Chapter 4
SKYLAR
I fucking hate that I didn’t enjoy killing Martin as much as I thought I would.
Saxon ruined that kill for me, and I hate him for that.
I’m more pissed that I let him get in my head and fuck with my psyche.
Giving another man any type of control over me has my blood boiling, and I can’t stand the heat that’s coursing through my body as I toss the last garbage bag into the dumpster. So long, Martin.
Heading back down to the basement, I get to work with the tedious part of my hobby—the clean-up.
I wasn’t particularly careful with my hack job this time, and now I’m paying the price of having to clean up more blood than usual.
While in my fit of rage, I didn’t put down a sufficient amount of drop cloths this time.
Way to go, Sky.
I’m on my hands and knees when a certain pair of black eyes take up space in my head.
I’ve known Saxon for roughly a year and a half.
He made it his mission to get to know me the moment he found out about my father.
I don’t blame him. I know my father would have done the same if the roles were reversed.
Why would a rival club member’s daughter show up in his territory without ill intent?
His constant questions, badgering, and watchful eyes didn’t bother me.
I know his loyalty is to his club, and I respect that.
However, he has no idea who I really am or why I showed up here randomly nearly two years ago. He never will.
Deep down, he still thinks I may be a spy of some sort, waiting for me to uncover his operations and report back to my father.
Again, I don’t blame him, but come on, man.
It’s been two years since I showed up here.
To me, that seems like too long for me to play games.
Can’t be mad at his persistence though. Plus, he’s not bad to look at either.
Who am I kidding? He’s fucking gorgeous.
All cranky and broody—his bad boy attitude does something to me. Something I’m trying hard to ignore.
After placing the last bit of bloody cloth and bits of evidence in the black garbage bag, I let out a long sigh.
What a night. Disposing of the bag, I make my way up the stairs to my apartment above the club.
Kicking open the door, I immediately go to my bathroom and turn on my shower.
I need to clean the smell of Martin’s remains off my body.
As I allow the shower to heat up, I remove my bloody clothes and put them in a pile beside the toilet.
I remove my hair clip. My long brown hair cascades down my back, the release of tension falling from my shoulders, and I peer at myself in the mirror.
I look tired. No, I look fucking exhausted.
I need a vacation. I need to get through my list so I can finally start living my life the way I want.
I’ve dreamed of happier times all my life.
Marrying someone who adores me, maybe having kids, a beautiful home we can make our sanctuary.
All that’s still just a dream and will remain a dream until I finish what I’ve started.
One down, so many more to go.
My list of victims is still dauntingly long, but every checked box is one less monster walking the streets.
Dark circles brim my eyes, and I’m not sure if it’s from crying so hard or the exhaustion of a long day.
I can’t stare at myself for too long. The resemblance to my twin brother has my brain spiraling once again, and I don’t have another victim in the basement to help alleviate the pain that comes with thoughts of him.
Seven, my twin, my best friend, the only person on this earth that ever loved me, was ripped away from me.
A random act of violence stole him from my world in a split second.
I turn, open the glass door, and step into the warm spray that falls like rain above me.
I push away that day and enjoy the comfort of the warm water, standing directly underneath and allowing it to wash away the blood, grime, beer, and last bit of evidence of Martin.
As though he never existed. Good fucking riddance.
I’m quickly following the steps of an “everything” shower.
Washing my hair with my new pomegranate shampoo.
Damn, this smells good. Followed by conditioner, body wash, and shaving both legs and underarms. I take my time, the process becoming relaxing and allowing my mind to slow from the constant manic state that comes with my busy days.
When I finally finish, the sun has already started to rise. Long fucking day, it was.
Brushing my teeth and wrapping my hair in a towel, I don’t even bother getting into pajamas.
Pulling back my black comforter, I slide into the silk sheets and settle in for the night.
Or morning, whatever you want to call it.
Life of a bartender. Sleep consumes me faster than usual.
Thankfully, I’m too exhausted to allow my mind to race tonight. Small victories.
SAXON
After Saint headed to bed, I chose to plop on the couch and flip on my latest horror movie obsession.
I decide on the movie Saw and pull out my phone.
I wasn’t planning on watching it fully, just needed a little background noise to fall asleep tonight.
I’m too lazy to head upstairs, so I kick off my boots and make myself comfortable on the large sectional.
I pull up my app with the security footage I have running of Skylar’s apartment.
She’s already asleep for the night, or technically morning.
She’s clutching her comforter underneath her neck and all I can hear is her soft breathing filling her room.
I watch as her features relax, her usual hardness and scowl nowhere in sight.
She looks so innocent when she sleeps, like she didn’t just brutally murder a man in the basement.
She’s a little killer, and I love how much she reminds me of myself.
She’s a mystery.
I’ve slowly made it my personal mission to find out everything that makes up Skylar Sagan.
Why are you here? Why do you kidnap, torture, and kill men in the basement of Capital Vice?
