10. Knox
10
KNOX
I lean against the brick wall of a townhouse and take a drag on my vape pen. The cupcake flavor slides over my tongue then dives deep into my lungs. The slight burn as the mist tumbles down my throat is warm and welcome given the cold January night.
A Jaguar rolls down the one-way street. The fancy vehicle, clearly new judging by the lack of dings, scratches, and salt along the bottom, isn't out of place. This neighborhood I'm currently loitering in is high end. All the cars parked along the street are just as nice. The ones out of sight, hidden in garages, I'm sure are too. I suppose it would be weird if they weren’t given how nice the properties are. The townhouses are three stories high, and as I walked up the street earlier, I noticed a few basement windows along the sidewalk. They're all new builds. Some still have the 'sold' signs on the little patch of grass in front of them. In this part of Chicago, you have to have money to afford places like these.
I pull the edges of my fur hood closer to keep my cheeks warm. It’s so fucking cold out here. I’m thankful the jacket is thick. It’s black though and lined with brown fur around the edges of my wrists and hood.
Black is such an ugly color. I wish this jacket the guys had gotten me was pink, purple, or even a nice teal. Colors that stand out. I love being an accent piece in a boring room, or in this case, along a boring street. But I get why they didn’t buy me a jacket like that. Those colors would stand out. Especially if anyone notices someone like me—you know, someone with a penis—wearing such feminine colors. Not that I mind that part. I wear what I want, when I want. The only thing that keeps me from complaining about the color is that discretion is necessary for what I do. For what we do.
Although black isn’t the only thing I have to complain about this evening.
My hands stretch and flex before I curl them back up into fists to keep them warm. I hate the cold. I understand why the Hunt twins decided that this area would be the perfect place to settle down, but I don’t have to like it. I trust their judgment, however, and they prepared me for this. Other than this nice thick jacket, they got me the designer snow boots I’m currently sporting. We may not be super rich, but we have money—thanks to a bit of stealing, the way Thatcher plays the stock market, and Sagan’s ability to pick up side work wherever we go. I love these boots. They’re gorgeous. I saw them on a mannequin a month ago and have been talking about them ever since. Then, one day, sitting on the motel bed was a big old bag with these fancy fuckers inside.
God, the guys really do love me. I smile at the thought. I’ll have to take good care of them.
The slush beneath my nice boots is just as much of a pain in the ass as the cold weather is. Stalking around in the slush and salt will ruin these bad boys and I'll have to buy new ones sooner rather than later if I’m not careful. Annoyance comes and goes, like the Uber driver that rolls on by. Stuff like that used to be a problem. For years before I met the Hunt twins, I struggled to pay for my room, food, and clothes. But it's been ages since I've struggled like that. A lot has changed since then.
In fact, now I'm thriving .
But will my life be so great with someone else in it?
My thoughts briefly turn to Sagan. He’s with her tonight. My breath catches as jealousy and anger violently surge forward. I was once the center of Sagan’s world. Now I’ve taken a backseat. God, this new reality hurts. It hurts so fucking bad that I have to push all thoughts of him, and his brother, away. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll crumble to the ground and not be able to get back up.
Later. I can sulk about it later.
The door to the townhouse I'm waiting outside of opens, and light spills out into the night. The man who emerges is dressed in a dark peacoat. The same one he was wearing only hours before. The scarf around his neck is covering a little too much of his face, and his shiny shoes catch in the streetlamp that sits across the street. He pulls the door shut behind him slowly, quietly, then turns and hurries down the steps.
I push off the wall as he makes it to the bottom and shove my vape pen into my pocket.
“Hey, you,” I greet, smiling as he whips around at the sound of my voice.
“Shit! What the hell are you doing here? I told you to meet me down the street!” the man hisses. He hurries over to me, grabs me by the elbow and practically drags me away from his house. “My wife is home!”
Of course he has a wife. These types of assholes always do. They wouldn’t want their dirty little secret to come to light—the one where they secretly like the idea of another guy touching them. Oh no, that would be scandalous . It’s no skin off my back. I knew the type of guy he was the minute I caught his eye and he answered my come-hither smile rather than just turn away.
