Entombed In Sin (Graveyard Games Duet #2)

32. Thatcher

32

THATCHER

T he furniture inside the house is old and worn, but clearly well loved. There are handmade quilts thrown here and there—hung over chairs and piled on top of a chest. The kitchen is clean but cluttered with trinkets on exposed shelves. The smell of something baked reaches my nose. Whatever it is hasn’t been left out on the counter or anywhere in sight. As I pass the still-warm oven, I notice a collage of picture frames on the wall.

I don’t stop to stare at Angel Eyes and his woman. It’s too dark in here to really see anything, not that I want to see how happy they’ve been together. Any joy they found in their life is over. Even if we don’t kill them today—if this is just a rescue mission—their death is a guarantee. The blade of my knife will sink into their flesh as soon as I can make it happen.

Keeping my ears perked, my gaze sweeps around the space. Angel Eyes might be gone for the moment, but we don’t know anything about Shannon Reed. According to our new friend we’d kept in the basement until he spilled all the secrets he kept—which weren’t many given that he was just some low-ranking thug—Angel Eyes never spoke about his wife. When we brought her up, the guy had been just as surprised as we had been when we found out about her.

Apparently, Shannon Reed was his little secret. Someone he protected from the world. Maybe she’s a killer, maybe she’s not. All I know is that she’s important to him. A shiver of deadly longing creeps down my spine.

I can’t wait to get my hands on her.

As I round a hallway, I find a set of stairs that lead to the second floor. I pause, straining to hear any sign of life. Are they up there? The house is eerily silent. I know Shannon is here, but where? Is she up there, getting ready for bed? I take a step toward the staircase, but I hesitate. I don’t need to go up there. Sagan should be entering the house at any moment. He’ll be coming from that direction, sweeping the second floor for a threat. So instead of heading that way, I peer into a den.

It’s dark and empty.

In my hand, I grip the hilt of my blade tight. The sound of my teeth grinding is the only thing I can hear. It bothers me just as much as Sagan’s grinding annoyed me, so I quit doing it. My feet lead me away from the stairs and past the den. I’m almost down the hall when I hear something.

Voices.

Immediately, my body stills, tensing. I hold my breath, as if that will help me hear better. It takes about fifteen seconds for me to realize the voices are coming from beneath me. It takes another ten for me to recognize who’s talking.

Knox.

My feet twist and I redirect. In my chest, my heart gallops. He’s so close. Is Beatrix with him? Have they been kept together or have they been separated? I move a little quicker as I pick up on the urgency in Knox’s voice. There’s a bark of command, then silence. My feet stop moving as my breath catches in my throat. Why’d it go silent? What happened? What’s going on? My gaze swings around, searching for a way to get down to him. They need to keep talking or this will take too much time.

Like he heard my thoughts, Knox’s voice drifts through the floor again.

I’m on the prowl instantly, struggling to get a pin on his direction. My teeth are grinding again. I only notice because of the tension in my jaw. But I ignore it. My family needs me, and I’m going to tear this fucking house apart until I find them.

Knox’s voice grows a little louder. I must be getting closer.

I round a corner and then hurry down the hallway back in the direction I’d come in. I rush through the kitchen, through a family room, and find a door down another hallway. Knox’s voice drifts up from it. I still can’t hear what he’s saying, but it doesn't matter. He’s here, and he’s within my grasp. My heart races as I grab the door that’s already cracked open and fling it wide.

There, only three steps down from me, is Knox.

He stands there, frozen in a tense stance, bracing himself. I barely notice the dirty gray sweatpants he’s wearing, or his bare chest that’s peppered with bruises and splattered with old and new blood. My attention latches on to the gaping hole in his face where his eye once sat. Its’ raw, red, and oozing. The crusted, dried blood is a stark contrast to his golden wavy hair and pale, slightly green, sweaty complexion. Knox is a gruesome and beautiful sight, as he stands there with his one crystal blue eye blazing with determination. Relief releases my heart from the vise-like grip it’s been trapped in for days. The hollow shell of my body fills with a delicious type of warmth I hadn’t realized I’d been ignorant of since Knox stormed into our lives. That I didn’t realize I’d been craving since he’d been gone.

But that warmth and relief is short-lived when my gaze slides to my sweet little sister hanging limp in his arms. The blood covering her is still bubbling out of multiple gaping wounds. The frigid splash of horror that drowns the heat that had been filling my limbs causes bumps to rise and race all over my body. I look up from her bleeding naked body just in time for a weak, small smile to splay across her face.

