13. Knox
13
KNOX
A fter another successful night of solo killing, I finally make it back to the motel in the podunk town of Cherrywood. This is the fifth night I’ve struck out on my own in the past week. It’s rare for one of us to kill without the others but not unheard of. Sometimes, we just need to blow off steam or need some time to ourselves.
Lately, I’ve needed a lot of time to myself. I’ve been trying to get used to the isolation, knowing what’s coming soon.
As I park in front of the two rooms the guys and I are renting out, I notice Sagan's motorcycle is missing. Damn, he’s still not back from stalking that girl? Anger sours my mood. At least the large black truck parked beside Sagan’s empty space is there. Its presence tells me I'm not alone tonight. Good. Having one twin around is better than neither of them. Grabbing my small lunchbox, I push the car door open and climb out. Just as I step up onto the sidewalk, the door to one of the two rooms opens.
“There you are, Pretty Boy. I was beginning to wonder if I should come look for you,” Thatcher greets, wearing only black silky pajama bottoms.
As he leans against the doorframe, I drink in the sight of his muscular frame. He’s not jacked, but he definitely finds time to work out. His pale skin has a few circular scars from cigarette burns, a gift from their dad. He hates them, but I think they only make him more striking.
Thatcher’s gaze drops to the lunchbox in my hand. “Dinner for tomorrow?”
“If you're nice,” I tease, attempting to push aside my resentment at Sagan for not being here.
Thatcher's gaze drifts back up to my face, his mouth pulling wide as he smiles. “Aren't I always?”
That smile… fuck. That perfect , dangerous smile. It’s magnificent, just like the rest of Thatcher. God, with just a single smile from this asshole I would do anything for him. It’s like that for a lot of people who Thatcher graces with his attention. Most of the time though, if Thatcher turns this devilish flash of teeth in your direction, you’re a dead man walking.
I learned that the hard way. Lucky for me, I didn’t stay dead.
“No.” My blunt response has Thatcher laughing softly. I step closer. “Move, I need to put this in the refrigerator.”
Thatcher steps back and allows me to enter. He shuts the door behind me and moves toward the bed where he’d clearly been laying before my arrival.
“Did you go out tonight?” I ask him.
Thatcher chuckles darkly. “I did. It was hard picking my hit with so many options, but I did end my night on a high note.” There's a short pause as I bend and shove my lunchbox into the small, gross refrigerator. “I got news from Sagan a few minutes ago.”
At the sound of his brother's name, I roll my eyes, not stopping my progression as I head for the bathroom next.
“What is it? Has he found a new hiding spot in our soon-to-be house? Let me guess, he's curled up on top of the refrigerator like a cat?” I ask bitterly.
Thatcher doesn't answer me right away. I hate how he’s trying to choose his words wisely. As if there is any way to make this new situation better with just a few choice words. Well, good luck with that. Ever since he and Sagan came back a week ago from their joint stalking session and let me know that Thatcher had changed his vote, things have been tense between us. The news stunned me. How did the Starr girl manage to ensnare both twins? Their interest in her has me all tangled up with bitterness and confusion. What happened to it just being the three of us?
Since their announcement, years of insecurities have swelled back up and have been loud whispers in the back of my mind. Are they losing interest in me? Have I done something wrong? Is the Starr girl the new flavor of the year? Is she their preferred type? I know I’m different. My clothes are loud, and my personality isn’t for everyone. I’m a flirt and my emotions swing in every direction at a moment’s notice. Are they tired of dealing with me? All these questions have kept me on edge and left me feeling nauseous.
And what’s worse, with Thatcher’s vote planted firmly in Sagan’s court, I no longer have the majority rule on my side. As much as I hate the idea of sharing, I’m now forced to go along with the change of plans. I hate the idea so much that just thinking about it makes me want to stab someone.
This plan the twins concocted was to steal everything away from Patrick Hunt to give me a better and more stable life. Not to give it to some fucking twat. We are so close to seeing this come to fruition. With the new will signed and filed, thanks to moi , all we have to do is wait a little longer so their deaths don’t look suspicious.
My teeth grind together as I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower. The weak water pressure that trickles out from the showerhead only darkens my mood further. I put my hand under the water to test the temperature. It's lukewarm. Knowing that's the best it's going to get, I undress.
Just as I step under the water, Thatcher appears in the doorway. “Actually, there was a fire at the house.”
What ? My future house went up in flames? I pause halfway under the water to look back at Thatcher in alarm. “Is the house still standing?” At his nod, I shrug. “Ok, so what am I supposed to do with this piece of information?”
“It’s what followed the fire that you might be interested in,” Thatcher says. “Sagan got the sign he was looking for. It's time to act.”
I stiffen as fury warms my body faster than the water dribbling from the shitty showerhead. “Great, so we just come at her beck and call now? Like some fucking guard dogs?”
There's an exasperated sigh. “Knox...”
“Don't Knox me, Thatch.” I reach down and grab my bottle of shampoo. “Don't expect me to be thrilled when this is not what I wanted.”
