24. Beatrix
24
BEATRIX
“ H onestly, it was one of my best performances. Patrick didn’t even question why an assistant would just show up to his house randomly with legal documentation. He didn’t think to call the firm or ask to see some identification. I think I could’ve even forgone the suit. Though, let’s be real—why wouldn’t I take the opportunity to rock a custom suit?” Knox chuckles as we climb the stairs up toward the house. “By the way, I have the signed documents saved to my phone if you want to check that we’re not fibbing about any of this. But I’m sure you’ll get notice of the legal change of ownership once the firm receives the death certificates. Have you filed those yet? If not, it's fine, we have plenty of time.”
I don’t say anything, and Knox isn’t perturbed by my lack of response.
“I’m glad you’re going to be sticking around though. At first I wasn’t, because, like, who the hell are you ? You know? But I guess it wouldn’t be so bad having a woman around. I suppose there is such a thing as too much testosterone. Though in a house this big, I don’t think it would’ve been a problem.”
Why is he still talking? Can’t he see I’m not capable of conversation? I can barely put one foot in front of the other as the ringing in my ears leaves me feeling shaky.
“It’s going to be so nice having a closet. We’ve been living out of duffle bags and totes for so long, and I’m so ready for the change. Now I can expand my wardrobe. Between having to throw so much out due to blood splatter and trying to keep up with what’s in style, the lack of space to keep everything has really been a drag. I’ll go grab my stuff from Thatcher’s truck once I’ve picked my room.”
Knox is entirely too chatty and upbeat. I don’t think he takes a breath the entire trek back up to the house despite the steep climb or cold air. Even when we walk inside, he continues to chat until he parts ways with me to go poke around upstairs. While he picks his room, I stand in the foyer trying not to hyperventilate.
What have I done?
Somehow, I’ve called upon the harbingers of anarchy and three have blown into my life. How I managed to attract such devastation and chaos is beyond me. When did all this begin? With a vase of black roses? Was accepting them—tending to such a special gift until the roses had all but withered away, wrong? Did it help the dark attraction?
I’ve condemned two men to death. That statement rings like a gong in my head.
Who am I to decide such a fate? And who are these three to carry it out? My stomach riots. The air is too thick. I can’t breathe. My gasping is loud but ignored by the stranger trouncing around the house, claiming it as his own. I-I need… I don’t know what it is I need right now, but my feet take me where they think I should go.
Stumbling down the hallway, I make my way to the back of the house. My hands shove the door to the conservatory open a little too hard, causing it to bang against the wall before swinging back. It misses me as I take several steps into the room. As I reach the middle of the space, my legs give out from beneath me. The way my chest constricts is agonizing. My gasps turn into hard sobs as tears roll down my face.
What. Have. I. Done ? What was I thinking? My place of business is being desecrated by strangers. I won't be able to walk through those halls without thinking about how I let Sebastian burn and left Trevor, wild-eyed and red in the face as he begged for his life.
The heavy sobs that rock my body come to an abrupt end.
I blink the tears away as I replay the thought again in my head. Sebastian and Trevor are gone . Chasm's bullies have finally met their match. The painful tension constricting in my chest loosens. I suck in slow, steady drags of air as the wild panic begins to dissipate. I push myself up to kneel on my knees. The last of my tears take their time sliding down my cheeks as I consider the future, my future, and how it will look without Trevor Michaels and Sebastian Heins in it.
It might not change dramatically. I'll still be here, in Chasm, Indiana, running a business the townspeople think is too morbid for a woman to oversee. It's the same opinion they held of every member of my family since the business started. But I'll take their fear and prejudices over all of that and being hunted down by the town's golden child and his friend. Trevor and Sebastian showing up like this today... They've never been so bold.
Then again, I've never been so alone before. They knew that. If Patrick's twins hadn't been here to stop them, I might be on my knees for a whole other reason right now. Sure, Knox was here, but they didn’t know that. Nor would I have expected, or wanted, Knox to get involved. Trevor and Sebastian would’ve had me at their mercy. Bile burns in my throat at the thought of that. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the last time they'd gotten me alone.
Breathing through my nose, I suck in a deep breath until my lungs are full, and then I hold it.
