either. Some people see things that make them uncomfortable and just turn a blind eye. I’m one of those things.
“Will you tell me what’s going on?” Beatrix presses in a soft voice. “Are you going to kill us?”
I’m not afraid of death. Not for myself, at least. It’s just what happens. Like breathing or whatever. I only fear death when it comes to losing the people I love. Because I can’t bear to be in a world on my own again. It’s just too painful a thought. I won’t let this woman kill Beatrix. She has to go on. I can’t be in a world, even temporarily, without some sort of foundation like she and the Hunt twins have given me. I won’t survive it. I don’t want to survive it.
The woman shakes her head. “No! This is nothing bad, I promise. We need you unharmed and healthy.” She scoots closer in between Beatrix’s raised legs. “I mean that, Miss Starr. Don’t fret. We can’t have you all stressed out, or none of this will work.”
“ What won’t work?” Beatrix demands, trying—and failing—to scoot her body away from the woman who lowers a strange looking contraption between her legs. The stranger’s body blocks what she’s doing, but suddenly Beatrix cries out and arches her back.
“Stop touching her!” I snarl, yanking my wrists down in an attempt to slip free of the shackles. Nothing happens. “Come over here and fuck with me, but leave her alone!”
Beatrix sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes scrunching closed. The woman reaches for something else and the object disappears between Beatrix’s legs. Beatrix whimpers, then cries again in pain.
“Shh, I’m trying to be quick,” the woman says softly. “Please stop squirming. It’s only making it harder for me to find the string. I’ve never done this before, but I’ve been watching videos for the past few hours while Ronny got me the stuff we’d need for you.”
The woman’s shoulders move again and Beatrix sobs. Tears spill down her cheeks as she struggles to free herself.
I struggle against my own restraints, trying desperately to free myself and get to Beatrix. I get nowhere in the short time this stranger familiarizes herself with Beatrix’s vagina. When she’s done, the woman’s back straightens, and she returns the tools to the tray. Beatrix’s body sags back onto the table while she sobs softly.
“There, there, we needed to get your IUD out. According to the internet, there will be a little bleeding and then some cramping, but I’ll go get you some ibuprofen so it won’t be so bad,” the woman offers.
Before she can stand, the basement door opens again. The woman with us turns and beams in the direction of the heavy set of footsteps that descend the steps. The man that comes to a stop at the foot of the stairs has to be in his mid-sixties. His graying mustache is so thick and well maintained that I’m almost a little jealous. I can’t grow facial hair worth shit. He wears a plaid button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and old, worn overalls over his stocky frame. There’s a bit of a beer belly pushing his gut out, but I’ve seen worse. The man’s hands are shoved into his pockets, and he rocks back on his heels as he looks around the room with a mild interest. His gaze lands on me for a moment before it shifts to the two women on the other side of the basement.
His mouth twitches up into a tight smile. “Ah, there’s my Old Lady.”
The woman on the stool rises, her smile growing impossibly bigger. The newcomer goes to her. When he comes to stand in front of the strange woman, he bends down and kisses her. It’s a swift peck, but when he pulls away I can see, even from across the room, the absolute adoration that shines in the woman's face.
I make a gagging noise. “You kiss your grandpa like that? Gross. I’ve done some disgusting shit in my life, but I draw the line at messing around with senior citizens.”
“Knox!” Beatrix gasps, looking at me with wide eyes. “Shut up!”
The man who joined us chuckles. The sound is cold and unperturbed. He shoots Beatrix a look before he strolls across the room toward me. I hold his gaze as he approaches. I’m not afraid of him or what the fuck is going to happen to me. All that matters is keeping this guy away from Beatrix.
When he stops, it's at the threshold to this weird little three-walled room. Up close, he doesn’t look any more intimidating than he had far away. There’s something very blue-collar about the man. Maybe it's the thick mustache, or the scruff covering the rest of his face from not shaving recently. It could be the wear and tear on his clothes or how dirty and scuffed his steel-toed boots are.
“I wasn’t going to bring you here,” the man admits, his midwestern accent thick and drawn out. “I didn’t think a twink like you could be of any use to me. But I saw an opportunity, and I couldn't resist.”
I chuckle. “Like what you see? Sorry, like I said, I draw the line at grandpa fucking.”
