36. Knox
36
KNOX
T here aren’t enough clothes in my wardrobe to cover my body.
I pull the cardigan closer to me as I glare at the truck sitting in Bright Starr’s parking lot as a shipment of supplies rolls in. Through the glass doors, I watch as Sagan goes over each box, inspecting them before accepting anything. I should be excited. Since Thatcher and Sagan announced they were going to take over this outdated shit hole of a funeral home, I’ve been planning its renovation. I am more excited about this than I am about the house. People are going to see Bright Starr. I highly doubt if we’ll invite people up to the house.
But I can’t find it in me to grasp the excitement I’d been holding on to all these months.
I feel exposed, like a bug under a microscope. Bitterness swells, growing so strong I choke before it ebbs away. It’s been like this for three days. Three fucking days . Ever since Sagan came to my room as I reeled over Thatcher’s punishment to let me know that Beatrix was watching me, I’ve been unable to relax. Bile creeps up my throat. It’s not like I haven't been watched before. In fact, it’s fun to have a spectator. But those times have always been with permission . Starr Girl watched on, probably gawking or mocking me. Was she appalled? Snickering at my submissiveness? That I’m not ok with. Not at all.
“Knox, I’m so sorry! I just thought you were in trouble.”
“Please, Knox, I really didn’t mean to stay and watch.”
Her apologies that followed on the coattails of Sagan’s announcement of her Peeping Tom behavior the following morning rang hollow in my ears. Even when I left that night to head to the city for a kill, I couldn’t shake her voice from my head as I plunged a knife into three different victims.
Fucking bitch. Who does she think she is? How could I have possibly believed she wasn’t like the rest of the people in this podunk, piss-poor town? She’s no different from the rest of them. Did she think I was some freak at a freakshow that could be stared at with sick fascination? I get that I’m different, but I’m happy this way. I’ve chosen to walk this road and, sure, it comes with its difficulties, but I’m ok with that.
With Thatcher and Sagan, I don’t have to worry about judgment or scorn. They aren’t repulsed by me and don’t get some sick thrill of feeling superior to me. I’m free to be the real me, and they get all of me because I trust them completely.
Starr Girl doesn’t fall under the umbrella of the people I trust. Though, for a second there, I thought just maybe she could. She seemed like one of the better people in this world. Sweet, quiet, and keen to participate in our darker games. I was wrong. She’s just like everyone else.
My bitterness is swift again as it rises up. Anger chases it. Rather than ebb away, both emotions linger until my body is trembling.
On top of everything, it’s Monday at nine o’clock. Who the fuck likes getting up and working at this time? The only reason I forced myself out of bed was because Thatcher said the truck full of my stuff was on its way.
Sagan signs the paperwork and picks up three different boxes from the large pile as the delivery driver closes the back of his truck. I open the door for him and watch as he lugs in my stuff. Sagan doesn’t go far. He carefully places the boxes on the floor and straightens. Still annoyed, I circle the items, staring at each box anxiously, looking for signs of damage as if Sagan hadn’t just done the same thing.
“What? No, jumping around?” Sagan asks. I can feel his eyes on me as I come to a stop, but I don’t meet his gaze.
“I’ll be excited when this stuff is where it's supposed to go.”
Sagan sighs. The sound is barely audible and doesn’t hold much emotion, but I’m not stupid. My eyes snap up to his face immediately. Though he’s not staring at me, I know Sagan. If I don’t follow the rules, I’ll have another punishment under my belt. Two in one week is a bad slip up. I suck my teeth in annoyance, then I cross my arms over my chest.
“I’m still pissed about Starr Girl peeping on me,” I snap, telling Sagan what he wants to know. “That’s why I’m not excited.”
Sagan nods before he kneels down and pulls out a boxcutter from his back pocket.
“You know what you can do to fix the situation,” he points out in his casual way, his voice inflection-less.
Yes, I can punish Beatrix Starr. I get that. But it’s easier said than done. I’ve never had to do this before. The twins love shelling them out whenever they can. But I’ve never been in a position—a position of power—to do such a thing. I want to make this worthwhile. A lesson that will stick. Starr Girl crossed a line, one I want her to never cross again. This punishment has to be good.
I stomp loudly as I continue to circle my goodies while my anger and bitterness rush forward once more.
Through gritted teeth I growl, “I wish I could just kill her.”
From the floor on his knees, Sagan shoots me a look that causes my cock to twitch in response. God damn he’s so fucking intense. His expression remains void, but those eyes… They speak louder than my vocal cords could ever reach. His dark hair falls into his face as he shakes his head and releases me from his intense gaze.