In a soft, nearly inaudible, reverent whisper, she speaks my name. “Thatcher.”

Her head flops back as her eyes flutter shut. The muscles in Knox’s arms tense as he tightens his hold on her.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Knox demands, scowling at me darkly.

I’m moving before I speak. The blade in my hand slides back into its sheath as my feet thunder down the three steps that separate us. My hand shoots out to grips the back of his head and to jerk him toward me. Our lips crash together in a hungry, desperate kiss. It’s brief, and when I pull away, I silently promise to rewire our souls together properly later.

“Sorry I’m late,” I reply as I reach for Beatrix. “But we’re here now.”

Knox pulls her closer to him, a knee-jerk reaction that causes me to pause.

“It’s ok, Pretty Boy,” I promise quietly. “Give her to me.”

“We have to stop the bleeding, now ,” he says urgently, his blue eye sparking with a panicked urgency. “Did you kill Angel Eyes? We can’t let him get hold of her. Especially when he sees what she did downstairs.”

I shake my head. “No, he stepped out, which is how we managed to slip in. Come on, Knox. Let’s get her help.”

This time, when I reach for Beatrix, Knox hands her over. I take her weight in my arms and cradle my stepsister to my chest. My gaze falls to her face. Beatrix’s mouth is pulled into a tight line of pain, even in her unconscious state. Her chest rises and falls unevenly. My own constricts once more as a knot of emotions gathers in my throat.

I promised to take care of Beatrix. The sight of my failure curdles like sour milk inside me.

I’ll fix this , I vow silently to her.

Looking up, I glance at Knox. For the first time ever, I watch as a flicker of fear tightens the striking features of his pretty face as he stares at Beatrix in my arms. Even when Sagan and I had stabbed him the night we met, Knox never showed a lick of fear. He accepts life as it is, by either smiling or striking out. I hate seeing his fear now. I’m going to snuff it out as quickly as I can. Fear has no place among us.

Through clenched teeth, I growl out, “Let’s go.”

I turn and head back up the stairs. As I get to the top, Sagan appears. He takes one look at Beatrix in my arms and I feel the devil rise from hell through our bond. The heat from the fire that lights up the dark shadows in my brother’s eyes is almost intimidating. His upper lip lifts in a snarl.

“What happened?” he demands.

“Find me a first aid kit and I’ll tell you,” Knox snaps back, his voice twisted with stress.

Sagan’s gaze flickers behind me to him. My brother’s hand lifts and Knox pushes past me to take it. Sagan drags Knox into his chest before his head swoops down and he kisses Knox. It’s a harsh kiss, possessive. It lasts only slightly longer than ours had before Sagan pulls away.

“I saw one sitting open on the kitchen counter,” he growls out. “Now tell me what happened.”

“Beatrix killed Shannon, but during her absolutely, totally hot meltdown, she didn’t realize Shannon was fighting back. It’s like she didn’t feel a thing.”

My gaze drops to a piece of ceramic still protruding out of my stepsister. Everything in me urges me to yank it out. But I know that’s not a good idea. It could lead to more bleeding.

Sagan barks out a bitter laugh. “Sounds like my Little Viper struck.”

Pride sweeps through me. I’m so fucking proud of the strength she’d gathered up to get the both of them out of that basement. But suddenly that pride is tainted with a soul-crushing realization.

The world Sagan and I have created for ourselves is feeling a little bit too fragile. We thought we were gods. Two unmovable, dangerous forces to be reckoned with. But I'm beginning to realize that maybe we aren't so invincible. For three days, I've lived without Knox and Beatrix. They were the worst days of my fucking life. I've never felt so powerless and furious. Even as a kid, when Dad would beat the ever-loving shit out of me in his fits of rage—I'd never felt like this. I knew then that I just had to wait, to bide my time until I had an opportunity to strike back. Now, however, time isn't on my side. I’m powerless to stop the blood from pouring out of Beatrix, and I can't give Knox his eye back.

I've been weakened. I see that now. I’ve poisoned myself with love—an emotion so thick and consuming that fighting against it was never an option. It would’ve been impossible. But why fight it when it feels so damn good? There's a downside to allowing this emotion to consume so wholly, though. This is the first time I've experienced the pain that comes with it. It's taking everything in me not to panic and rage. My chest feels like it's about to crack open from the hurricane force of the helplessness and devastation rattling inside me. Knox is here and hurt, and Beatrix…? My gaze drops to her, and I choke down a groan of despair.

