33. Thatcher
33
THATCHER
“— s o at this trajectory, I think in the next five years, Bright Starr will have quadrupled in revenue,” I say, stabbing at the caprese stuffed chicken Knox graciously made us for dinner. I plop it into my mouth and thank my lucky stars we have Knox around to cook.
Across the kitchen table, he rolls his eyes. “It’s Saturday night, must we talk shop while we eat? I can’t think of anything more boring than numbers.”
“If we weren’t so busy the last few days, we’d have talked about it during the day down at the funeral home,” I shrug. “It’s not my fault Beatrix has been sewing up bodies left and right, all day long.”
Knox flashes me a grin. “Think we can hope for another bus crash in the future? All those tears and the wailing get me so fucking hard.”
“That’s so weird, Knox,” Beatrix mutters sleepily.
“And yet it’s the least weird thing about me, Starr Girl,” Knox replies with a snicker as he finishes his meal.
She lets out a soft chuckle. “I’m starting to see that.”
Knox laughs outright at this. Their banter pleases me. Over the course of the past week now, these two seemed to have found their footing with one another. I’m a little surprised at how swiftly Knox has taken to my stepsister, given his reservations before he’d met her. But while he’s getting along with her, he’s been acting strangely. His moods have swung back and forth more dramatically than normal, and he’s been distracted—well, more so than usual. Keeping Knox’s attention on anything tends to be a chore.
I’m surprised he hasn’t opened up to me or Sagan about whatever has been bothering him. He knows the rules. Communication is the key to our survival when it comes to the games we play. If he doesn’t come to me soon, it may be time to remind him how this works between us all.
“Thatcher, are you taking into consideration the county wants to do a six-and-a-half percent increase on land tax?” Beatrix asks.
I frown as I lean back in my seat and look down. On her knees, between my legs, Beatrix lifts her head off my thigh and looks up at me through a hooded gaze. Even with how tired she is, I swear I can see the utter devotion in her eyes. She’s enjoying her spot beneath me just as much as I’m enjoying her being there. I don’t make her do this every night but when I request it, Beatrix slides beneath the table and settles between my legs happily. I have to say, it’s nice to have someone so eager to please at my fingertips.
Stabbing another bite of food off my plate, I lower my fork to feed her. My stepsister takes the bite of chicken between her lips. When it disappears, I shake my head.
“No, I wasn’t aware of the situation. You should’ve told me, Little Sister. I want to know everything about everything.”
“There’s a town hall meeting in two weeks to discuss it further. I’ll go and take notes.” Beatrix yawns. She lowers her head back to my thigh and closes her eyes. With my other hand, I stroke her face, and she hums contently.
Across the table, Knox winces. I have to stop myself from doing the same. The town is not a fan of Beatrix Starr. As respectful and quiet as she is around guests who come into Bright Starr, and around town when running errands, her presence is enough to spook people into moving out of the way or immediately berating her for one thing or another.
“I’ll go,” I offer. “We got the official paperwork in the mail today announcing the transfer of ownership of Bright Starr to me and Sagan. Rather than continuing to introduce ourselves as family, we can now tell everyone we own the business.”
I grin victoriously, and Knox lifts his glass.
“Cheers to successfully planning!” he declares, then says, “Now can we please stop with the shop talk? God, I can’t wait until Sagan gets back. His silence is better than this torture.”
As if summoned, the front door opens. Heavy footsteps follow the sound of the hinges groaning then the door slams shut. A moment later, Sagan stomps into the kitchen. Before I turn around, I already know something is wrong. A hint of worry slithers through our connection before my brother can cut it off.
Sagan comes over and drops a brown cardboard box, no bigger than four inches long and two inches wide, onto the table.
“What’s that?” Knox asks with excitement, reaching for it. “A gift? For me?”
“Sure,” Sagan deadpans, then shoots me a dark look.
Knox opens the box, the seal already broken, and peers inside. He makes a face and tosses the box into the middle of the table.
“Gross, Sagan. What am I supposed to do with those? They’re practically liquified.”
I take the box and open it myself. Inside are a pair of eyes, clouded, that have, indeed, lost their shape.
“What is it?” Beatrix asks. Her eyes search my face as I put the box back on the table.
“Is there a reason you’re trying to spoil dinner?” I ask Sagan who stomps away from the table over to the plate left out for him.
“ I didn’t spoil dinner. Someone else is trying to.”
My brows furrow as I try to understand what he’s suggesting. “You didn’t pluck those out of someone?”
“The only bodies I’ve been around recently are the ones I’ve delivered to the funeral home,” he says. “Those don’t belong to any of the ones I’ve brought in.”
“By the sound of it, I’m guessing there are body parts on the table. Gross,” Beatrix mutters. She sighs and climbs out from under the table. “That’s my cue to start dishes.”
As my stepsister rises from the floor, she grabs my plate. Knox jumps up to his feet next.
“I’ll help,” he offers.
I ignore the two of them as Sagan grabs a fork off the counter and starts eating at the island.
“Where did you find these?” I ask him.
“They were sitting in the mailbox. There’s no name, no return address, nothing.”
My stomach tightens. “Beatrix, are you prone to receiving decaying eyeballs in the mail as a joke?”
My stepsister looks over her shoulder as she carries the plates to the sink. The surprise on her face answers my question before she speaks.
“Ah, no. Dog and cow poop back in high school were pretty common things to be left on the front porch, but body parts? No.” As she stands there, Knox scoots around her to beat her to the sink with his plate. “Why are there eyeballs in the mailbox, guys?”