I snicker. “Wife? What will she think if she catches?—”
“Nothing! She won't think anything because I won't let her catch me. Got it? Now, if you want to do this you have to play by my rules,” the man growls.
“Sure.” I nod, placating him with a bright smile.
He glowers at me out of the corner of his eye before quickening his steps. Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from taunting him, I instead adjust my gait to keep from tripping over my own prettily booted feet. I can't see most of his face, but it doesn't matter. He was good looking enough when we met up at that swanky bar a few hours ago. Sure, he's, like, thirty years older than me, putting him somewhere in his fifties, but age doesn't put me off. Not really. He’s tall, with wide shoulders, a barrel chest, and thick arms. This is a man who takes care of his physique. I like that.
A block and a half later, we make it to his car. He pulls out his keys and the lights flash as he unlocks the Bentley. I whistle as I slide into the passenger seat.
“Wow, this is nice. ” I reach for the button to turn on the heated seats, ready to warm up, but my new friend slaps my hand away as he sits behind the wheel.
“Don't touch anything!” he snaps. “Don't adjust anything, don't even breathe too hard. My wife notices everything.”
I shrug. “Fine. I'll just sit here hardly breathing for you.”
With a disgusted sigh, my friend pulls out of his parking spot on the side of the road, and we head off.
“So where are we going?” I ask.
“I know a deserted street a few miles away. We can, ah, hang out there.” His hands tighten around the steering wheel, letting me know how nervous he is.
I smile. “Don't worry, I'm all about discretion, Barry.”
“Oh yeah? Then why were you waiting outside of my house?!” he demands. His voice is muffled, thanks to the strange way he’s wearing that stupid scarf. Does he normally wear it that high or is he being extra cautious this evening so no one can see his face? I think about asking, just to sate my curiosity, but then I reconsider. I don't care enough.
“I was just making sure you saw me,” I tell him with a coy smile and a one shoulder shrug.
“Well, I did.”
I beam at him, unfazed by his gruff demeanor. “See, it worked!”
“Shut up,” he grumbles, but his words are a little softer now and creases appear around his eyes, well deeper creases, like he’s smiling. His shoulders sag and he lets out a sigh. “Sorry, I've only done this, like, twice before. It's still relatively new.”
Done what? Cheat on his wife? Or meet up with a guy? I'm betting on the latter given how stiff he'd been at the bar earlier and how it had taken me pulling out all the stops to lure him outside with me. He'd come eventually, and when we kissed, he'd been more than eager to deepen it and pull me closer. We only stopped when his friends came out looking for him. Then he acted like he didn't even know me. Which makes this meeting absolutely perfect.
I wave a dismissive hand. “It's fine. I get it.”
He’s an asshole that cheats on his wife and pretends he’s the perfect macho, heterosexual bro-dude that just happens to have more than a little money—what’s not to get?
“Have you, ah, done this much?” He risks glancing over at me before making a turn.
“A few times.” I shrug. “There's a bit of a thrill meeting up with a stranger, isn't there?”
It's one of my favorite things. Meeting strangers and seeing what they'll do. Each time is a new experience.
“I guess...” The way he says it tells me my friend isn't quite sure yet. I doubt by the end of our time together I'll be changing his mind on the matter.
He's quiet for the rest of the drive, which is completely fine. I don't really care what he has to say, or what he's feeling, or really anything about him. My gut twists with excitement though as the houses around us become more dilapidated until they eventually look abandoned. The cars on this side of Chicago aren't as nice and the people that linger on the streets appear drunk, rough, and unsavory. Good thing people judge others based on their looks. I’m sure my new friend thinks these people aren’t anyone to worry about. He’s probably not even too worried about me. And why would he? I look like a fucking model compared to some of these people we’re driving by. Shit, who am I kidding? I look like a model even next to other models. I’m hot and I know it. I’m sure my friend thinks that my attractiveness makes me safer than being with one of these people scurrying about.
Finally, we pull up in front of an overgrown lot. Trash litters the ground and there are pieces of what must have been a house that once sat here. Other than more trash and boarded up buildings, there's nothing and no one around. It's really quite the perfect spot.