She’s so fucking perfect—we can’t lose her.

Sagan’s knuckles caress the back of Beatrix’s cheek before he pushes past me and heads down the steps. “Get her patched up, and we’ll get out of here.”

“Where are you going?” I demand. “We need to get Knox and Beatrix?—”

“I’m going to leave Angel Eyes a message,” he says from the bottom of the stairs.

I don’t wait to see what he’s doing. Knox and I head to the kitchen quickly. There, on the counter by the far wall, is a first aid kit.

“Put her on the floor,” Knox demands, grabbing it. “Let me just do some temporary patch work. I can do the stitches back at the house…” He grimaces as I kneel to place Beatrix on the ground and more blood wells up and out of her body. “Or in the car.”

The softest groan of pain slips past my stepsister’s lips, but then she falls silent. My heart shudders in pain, as if it's trying to absorb it from her. I wish that was possible. I would steal all of it if I could.

Sagan's footsteps are heavier than normal as he returns to the first floor. Rather than join us in the kitchen, he moves around in the other room. I ignore him. Whatever he’s up to can wait.

“Hold these,” Knox shoves some gauze at me. “I'm gonna try to clean the wounds out.”

I nod, watching as he gets to his feet and grabs a towel hanging off the faucet. It hits me then that he’s practically naked other than his sweatpants. Of course, I knew that. It’s hard to miss. But it’s hitting me now that he’s probably been partially dressed—easily accessible—this whole time. My eyes land on Beatrix’s completely naked body next. The burn of the bile slowly creeping up my throat is scalding. They both have been so vulnerable. As Knox wets the towel and lowers himself on the other side of Beatrix, I shove off my black hoodie. I throw it at Knox and he takes it only to toss the sweatshirt to the side.

“Later,” he murmurs, focused on cleaning Beatrix’s body.

“Did he… touch you?” I ask, my voice low and grim. I know his past wasn’t great, that people hurt him. It sickens me to think that he’s gone through that all over again.

Knox shakes his head. “They were using Beatrix’s body to try to start a family. They didn’t touch me except for this.” He points needlessly at his eye.

Knox's words don't process. At least not right away. They tumble and roll over in my head as I try to translate them. A full-body flinch ripples through me as I recoil from their meaning when they finally sink in. I stand in one fluid movement. For a second, I think I might throw up.

“They what ?”

Knox doesn’t repeat himself. He just finishes wiping the blood away from her wounds before grabbing the tape beside him and lifting a hand without looking at me.

“Gauze,” he orders.

I hand them over and he gets to work patching up my stepsister.

“If she’s… carrying —” I spit the word out with disgust. “—we’ll take care it.”

Knox nods, but remains silent. I don’t linger by his side. Fury and insanity collide, spurring me on to do something to retaliate. My feet move, taking me toward my brother. It sounds like he’s lugging around a heavy suitcase or something as he moves. When I step into the family room, I find Sagan setting a body on one of the worn recliners. Judging by the dress, it’s Shannon’s, but without a head, I guess I can’t be too sure.

Sagan reaches down to pick up chains and a bloody mop of red hair resting by his feet. Oh, there’s Shannon’s head. My brother works quickly. In less than a minute, he has Shannon’s head wrapped in the heavy metal links and dangling from the ceiling fan.

My brother looks at me, his gaze full of death.

“Turn it on,” he says in a deep growl.

I look over my shoulder and find the switch on the wall. My chuckle lacks any true amusement as I reach over and flip it on. Above us, the fan starts to turn. Blood leaking from Shannon’s head begins to fling against the furniture, floor, and walls. Sagan and I both grin at one another. Ok, maybe I feel just a tiny bit better.

Just as I turn to head back into the kitchen, the ring of a cell phone catches both of our attention. We freeze.

“It's in here!” Knox calls.

I hurry into the kitchen. Knox points with a bloody hand from the floor to the vibrating device sitting on top of a short bookshelf full of recipe books. Snatching it up, I read the name “Ronny” with a little heart emoji as it flashes on the screen. My heart flutters with cruel excitement.

Without hesitation, my thumb brushes over the green button and I bring the phone up to my ear.

“ShayShay, honey, can you give me a hand out here? I think I tweaked my back the last time I visited Beatrix.”