I don’t know the answer to her question. Leaning forward, I snatch the box back up and open it again. The eyes are so deformed, I can’t tell what animal they’re from.
“We should report these to the police,” I mutter.
“Or we could keep a close watch on the house and let whoever did it do it again, and we’ll take care of it,” Sagan suggests with a mouth full of food.
The thought makes me smile. If there are kids coming up here to harass Beatrix or her company, they’re in for a big surprise when they find out we don’t spook easily.
“Please don’t kill teenagers who are just trying to have a little fun,” Beatrix pleads. “As morbid as that fun is.”
Both Sagan and I chuckle. We can’t keep killing here in town, so that’s not even an option. But there are other ways to scare people, teenagers in this instance, into never bothering us again.
I look up just in time to see her reach up to place a hand right in the middle of Knox’s back while she comes up beside him at the sink. There’s no time for me to react or call out in warning. When triggered, Knox can move like lightning. This time is no different.
“Knox, NO !” I roar as I leap to my feet.
He twists to face her, one hand going behind him to pull out his knife at the same time he grabs the front of her dress. He yanks my stepsister toward him and she gasps. That’s all the reaction she gets out before the blade swipes across her neck. He roars as he lifts the blade up to strike again.
My heart seizes. Before I can take a step, Sagan lunges for both of them. He grabs the collar of Knox’s shirt and yanks him back, away from our sister. Knox fights him.
“Get off me!” Knox shouts.
Sagan tackles him to the ground. Over the scuffling, I catch the sound of a knife hitting the floor and sliding away. Beatrix stumbles backward, her hand going to her throat. I’m at her side in five long strides. With my heart slamming against my chest, I grab her other wrist and spin her around. Her wide eyes meet mine and hold a host of fear.
“Let me see,” I order through clenched teeth.
“I-I’m fine,” she stammers out even though tears begin to leak from the corners of her eyes. Her shaking hand drops away from her throat.
There, just starting to bleed, is a thin red line that stretches from ear to ear just beneath her jaw. It’s a shallow cut, letting me know Knox had the wherewithal in his fit of panic and rage to be careful. The heavy sigh I let out is full of relief. I frown at the intensity of it. My fondness for my stepsister runs deeper than I could’ve imagined.
“You might have a small scar once it heals, but it’ll fade quickly,” I assure her.
She gives me a shaky nod. “I don’t know what I did to?—”
“Knox doesn’t like to be touched,” I interrupt her gently as I pull her tight into my side. “At least in certain places. Just be careful, and he won’t try to kill you.”
Knox finally gives up struggling in Sagan’s hold on the ground. He breathes heavily as he presses his forehead to the floor. The veins in Sagan’s temple are popping out. My brother’s anger is mixed with sympathy. I can feel it mixing with my own ire. While neither of us appreciate Knox’s reaction to Beatrix, we know where it comes from.
“I’m sorry, Knox,” Beatrix says softly with a tremor in voice. “I didn’t know.”
“Well now you fucking do,” Knox snarls. “Never touch me again, do you understand me? If you do, I’ll make sure your corpse?—”
“ Enough, Knox!” I snap. “You’re shaken but ok.”
“I’m violated, Thatcher!” Knox shouts back, glaring at me with fire in eyes.
“It was a mistake,” I tell him through clenched teeth. “Beatrix didn’t mean to upset you.”
Beatrix nods frantically. “I really didn’t, Knox. I’m so sorry!”
I sigh as I fight back the urge to berate Knox as he shoots her with a look I don’t trust. He’s upset and understandably. Yelling at him for this isn’t fair. I suck in a deep breath and try to settle myself.
My stepsister looks between us before letting out a forlorn sigh. Quietly she says, “I’m going to, ah, go clean up.”
“Good idea,” I mutter.
Reluctantly, I let go of her so Beatrix can hurry out of the room. Sagan doesn’t relax his hold on Knox until her footsteps fade away upstairs. Even then, he waits a beat before getting to his feet. Knox sighs and pushes up off the floor. If I wasn’t so fucking wound up and my heart wasn’t still racing, the crushed expression on his face might’ve swayed me a bit.
But I am. I grab him by the front of his throat and yank his face toward me. “Don’t ever fucking touch her with your blade again. Do you understand?”
Knox rolls his eyes. “No harm, no foul right?”
“ No harm ?” Sagan repeats as a deep growl. “The blood on her neck says otherwise, Pretty Boy.”
Knox’s face crumples. It’s rare to see him look so defeated.
“That was rash, even for you, Knox,” I snarl. Knox reacting poorly to touch is one thing. It’s to be expected. But to pull his knife? That wasn’t normal. This can’t happen again. I need to get to the bottom of this situation fast or someone—likely Beatrix—might end up dead. “What the fuck is going on in your head?” I demand.
Knox’s face shutters before he looks down and his shoulders sag. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t?” I’m surprised. Knox loves hearing the sound of his own voice. Suspicion gathers in my chest. It’s flooded with rage as Knox breaks one of our most important rules. “You know how I feel about communication, Knox. Are you sure this is how you want to proceed?”
Knox nods. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, you know what that means, don’t you?” I press him, my grip around his neck tightening as I speak.
Knox’s blue eyes find mine and he has the nerve to smirk at me. “Let’s see if you’ve lost your touch.”
I chuckle darkly. “Alrighty, then. Let me show you what no harm looks like to me. Upstairs. Now .”