My new friend parks but doesn't turn off the car, allowing the heat to keep us warm. He clears his throat. I look at him expectantly. He shoots me a nervous look before looking straight ahead again. A hint of red is climbing up over the edge of his scarf and is making its way up to his forehead. His hands tighten once more around the wheel before he lets out a heavy sigh and lets them drop into his lap.
“I, ah, do you want to... um, do this?” he asks as he finally gives me his full attention.
I don't answer right away, savoring how he squirms under my gaze as I allow it rake over his body.
“I don't know, do you? ” I push.
“Yeah, of course. That's why I'm here.” His quick response has me chuckling.
“Relax, Glen, I?—”
“It's Barry,” he corrects quickly.
I know it is, but the way he fidgets and grows flustered at my mistake is fun. “Right, Barry , this is going to be a lot of fun. But before we can do anything, I need access to you.”
“What do you— oh! ” He chuckles nervously as he reaches up to remove his scarf. He tosses it into the backseat, and then he's unzipping his jacket. When that monstrosity is off, he flashes me an uncertain smile.
I slide my hands into my jacket pocket. “Great. But I still can't get to your dick so, if you could just...”
The guy scoffs at himself, as if this was the most obvious thing he's missed. He fumbles with his zipper and pulls out his hard, average size dick. Just as it springs free, my knife slams into the middle of his chest. I laugh at the choked off cry of alarm. Barry looks down at the knife and at my hand that’s wrapped around the handle. Slowly, his head turns in my direction.
“This is going to be so fun reading about in the news,” I tell him as I yank my blade free. “I can see it now: Guy with dick out in his car is stabbed to death. Liver and spleen were missing from the scene. What do you think your wife will say when the police show up at your door, huh? Writing the eulogy for you is going to be a bitch.”
Berry tries to reach up to grab my wrist. I use my other hand to slap him away.
“Stop that, I'm working,” I scold, as if he’s a child that needs to be corrected rather than a full grown man trying to save himself from a gruesome fate.
My blade flies, finding purchase in different places in his chest. Barry doesn't listen to my order to stop. He tries to fight me. Fists go flying, as weak as they are. When he realizes that’s futile—he attempts to claw at me. Again, he’s too weak already to do any damage. It doesn’t take him long to realize that’s pointless too. So he tries to unbuckle his seatbelt. Unfortunately for him, it's covered in blood and his hand weakly slips over the button, unable to depress it.
I ignore all his attempts to fight me, I even let him try to get his seatbelt off. At the moment, I’m too lost in my need to kill to care about either. Especially when he’s so weak as it is. Each time my knife slides through muscle, cartilage, and tendons, I picture that I’m doing it to her .
Beatrix fucking Starr.
Somehow, during their brotherly jaunt to the Starr House three nights ago, Beatrix managed to ensnare Thatcher. Now both Hunt twins are wrapped around her pretty little finger.
Sure, Thatcher hasn’t changed his vote yet, but it’s coming. I just know it. The stupid stipulation, the one where Beatrix has to reach out to us and ask for help, will be met soon enough. From what Sagan’s told me of what’s happening under the Starr roof, I say it’ll be any day now.
She’s going to rip my life apart so that she can take the pieces she likes the most and carry them off—leaving me with nothing. I lived a life like that once upon a time—with nothingness and no one. It’s not something I want to go back to. I just can’t. Which means, as much as it will hurt to stand there and watch the two men that I adore fawn over their shiny new toy, I’m going to do it. I’ll be there, pretending to be part of a family I’ll always be on the outskirts of. All so I won’t be left to face a cruel world alone.
“Fuck you, Barry,” I growl at him like this is all his fault.
My knife continues to puncture holes in his chest and abdomen, each strike harder than the last as I lean into the rage and fear burning inside of me. It’s kind of ironic watching him die like this since I’ll be the one at the other end of a blade soon —metaphorically speaking with Beatrix as the blade. She’s going to gut me by taking away the two people who mean the world to me. So, while it’s not a real blade, the pain will probably be as intense as what Barry here is feeling.
I have to share Thatcher and Sagan. Could this situation be any worse?
When Barry finally stills, I stop.
“Well, thanks for meeting up with me, Barry. I told you it would be a thrill, didn't I? I really got your heart rate going.” I laugh at my own joke. “Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to grab my dinner and get out of here.”