I come to a stop. My hands come to my hips as I tap my foot. “Glaring at me won’t get me to shut up.”
“It never has before, why would it now?” Sagan uses his boxcutter to slice open the longer box. “I don’t have to remind you where I stand when it comes to killing my pet, do I?”
“I’m not going to do it, ok? But, like, damn it, this is hard.”
Sagan opens the box in front of him, and for a second, I’m too distracted by the beautiful items inside to give a fuck about Starr Girl.
“Oh my god, they’re perfect!” The box is full of tiles designed to look like medium brown wooden planks. Maybe this is what I needed, retail therapy. My smile stretches across my face as my vision board comes to life. The lack of enthusiasm from this Hunt twin doesn’t quell mine. This is Sagan ecstatic. I nearly push him out of the way to examine each piece myself as he continues opening the boxes.
“That’s the wallpaper.” I grab his shoulders and bounce up and down as he cuts the tape away. “No, wait, you have to be extra careful!” This time I do knock Sagan out of the way, using my hip. “You could cut it if you’re not careful.”
“Who’s putting this up?” Sagan asks, lifting a roll and eyeing it.
“ You , obviously.”
I snatch the roll and place it up against the ugly gray color on the walls of the foyer of Bright Starr. The light creamy color with a simple, white floral design is clean and sophisticated for the space. This with the new floors? It’ll be gorgeous.
Sagan’s mouth presses together in a tight line before he looks back at the tile. “And I suppose you think I’ll be laying those, too?”
I scoff and answer as if it’s obvious, “Ah, yeah. Who else?”
Sagan rolls back onto his heels. “I’ll get started on this tomorrow. In the meantime, figure out your shit, Knox. We all need to be on the same page.”
“I know!” I growl in frustration. My bubble of excitement pops, just like that. “If only it could be tit for tat, you know? If I could put her in a vulnerable?—”
The idea comes to me so swiftly that I’m sure it’s been there, just waiting to pop out at the opportune time. I gasp. Sagan doesn’t look up at me as I take a few steps away.
“I figured it out! I’ll be back later, I’ve got work to do.”
“Don’t kill her, Knox,” Sagan warns as I hurry toward the front door.
I snicker as my idea unfolds. My plan won’t kill her, but by the time my punishment is through, she might wish she was dead. Starr Girl will never fuck with me again.
It takes me a couple of days to set everything up. During that time, I play nice. I chat up Starr Girl, I tease her like I would the twins, and I watch as she begins to relax as she believes she’s been forgiven. I like my victims unsuspecting, and Starr Girl is nearly there.
The twins know something is up. They’re not stupid, and they’ve seen me when I’m toying with my prey. They know I’m going to strike. Thankfully, they keep their mouths shut. This is my punishment to deal out and they have no say in what it is. Maybe they would step in if I told them what’s about to transpire, but that’s no fun.
When Wednesday comes around, I’m ready to act.
I shove the heavy gardening gloves into my pocket as I throw open Bright Starr's office doors. Thatcher looks up from the desk on the other side of the room, his brows pinched together in concentration.
“Knox, what are you up to?”
I grin. “Can you wrap up soon? I want to have lunch at the house. I have something to show you.”
Thatcher leans back in his seat with a heavy sigh. Absentmindedly, he reaches up and shoves his fingers through his hair, pushing the strands that have broken free of the gel and fallen into his face back into place.
“I have numbers to crunch, Knox. When I went over these before, I didn't realize?—”
“It wasn't really a question,” I interrupt. “Whatever you're doing, pause it. I've got something special for you.”
Before Thatcher can respond, the old, recorded bell rings over our head. Bright Starr has a visitor.
“Who the hell is here now?” I demand, pulling out my phone to check the time. It's just past noon.
Thatcher stands and comes around the desk. He looks smart in his crisp all-black attire. God he looks so good. It's great that Thatcher puts some effort into his look, because Sagan doesn't give a fuck. I get the best of both worlds: one sophisticated and one rugged version of the same man. I'm momentarily distracted as he strolls over, but when he stops just in front of me, I shake my head to focus.
“Must I remind you that we have a business to run, Knox?”
“We can put everything on hold for an hour,” I point out with a huff.
Thatcher's smile has sharp edges, and his gaze is piercing as it darkens. “What's up, Knox? Something going on I should know about?”
“Just meet me at the house when you’re done here. Trust me, it'll be worth it. Grab Sagan before you join me.” I wink. “You can get back to work after this... if you're up to it.”