I’ve looked into every victim she’s eliminated and the connections between them are clear.
They all belonged to her father’s club. Well, they did belong to the club, not anymore, thanks to her.
She’s also very, and I mean very, creative when it comes to torture methods—I’ve started taking notes.
My personal favorite was when she brought an anatomy book to the basement, wrote down every bone on separate pieces of paper, and placed them all in a glass fishbowl.
She then randomly picked a piece of paper, revealing said bone, and would try to dissect her victim and remove it.
It was insanely creative, and she had to inject the man with the tiniest bit of adrenaline a few different times so he wouldn’t pass out or die too soon.
Note to self: never get on Sky’s bad side.
I watch her as my eyelids slowly start to give out, and soon, I’m falling asleep myself.
The sound of my phone beeping, indicating a new message, has me prying my eyelids back open.
I let out a yawn. It feels like it’s only been ten freaking minutes since I fell asleep, but my watch says it’s ten in the morning. Fuck.
Sitting up, I see Saint drinking coffee at the island as he watches some YouTube video of an install of an engine for a Yamaha R1.
“Why don’t you just ask Sage how to do it? You know she’s better at installs than you,” I say, sitting up on the couch and lifting my arms over my head, stretching the kink in my back. Fucking couch.
He doesn’t respond. He just lifts his middle finger in the air as he continues staring down at his phone. I laugh to myself, lifting my phone and seeing Finn had texted me.
Finn:
I got some info on our guy. You won’t believe where he’s at.
Me:
Well, stop stalling and spit it out.
Finn:
Golden fucking Heights.
He’s in my city, my fucking city, and I didn’t know about it. What the fuck?
Me:
How the fuck is that possible?
Finn:
Because he’s been using a different alias, but he fucked up. He’s been going to Berkeley, or pretending to go, and applied under his real name.
Me:
What do you mean pretending?
Finn:
It looks like a front. He barely attends classes and looks to be using the excuse of being a student to blend in with the student crowd.
Me:
You have an address?
Finn:
You know I do.
Me:
Meet at the club in thirty.
Finn:
You got it.
“Who was that?” I didn’t even hear Saint approaching as he plops down on the couch beside me.
“Finn. He knows where Damien is,” I say as I give him a smirk. “Let’s go. I told him to meet at the club in thirty.” He doesn’t respond, just stands, and we’re both headed to the garage for our bikes.
Ten minutes later, we both pull up to my father’s garage, his way of providing a place where our club members could make an honest living. This is also where I conduct all club meetings. This is home. If I’m not at the house, I’m usually here where the rest of my family is.
Pulling off my helmet, I scan the bays. All garage doors are open to allow for the fresh summer air to filter through.
I spot my sister immediately. Sage has been working on a complete rebuild of her bike for about a month now, and I’m surprised to see she’s almost done.
She’s probably the best damn mechanic in this garage, if I’m being honest, and I couldn’t be prouder.
“How’s it going, sis?” I ask, stepping up beside her and kneeling down to her level.
“About as good as it could be, I guess,” she says through gritted teeth as she tightens a bolt attaching a piece of the engine to the frame.
She has grease smeared across her cheek, her long blond hair secured beneath her favorite blue LA baseball cap, and the sleeves of her mechanic overalls are wrapped around her waist. A once white tank top is now grease covered as she lies on the garage floor.
She looks just like our mother, Stella. Her silvery eyes meet mine as she successfully secures the bolt and goes to stand up, brushing the grease from her hands onto her pants.
Sometimes when I look at her, I get a pain deep in my gut.
A feeling I’ve identified as guilt for knowing such an amazing woman, while Sage never got to hear her voice.
Stella died giving birth to Sage; she suffered too much blood loss.
I know Sage would have loved her as much as I did.
I know my sister blames herself sometimes, but complications with pregnancy and birth happen every day.
An unfortunate side effect of birth that could happen to anyone.
My chest tightens still whenever Sage gives me the same look Mom used to give me, and I have to swallow to relieve the tightness in my throat.
“There, that part is done.” Sage gives me her bright white smile before looking over my shoulder. I don’t have to turn around; I know it’s Saint. Wherever I am, he is. It’s been that way forever.
“What are you two doing here this morning?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, sis.” She tilts her head at me and places her hands on her hips.
“Come on Saxon,” she pleads. I will never allow my sister to be privy to the inner workings of the club. She has a bright future, and I will uphold my father’s wish of her chasing her dreams and finishing school. The club is no place for her.
“Got to go, sis.” I kiss the top of her head, and turn to head to the meeting room, but before I do, I say over my shoulder, “Send Finn into the meeting room when he gets here.” I see Saint giving her a kiss on the cheek before turning and following behind me.
She gives a mock salute before turning back to her bike and continuing her work.
I pull out my phone, pulling up my app and seeing Sky just waking up for her day.
There’s my tesoro.