The woman on the other side of the room gasps and the man in front of me scowls. He steps forward, pulling a meaty fist from his pocket. Beatrix screams in warning as he pulls it back, but what the fuck am I supposed to do? Duck ? I can’t move an inch. All I can do is accept what’s coming. His fist hits me straight in the jaw. My head snaps to the side as I see stars. As I gasp through the pain, the man steps back.
“We don’t use that type of language in this house,” the man snarls.
Another chuckle slips past my lips. “Oh, I’m sorry. Then you should probably let us go because I fucking swear, all the fucking goddamn time. Your bitch whore of a?—”
I’m cut off by a fist as I’m struck again. It doesn’t stop there, though. I’m struck again and again. He hits my face, my chest, my stomach, then goes back up to my face for good measure. I can’t flinch far or move in any direction. I just have to take it. By the time he steps back again, my vision is blurry, I can hardly breathe, and blood drips from my broken nose.
“Aw, shit,” I groan. “Someone needs to set this before I have a crooked schnoz for the rest of my life. That's not a cute look.”
“Knox, be quiet!” Beatrix begs.
I expect to be struck again, but the man only sighs this time. “Look at me, twinkle toes.”
The unexpected nickname catches me by surprise, and I laugh breathlessly. I look up only so that he can see my bloody smile. “Checking out my toes, huh? Didn’t peg you for a foot person, but hey, we all have our kinks. I’ll let you suck one if you let my girl go.”
The man sighs before he shoves his hand into a pocket and pulls out a small blade.
“You aren’t funny, Knox Keele,” the man drawls, ditching the nickname already. “In fact, I’ve been having a hard time laughing recently, knowing you and your boyfriends have been running around in my streets.”
I give him a one-shoulder shrug. “Oh yeah? I guess I could drudge up some knock, knock jokes and?—”
“Shut up,” he orders darkly. “Or I won’t just cut out one of your eyes, do you hear me?”
Oh, we’re going to do the whole torture thing. Great, well maybe I’ll come away from this with a few badass scars. Then again, he’s talking about touching my face. That’s the prettiest fucking feature about me. Other than my bejeweled dick, of course. Maybe I could talk him into carving up my chest or something.
“Don’t hurt him!” Beatrix screeches. “Or I’ll kill you myself! I stabbed you once!”
My brows raise to my hairline as I hold the gaze of the man in front of me. “My girl stabbed you?”
“Right in the back,” he confirms with no inflection in his voice or change in his expression. Even his eyes remain flat.
My heart swells with pride. Sagan’s Little Viper, Thatcher’s Little Sister, and my Shining Star struck. Sure, she didn’t kill him, but she tried. My baby killer is growing up so fast. When we get out of here, I’m giving her a gold star sticker.
“Good girl, Beatrix,” I call over his shoulder, giving her a bright, albeit bloody, grin as my nose bleeds.
The man before me huffs as regards me with boredom.
“I made a promise to my Old Lady here, Knox, that I would never kill again. You know why?” he asks me while searching my face for something. “Not because I didn’t want to kill. No, I don’t think you ever outgrow that. Once you get the taste for blood, you always crave it. But you know what I love more than killin’? Shannon. For her, I would put away that side of me so that the only thing that would take me away from her would be death. Not the cops, not a wound inflicted by one of my victims, just the Grim Reaper. For all intents and purposes, Angel Eyes retired. I’m just plain old Ronald Reed, and I’ve been ok with that.”
The Old Lady in question, Shannon, sighs. The sound is so full of love and wonder as she stares at his back, I can almost taste it. I make a face. There is something fucked up about their situation. Maybe it’s the whole age gap thing. He’s just, like, so fucking old compared to her. Sure, the twins have a few years on me and Beatrix but not, like, a million years. I try to picture the Hunt twins aged up another thirty years. Rather than feel disgust, my cock twitches.
Ok, maybe I get it a little.
“I’m going to need you to get to the point, my knees are starting to ache,” I tell him, dragging my attention back to the topic at hand.
Angel Eyes’ gaze doesn’t leave my face. “I may not have killed in a long time, Knox, but the people in these streets—the ones that really know what’s going on? They know I’m still around. The ghost of Angel Eyes haunts these particular streets of Chicago, keeping everyone in check. Reminding them that if they don’t want to see me again, they listen to my orders. They follow the rules I’ve laid down. There’s an ecosystem in place that keeps everyone happy, and it was working just fine until the three of you showed up. Letting you run around to make messes everywhere you went made me look like I’ve been slipping in my duties. I can’t have that. Control keeps my Old Lady safe. You needed to be stopped before things got out of hand. So I’ve ripped this little family apart. I got to say, I'm pretty proud of myself for not killing any of you—you’ve really been trying my patience.”