The Hunt twin chuckles. “Have you figured out the punishment for my sister?”
He knows me so well.
“You'll just have to see when you join me.”
I back out of the room and Thatcher follows. Just as we step out into the hallway, someone calls out, “Hello, anyone around?”
Thatcher looks toward the foyer where the voice is coming from.
“See you soon,” I sing-song before heading in the opposite direction.
I can hear his soft laughter as I round the corner to let him handle whoever is here. Thankfully, Thatcher has taken over the front of house shit. I'm not good at pretending to care for long periods of time like he is. After watching Starr Girl interact with clients, Thatcher smoothly took over the handling of our fragile clients. Like a vampire, he sucks the despair from them and feeds on it. There's nothing he loves more than tears.
I can hear Starr Girl as I approach the preparation room.
“Now, according to your mother, you liked your hair up, but according to your cousin and from every picture I’ve seen of you with your friends, you like it down. So to please you both, I’ll work on a half up, half down do. How does that sound?”
Who is she talking to? Is she on the phone? I push open one of the double doors to find her pushing a body into one of the six morgue fridges. The young girl sliding into the dark space can’t be older than sixteen.
“Why do you talk to the bodies?” I ask, purposefully being loud.
It gets the proper response. Starr Girl shrieks, flinching hard before she whirls around to face me. The fear and shock fade as she sees that it’s me.
“Jesus, Knox, you nearly scared me to death,” she says, her voice breathless as she reaches up to place a hand over her heart. “What are you doing back here?”
“It’s my business too, why can’t I be here?” I ask, sauntering around the room. My hands, covered in fresh blisters from my task earlier, slide into my jacket pockets as I come to stand beside the old desk on the far side of the room.
There’s a pause. “It’s yours too?”
“Yup. The twins and I share everything. What’s theirs is mine and what’s mine is theirs.” I glance over at her. “I guess it’s still partially your business too since we’re keeping you around.”
I don’t miss her frown as she looks away while ripping off her gloves and removing her smock.
“What? Does that bother you?” I try hard to keep the taunt out of my voice. For all she knows, I’m here visiting under friendly circumstances.
“No, it’s just… Hard to wrap my head around. It’s insane to think that Bright Starr no longer belongs to a Starr. It’s been in my family for generations. I tried to keep it afloat for future Starrs. Now I guess it’ll go to a future Hunt if the twins marry and have kids.”
Her grimace is ignored as her words stun me into silence. Thatcher or Sagan with kids? Kids ? My amusement swells, and I open my mouth to laugh.
“Or I suppose it could end up belonging to a future Keele.”
My laughter gets stuck in my throat. Did she just kick me in the chest? It’s suddenly hard to breathe. For a fleeting moment, I try to envision a life with a mini me growing up under the roof of the house up on the hill. I can’t see it. The concept is almost too absurd to entertain. Yet for some reason, this overwhelming urge to be better than my parents, to be better than the world, to a smaller version of me swells up. The stickiness of the idea clings to my mind and soaks into my heart.
Fuck. Now why did she have to go and say a stupid thing like that?
“Kids are about as annoying as fleas. There will be none of those things around here,” I manage to spit out after a spiraling moment of existential crisis.
Starr Girl giggles as she throws away her disposable gown in the red waste bin. It’s followed by her gloves and head cap. When she’s done, she turns to face me. Her matriarchal black turtleneck with puffy sleeves and black pants makes it look like she’s about to go to a funeral. I suppose it’s fitting given where we all work.
Looking away, I glance up at the arrangement of pictures on the wall. My eyes barely skim over them, but then I find myself going back over each picture as I don’t recognize a pattern of any sort.
“Who are these people?” I ask.
The soft sound of her footsteps tells me she’s approaching. My stomach clenches as excitement for what’s to come returns. It burns hotter than before now that she’s made me uncomfortable again . This time with the idea of children. Fuck, she’s annoying. I can’t wait to see her tears.
There’s a short pause as her footsteps falter before coming to a stop. I look over my shoulder to find her looking at the floor. What’s this? Her expression reads almost a bit… guilty.
“I asked you a question.” I turn all the way around to face her. “None of them look like the others, or like you, so they're not family. There's a vast age range too that tells me they probably weren't your friends. So why are they up here?”
Beatrix licks her bottom lip nervously before she forces her gaze up at me. “They’re, ah, my favorites.”
“Favorite what?” I don’t get it. My eyes jump from her to the pictures on the wall then back.
“Um…” There’s a short pause before she lets out an exasperated sigh and throws up her hands. “I don’t know why it's so hard to tell you . It’s not like you can judge me.”