An icy blast of malice and revulsion erupts from the middle of my chest and reaches every inch of my body. I shiver under the wrath that pummels me. Hatred tastes like poison on my tongue. He violated my little stepsister and carved up my Pretty Boy. No one gets away with that. I glance at Sagan, who’s standing in the threshold of the kitchen, watching me. I nudge my head toward the family room and he nods, turning while he pulls his knife out and stalks toward the front door.

“Hello, Ronny, or should I call you Angel Eyes?” I greet, keeping my tone light.

There’s a short pause. I’m almost positive I can hear his gasp of horror before he asks, “Who the fuck?—”

“Oh, I think you know exactly who I am,” I cut off with a dark chuckle. “Or at least I would hope so, given you’ve been watching me and my family for a while.”

There’s another pause. I wait, patiently enjoying how I can almost hear the gears in his head turn as he panics. While I listen to the heavy silence, I saunter back into the family room to join Sagan, who’s lingering by the window, peering out between the blinds, watching our victim. As I come to stand in the middle of the room, a splatter of Shannon’s blood gently slaps across my face. The sound of a car door slamming shut in my ear is echoed just outside the house.

“Was there something I could help you with?” I ask after a moment when Angel Eyes says nothing.

“Where is she?” he growls out slowly.

I glance over at her body, then up at her head. “She’s sitting here with us while we wait for you. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll allow you to come inside and kiss her goodbye. That's more than you gave us when you took what’s ours.”

“If you’ve touched a single hair on her head, I will bring the entire Chicago PD down on you. I have pictures, recordings, and witnesses that will testify against you about what you’ve been up to in my city,” Angel Eyes threatens. “I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Oh yeah? Call for backup. I dare you,” I challenge with a grin he can’t see. “Let’s see how that plays out for your wife, shall we?”

His huff of anger doesn’t go unnoticed. I smile. When he speaks, I swear he’s talking through clenched teeth. “Let’s talk this out.”

“Sure, we can all sit around in a circle, chat, hell, maybe we even hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’,” I agree pleasantly. “All you have to do is come inside, Ronny.”

“Let me talk to ShayShay first,” he snarls.

I glance at the ceiling fan, losing my patience with the demand he’s in no position to make. “You have fifteen seconds to get in this fucking house, or we’ll tear her head off.”

With that, I hang up.

“Knox, how are you doing in there?” I call as I listen to the heavy footfalls coming our way as Angel Eyes approaches the front door.

“Almost done! But we need to go. She needs real medical attention.”

“She’ll get it, as soon as we’re done in here,” I promise as Sagan and I shift to face the door as a key is shoved inside the lock. Sagan adjusts his grip on his knife while I pull out mine. My teeth gnash together, and I smile in victory as the door is shoved open. I lunge forward, raising my blade—not caring if anyone outside can see me.

But I didn’t anticipate Angel Eyes wielding a goddamn gun.

Fuck .

My eyes land on the barrel of the gun just as it goes off. The bullet soars over my right shoulder, barely missing me. I stumble back, lose my footing and go down. Two more loud bangs go off, but both bullets miss as I land on my back.

As swift as lightning, Sagan reacts—grabbing Ronny’s wrist that holds the gun and yanking him through the door into the house. The old man elbows Sagan in the chest, but the move doesn’t slow my brother down as he throws his weight into Angel Eyes. They both slam into the wall. A picture frame falls and shatters but is ignored. Angel Eyes moves to knee my brother, but Sagan jerks back. At the same time, Angel Eyes attempts to jerk his wrist out of Sagan’s firm hold. The movement causes the gun to go off again. This time, a bullet hits the corpse that’s sitting in the recliner. The force causes the chair to rock a little.

I get to my feet while reaching for my knife that’s fallen beside me. With a deep snarl, I join the fray.

My blade swings through the air. It tears through skin and tendons as it rips through Angel Eyes’ wrist holding the gun. He hisses in agony and drops the weapon. I move to dig the blade into his side next while Sagan holds him, but the old man headbutts my brother, dazing him, then throws his weight to the side. The tip of my blade misses by inches.

He turns toward us rather than away and throws himself at Sagan. My brother’s fist slams into his nose and his knee comes up into the older man’s gut. Neither attack slows him down. Ronny charges at Sagan. He hits my brother like a linebacker hitting a brute sled, knocking Sagan clear off his feet. As Sagan’s back hits the ground and Angel Eyes makes a move to smash his heavy, booted foot down on his sternum—my blade whistles as I leap forward and drive it down into his back. The force of my attack causes him to stumble away from Sagan.