“You know how this works. We voted?—”
“I thought I knew how this worked,” I counter loudly with a heavy scowl. “But you betrayed me and swung the vote in Sagan’s favor!”
Thatcher’s pupils narrow on me as I glare back at him. “I didn’t betray you, Knox. Neither did Sagan.”
“Yes you did! It happened the minute you decided she was worth keeping . Now what? Are you going to tell me you’ve changed your mind about who you’re doing this for? Are you going to give the house to the Starr girl and let her run things? Am I about to be tossed out on the side of the road again ? — ”
“ Knox !” Thatcher cuts me off sharply, his jet black brows soaring high toward his hairline. He steps into the bathroom, staring at me with… well, I don’t really understand the look. It sits somewhere between bewildered and concerned. “Is this why you’ve been dragging your feet? Because you thought this was an attempt to replace you? That we don’t want you anymore?”
Thatcher must see the answer on my face because, before I say anything, he laughs. It’s not a happy noise. Instead, his laughter is full of frustration and disbelief.
“Oh, Pretty Boy, if you don’t realize by now that you are our world, that we would move heaven and earth for you, then we’re not doing something right,” he says with a shake of his head. “There is nothing and no one that could ever compare to you.”
My face heats at his words. Still, I can’t help but ask, “Then why do you want to keep the Starr girl when you have me?”
“It’s not you versus Beatrix. It’ll never be like that,” Thatcher states firmly. “I’ll admit, it’s complicated, but I swear it’s not a competition. It’s like when Sagan and I didn’t realize we were parts of an incomplete puzzle until you came into our lives and fit perfectly between us. Beatrix is the last piece of the same puzzle. Her signal today confirms that. She’s one of us and she needs us, Knox. Just like you were lost, she is too. You remember how that felt, being alone in the world, right?”
I do remember a life without the Hunt twins. The years were long, days were cruel, and I was just surviving in a world where I couldn’t quite find my footing. And when he puts it like this, I almost feel bad for the Starr girl.
Almost .
My nails dig into my scalp as I wash the blood out of my hair.
“Trust us, Knox,” Thatcher urges, lowering his voice as his dual-colored eyes sharpen on my face. “We wouldn’t bring anyone else into this family unless we were both positive that it could work for all of us.”
I swallow hard as the tension that’s been knotting in my chest over the past week eases. There’s no denying the passion in his voice—not that I believe he would lie to me even if he spoke without inflection. We don’t lie to each other. It’s a rule that we all follow to a T. If Thatcher says he’s not replacing me, that I still hold an important place in his life, then I believe him.
And, as annoying as it is, I believe him when he says Beatrix belongs in our little family. I’m not a compassionate person by nature. That would be a strange trait for a serial killer. But I do understand the position Beatrix is in, and I can… sympathize.
“You said she’s the last piece to your metaphorical puzzle, right? No more after this?” I ask warily, shoot him a dark look.
Thatcher’s flashes me a stunning smile. “The last.”
I let out a heavy sigh before I force the negative whispers in my head to quiet.
“Ok,” I mutter begrudgingly. I suppose I can handle one more person around. As long as she doesn’t step between me and the twins, I’ll— urgh —try to make this work. “Maybe she and I will end up as besties.”
Thatcher saunters into the bathroom toward me. A half smile tugs at his lips. “I’d very much like that, Knox. While you warm up to the idea of having someone else around, just think about all the fun projects you have waiting for you that you’ll have help with now. You have a house and a business to renovate. Won’t that be fun?”
“Yeah, like the Starr girl is going to let me come in and completely gut the place now.” I close my eyes and tilt my head back to let the water wash the shampoo out of my hair.
A hand fists my dick. I gasp, my eyes flying open as my hips jerk in response.
“The house will be ours. She won't have any say in it,” Thatcher purrs as he plays with my soft cock.
It doesn't remain soft for long, not under his touch. I groan as he strokes me. His touch is always militant. There's never any foreplay or teasing. If Thatcher wants me to cum, I'm going to cum. But I'm grateful for his lack of caressing and teasing. Most touches cause me agony. And while I’m all for a bit of pain while I play with the twins, I can only handle so much. I bite my bottom lip and thrust my hips forward.
“There's no way she's going to want any part of us,” I growl between my teeth.
“She won't really have a choice, will she?” Thatcher's hand grips me tighter, his other going to fondle my balls.
I lean into his touch, loving and hating it. How can I stay mad at him when he only wants my happiness and pleasure? My balls begin to rise as my breath catches in my throat. Words are impossible to formulate with my orgasm closing in on me so quickly. Fuck, he's good at this. Fuck . Thatcher's hand works me up into a frenzy. I pant and groan, and when my release finally arrives, I can't help but brace my hands on the wall of the shower and cry out. Thatcher's hand doesn't leave my cock until I'm completely spent.
When I’m shaking and breathless, he leans in and kisses me hard on the mouth. His face gets wet from the falling water, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“Sagan will be back shortly. We'll talk about our next move when he gets here.”
With that, Thatcher leaves me to finish up my shower.