I raise a brow. “I most certainly can judge you, and I will. But first I need to know why.”
“They’re my favorite corpses.”
If she hadn’t just dropped the Keele two-point-oh bomb on me, I would’ve bet this was the most shocking thing to ever come out of her mouth. As it is, she’s right. I can’t really judge her in this area of her life. Before I can stop it, I laugh.
“Well, Starr Girl, you are just a pot of surprises, aren’t you?” I ask.
She moves closer, then steps around me to look at the people on the wall. My body coils, ready to spring. Still, I keep my breathing calm and my voice under control.
“Why these ones?” I ask softly, taking a half step closer to her.
“They were some of the hardest to put back together. I was able to make them beautiful again.”
I glance up at the pictures. None of them are what I would consider good looking.
“Beautiful? Starr Girl, I’m afraid I don’t see it.”
“You don’t?” Her voice softens as she continues, “Ms. Penelope killed herself sitting in a running car in the garage. No one knows if it was an accident or done on purpose since she was showing signs of dementia. You'd think that would be the easiest way to go, but it can be ugly, and she was a worst case scenario. When she got here, her face was swollen and discolored... It took me ages to work her back to her normal state. You'd never know what happened to her by looking at her now.”
I study the older woman she points to. Starr Girl is right, I never would’ve guessed this woman looked like a swollen eggplant. Her hand points to a middle-aged gentleman next.
“Mr. McCue fell off his ladder onto the fence that separated his yard from his neighbor's. But his wrought iron fence had spikes. Two of those spikes went through his skull. One came out through his eye and the other through his mouth, tearing his lip. Even if you stepped up real close, you'd never be able to tell what he went through.” She sighs, the sound strangely content given the topic. “He’s perfect.”
I study her work a moment longer. “I can't tell what any of these people died from. These are all your doing?”
Starr Girl hums, pleased by my accidental compliment. “Yes.”
“I'm actually impressed,” I nod, though she can't see it with her back facing me. “Sagan was mulling around this place for months and never brought me fun little treats like these pictures. I figured you just threw bodies in the firepit or dumped them in the ground.”
She shakes her head a little, her brows pinching together in thought. “We haven't buried anyone in the cemetery here in... Well, a while. Longer than I can remember. Most of the deceased get buried elsewhere.”
“You're good with makeup—maybe I'll have you teach me how to do some blending. I can never get it right.”
“You don't need makeup.”
Immediately, I bristle. What does she mean by that? Because I was born with a dick, I don't get to look nice?
“And why the fuck not?” I snarl, losing my temper.
Starr Girl has the nerve to scoff as she turns to look over her shoulder at me.
“Because you're you, Knox.” She chuckles before turning her back on me. “You don't need it. Your skin is flawless as it is. Even with the right blending you'd just be masking your natural beauty?—”
My arm comes around her neck, and I yank her toward me before she can finish her sentence. Her screech is cut off as my arm tightens.
“Stop fucking with me, Starr Girl,” I snarl into her ear.
“Get off me!” She thrashes around, but I'm stronger than her, and when I tug her back, she becomes off balance. “Knox!”
“Do you think I'm fucking stupid ?” I demand. “That I'm a sideshow attraction you can stare at and coo over like a fucking doll? I know I'm not conventional, and I know you think you're being cute, but I see through you, Starr Girl. I know what you really think of me. You small-minded, piece of shit, little girl. You're about to learn to never fucking stare at me again, you got that? Mind your own fucking business if you can't respect me.”
She struggles, trying to kick back and use her elbows, but I've played this game too many times. I know how to maneuver out of the way without losing my grip on my chokehold.
“I don't know what you're talking about, Knox!” she gasps out. “I'm not lying to you! I do think you're beautiful! And I told you I was sorry, I won't peek in on you ever again. I thought you were in trouble!”
As if I could believe such a lie. She thought I was in trouble? Me? Doesn't she get who she's dealing with?
“I can take care of myself,” I hiss, reaching up with my other hand. “Now, get ready to visit hell, Starr Girl.”
“Please, no, Knox. Please !”
Her whimpers and pleas don't sway me, just like with all the others who'd come before her. She should count her lucky stars that she'll live to see another day, unlike the rest of the people who screamed the same words at me. Throwing my weight forward, I slam Beatrix down onto her desk—face first—and pin her beneath me. I reach up and squeeze the pressure points behind her neck.
Immediately, she goes slack.
With a breathless laugh, I heave her body up and over my shoulder. Time to get to work.