To his credit, as my knife plunges into Angel Eyes’ shoulder, he barely flinches. I twist the blade, making sure he feels the pain, then pull it free to let him bleed. I don’t move quick enough. Or maybe Angel has some sort of supernatural speed because he turns so fast, his fist flying, that I don’t have time to move. I manage to jerk my head back, but not far enough. His fist clips my chin, and I swear as that move alone causes me to stumble.

Fuck, that hurt. Are his fists made of steel?

My recovery is swift and as I twist out of the way of his second punch, I manage to shove my shoulder into his side, throwing him off balance. His body hits the wall. The sound of drywall crumpling upon impact is loud in the small space.

Without hesitation, I make sure my blade lands in his gut. He barely spares the breath to grunt. Instead, he reaches down, attempting to grab my wrist and yank the blade out of his body.

Rather than let him think he’s getting out of this, I press my weight into the blade to pin him to the wall. With a cold smirk, tell him, “You wanted to talk to ShayShay, and you came in under fifteen seconds. I’ll uphold my end of the bargain. Want to say goodbye?”

“Where the fuck is she?” he demands, stilling in his progression to remove my knife from his gut.

Sagan appears beside me, his mouth curving into a cold smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He jerks his thumb upward. “She’s looking down on you like… well, like a little angel .”

Angel Eyes stops fighting for a moment to follow the motion. His eyes slide toward the ceiling. When they land on his wife’s head spinning around comically above us, a sound like an iceberg cracking in half, slips past his lips, horror twisting his expression. His whole body goes slack as his eyes widen and mouth parts. I can almost feel his soul caving in.

I grin at the sight and sound of his pain; it pleases me more than the blood seeping around my hand from his wound.

Unable to help myself, I lean in close and whisper, “I can see why you settled down with that one. Her blood is just so pretty, isn’t it? I think I’ll use it as lube later when my Pretty Boy and pet are back in my bed.”

Neither my brother or I are prepared for Angel Eyes’ reaction. With a burst of strength, the older man shoves at us. Before I can brace myself, he grabs my shoulders and shoves his knee into my groin. Before the breath is even knocked out of me, he lets go to punch Sagan straight in the nose. I jerk forward, gasping for air.

Usually, I like when they fight back. But right now, all I want to see is Angel Eyes dead. Sagan catches another fist to the face and then the older man reaches down to yank my blade out of his gut. He dives for me first—half bent over as I am. I stumble out of the way, realizing too late that the move gives Angel Eyes the space needed to run. Rather than stab me, he takes off toward the front door and stumbles out into the dark.

“Where are you going?” Sagan bellows. “We’re just getting started!”

“Thatcher! Sagan!” Knox calls.

I glare at the front door a second longer, noting the handprint on the frame that Angel Eyes had grabbed for support before slipping out. The sight of his blood doesn’t settle me. It only seems to fuel my desire to drain more of it from him.

“What, Knox?” I bark back.

“We really need to get to a hospital!”

Sagan pauses, already halfway out the door—hesitating. We trade looks just as Knox hurries into the room. I can feel Sagan’s desperation to go after the man who hurt the people we care for, but I can also feel the urgency to go to Beatrix. The conflicting emotions war in me too. We both turn just as Knox comes up beside me.

“Where’s Angel?—”

“Running,” Sagan snarls, glaring back at the door.

I hesitate. Beatrix needs us, but… “There’s a lot at stake if we don't kill him, Knox. He knows too much about us. Where we live, what we do… I doubt he’ll be back here now. He’ll have the upper hand if?—”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Go get him!” Knox snaps. “I have to get Beatrix help, now .”

Sagan nods and darts out of the door. Rather than follow right away, I shove my hand into my pockets and pull out my phone and keys to the car we’d stolen. I toss them both to Knox. He catches the keys, but the phone hits the floor by his feet, missing his other outstretched hand.

“Great, I’m going to have to deal with fucking depth perception issues now,” he mutters.

My stomach clenches, but I don’t have time to go to him. “Keep the phone close. We’ll text you when this is over. The car is parked two blocks this way.” I nudge my head toward the door. “Dark green sedan.”

Knox nods, his mouth pressed in a tight line—his expression grim. “Go, Thatcher.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I take off after my brother, ready to fucking tear Angel Eyes apart. No one touches what’s mine and lives.