Trevor and Sebastian aren't the only terrors in my life that have been destroyed. Patrick's gone. He can't hurt me either. No more nights of going to bed hungry or thirsty because I can't trust whether he'd drugged the food in the refrigerator or not. I don't have to hope that the deadbolt on my door will hold against the weight of a man throwing all his might into it to get to me. My mother’s gone too. Her death stings, just a little, but not enough to regret it. It’s nice that I no longer have a mother hating my very existence, wishing me death every time her eyes fell on me.
I let the breath I'm holding go.
The worst parts of my life are gone. I don't have to deal with any of that ever again.
The laughter that spills past my lips is both surprising and cathartic. The sound bounces around the glass walls and fills the room. I’m free ! I tilt my head back and laugh louder. My stomach clenches painfully as my hysteria continues. Tears well up again but for a different reason now. They gather in the corner of my eyes before spilling over.
Is it some strange twist of fate that it was Patrick’s own kids that set me free? Should I be concerned that their friend seems just as nonchalant, almost eager, to stir up terror as they are? I can’t stop thinking about the way Thatcher and Sagan watched me while Sebastian cooked. They were like two wolves ready to descend upon me.
My laughter turns to ragged gasping as I lose the ability to breathe. Wolves? Where did that analogy come from? I don’t think I’m all that far off from the truth though. They’ve been hunting me. Sagan for sure. But Thatcher? He donned sheep’s wool and managed to get me to lower my guard enough to slip in and sink his teeth into me.
My laughter dies down.
Both Sagan and Thatcher have drudged up something inside of me. Something sick and twisted that makes me open to the thought of death. Maybe I’m losing my mind. After enduring years of different types of horrors, maybe having them slink into my life has been the final straw. Have I snapped? I must’ve because the thought of being theirs, basking in their attention—as fucked up as it—excites me. They want me. They wanted me enough to shift their plans and goals to include me in them.
No one has ever really cared about me, let alone gone to such extremes to include me in anything.
A hard shiver weasels its way through my limbs. Warmth gathers in my cheeks as I think about both of them and how my body’s responded to each. Sagan likes to terrorize me—and that terror is exhilarating. Then there’s his brother, Thatcher, whose words wrap around my psyche like a weighted blanket. I pleased him the other night, and he’d rewarded me with pleasure so intense that I was ready to die a happy woman.
Would all that continue?
I hope so. Biting my lip, I try hard not to smile. To not take pleasure in the thought of being theirs.
I should be worried about how easy it is for them to kill people. And maybe I should be concerned that they’ve decided to stake a claim on my life. But I’m not. If this is what it takes to be safe and happy, so be it. I’ll do whatever they want, be whoever they want me to be, in order to keep them close.
“Hey, Starr Girl!” Knox calls out from somewhere close by.
I look over my shoulder. He’s not down the hallway or I’d see him, but he’s somewhere on the first floor.
What’s Knox’s story? How does he fit into all of this? Maybe, in time, I’ll be able to figure it out. Until then… I get to my feet and leave the conservatory. Quickly, I use the back of my hands to wipe away any tears and smeared makeup. I meet Knox at the foot of the stairs as he exits the living room.
“Oh, there you are.” He shoots me a swoon worthy smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes but, so used to hostility, I’ll take this cooler gaze any day. “I thought I lost you.”
“I was in the conservatory.” I wave toward the back of the house. “I avoided spending a lot of time in there so Patrick and Mom didn’t know how much I loved it or else they would’ve found a way to ruin it for me. But without them, I’ll probably always be in there.”
Knox’s gaze flickers behind me then back to my face. His smile remains but his bright blue eyes trail over my face with a hint of wariness. “Are you alright?”
I open my mouth to confirm that I am, but Knox waves his hand dismissively, the color on his fingernails momentarily distracts me. He mentioned it earlier, but it really is a nice color on him.