I grab hold of that piece of information, my heart leaping for joy.
“So the twins are alive?” I ask, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.
Angel Eyes shrugs. “One was when I left, though he didn’t look like he was in great shape. I’m not sure about the other. I hope they are, though. Because I’m going to put the fear of God in them. I want them to suffer. It’s been far too long since I’ve really had any fun, and since I can’t kill anyone, I have to do the next best thing. They’ll wander through the rest of their lives wondering what happened to the both of you. If you’re still alive, dead… they’ll never know. And I hope that keeps them up at night. I hope it drives them to madness.”
Bile creeps up my throat. Damn, and I thought I was an asshole for enjoying fear. This guy takes it up a notch. My victim’s fear lasts all of a few hours, tops. This guy has long-term plans, though.
“So you’re going to torture us?” Beatrix asks, her voice so small I’m surprised I can hear it from here.
Angel Eyes looks over his shoulder at her, having heard her as well. “Not you. You , we need, Miss Starr.”
“For what?” I bite out, hating the icy fear that shoots down my veins.
Angel Eyes’s head turns and our eyes meet. “I made another promise to my Old Lady. I told her I’d give her a family. Unfortunately, everything we’ve tried has failed. Shay’s body can’t carry a child, adoption for someone my age is off the table, and most surrogacy programs are too expensive to even consider. So, when I decided I’ll destroy your family, I figured I could take pieces of it to make my own. Beatrix Starr is going to raise our child in her womb. Maybe more than one if we can manage it.”
The blood drains from my face quickly, leaving me feeling strangely lightheaded. Bile creeps up my throat. If I opened my mouth to scream in protest like Beatrix starts to, I’d end up throwing up all over myself.
“Shush, shush… We’ll take such good care of the baby!” Shannon exclaims with excitement, clearly unable to keep quiet any longer. She strokes Beatrix’s face, but my Shining Starr whips her head out of reach as she fights harder than ever to break the straps holding her down.
Angel Eyes smiles then. His mustache covers most of it, but I see the delight that sparks to life in those dead eyes.
“This is my gift to you and the others. It’s the gift of suffering,” he says, then chuckles darkly. “Every one of you will suffer for as long as you live. The twins will always wonder about you and who bested them. Beatrix will be here, taking my cock until she swells with our child, and then I’ll have her watch with a chain around her neck as I raise that child. And you? You’ll rot here in my basement while, over time, I cut pieces of you off your body. Eventually, Miss Starr will look over here to gaze upon a torso and an unrecognizable head.”
His words ring with promise and truth. Angel Eyes, the serial killer that once ruled these streets, has risen and plans to make up for lost time, using me and Beatrix as his punching bags. I know I should probably be concerned. This fucker really means it. He’s going to make our lives hell. Or he’s going to try to, at least.
What Angel Eyes has failed to realize is that he’s given me two gifts. Sure, suffering sounds all fine and dandy, but I could do without that. His first gift, though, the gift of hope? Boy, that was the best present a guy like me in my situation could ask for. Angel Eyes said he knew at least one twin was still kicking. While the thought of either being dead is enough to steal my breath and crack my soul into tiny pieces, that leaves one Hunt out there. One full of fury, spite, and a whole hell of a lot of determination to get back what is his. Whether it’s Sagan or Thatcher, they’ll come for me and Beatrix. They’ll scour this entire planet until they have us back. And with a tracker planted deep into my right ass cheek, I have a feeling they’ll be here sooner rather than later.
With that thought, I flash my teeth in a wild grin.
“Sounds swell, old man. Let’s see if you still have what it takes to cut me up,” I jeer stupidly. “Want to start with my cock first? Maybe you could shove it up your ass to see if that does anything for you.”
Angel Eyes gives me a cold, half smile while he twirls his knife in his hand. “Once I’m done with you, the Viagra should’ve kicked in, and I’ll go visit your friend.”
My smile drops away. It’s replaced with a scowl and gritted teeth.
“Touch her, and your death won’t be far off.”
“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?” Angel Eyes taunts and takes a step forward, lifting the blade in his hands.