“You know what? Hold that thought. Before you think I’m asking because I care about you, I want you to know that I don’t. At all .” His smile remains firmly in place but his bright blue eyes flash. Absentmindedly, Knox curls a blond strand of hair behind his ear while he watches me closely. “I’m not here out of any fondness for you. In fact, I really wanted to see you dead right alongside Patrick and Lauren. Count your lucky stars that Sagan and Thatcher have this need to possess you. Those two want to welcome you with open arms into the family, and I’ve been out voted on this, so I’m left to go along with their desires. However…”
Knox’s smile sharpens, turning into a feral flashing of teeth, while his eyes glitter with malice. The pretty features of his face harden. No longer is he this charming, boyish young man who could break hearts with just a look in your direction. Right now, I’m staring into the eyes of a killer. The shift is eerie, and my heart flutters nervously in response. This isn’t the same person I stood up for back down in the funeral home when Trevor and Sebastian cornered him. Knox is dangerous, and he wields his charm with such finesse that I never would’ve noticed how cold and calculating he was if he wasn’t allowing me to watch the change in his demeanor right before my eyes.
“This life we live isn’t for everyone. Don’t think I’ll allow you to get cold feet and run when you realize we’re going to continue to keep killing. I won’t let you fuck those two over. So if you think about going to the police, trying to run, or hell, get the itch to kill us yourself—I’ll personally drive my blade into your chest and gut you.” Knox steps into my personal space as he growls out his threat. “So when I ask if you’re alright, I’m asking to make sure Thatcher and Sagan will be safe despite whatever the fuck is going through your head. Do you understand me?”
Knox closes the distances between us, his chest bumping into mine. He doesn’t tower over me like either of the twins would, but he’s still tall enough that I have to tilt my head up to stare into those glacier cold eyes. My heart still flutters, but as I catch my breath and hold it, I don’t let my nerves turn to fear or panic. Instead, I consider what Knox is saying.
Thatcher and Sagan want me around. Their desire to keep me is holding Knox back from killing me. I’m safe. At least for now. What’s more, Knox is telling me that these two matter to him. That he will do anything to keep them safe. His loyalty to these the twins settles something inside of me. My nerves disappear, and I let out that breath I’m holding. Knox doesn’t trust me with the people he loves, and I understand his fear. It was like that for me and my mother. I did all that I could for Lauren Starr, who was the only person I loved for a long time.
I have to earn Knox’s trust if this is going to work between the four of us. That’s fine. I’ll do whatever it takes to show him that the only place I want to be, the only place I need to be, is here with them—around the people crazy enough to go these wild lengths to get what they want. And what Thatcher and Sagan want—is me. Trust takes time to build though. Nothing I say right now will appease Knox. So the only thing I can do now is show him, through my actions, that I’m in this for better or worse.
My body relaxes, and I smile at Knox. His pupils narrow suspiciously on me.
“I’m fine ,” I assure him, meaning it. “And I understand what you’re saying, Knox. It’s been duly noted. In the meantime, what did you need? Would you like a proper tour of the house or…” I hesitate, not quite sure how to word this. “Have you been here before?”
Knox studies me for a moment longer. Whatever he thinks of my acceptance is kept to himself. His hardened expression falls away, and the charming side of Knox reappears as he laughs.
“I don’t have the patience to stalk around here. That’s definitely Sagan’s thing,” he says easily enough. “I need help moving that mattress on the third floor. That’s going to be my room from now on, but I refuse to sleep on that old thing. The mattresses back at the motel were in better condition.”
“Trust me when I say you do not want to touch that thing with your bare hands.” I grimace at the thought of how often that mattress was soiled. “I’ll get us gloves and I’ll help you move it. Don’t touch any of the towels in that bathroom either. I don’t remember the last time either of them thought to wash their belongings, and I haven’t done a thorough cleaning of their room since they’ve been dead.”
Knox tuts in disapproval. “I can smell the poor hygiene in the air up there. I’ll have to leave the windows open for a while.” He steps away from me and says, “Grab the gloves, I’ll be up there.”
“I’ll grab a hammer too,” I say, more to myself rather than to him as I consider the windows. I start to turn but Knox grabs my arm with a tight grip.
“A hammer?” he questions, the suspicion returning to his gaze.
I nod. “I had to nail the windows in that room shut because, well, drug addicts aren’t always the smartest people.”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face as he lets go of me.
“Alright,” he says. “Go get everything. I’ll meet you upstairs.”