Empire of Sin: Chapter 8

I clench and unclench my fingers, but it’s impossible to keep typing.

The hurricane that’s brewing inside me is unable to be squashed or derailed. It’s not only eating everything in its path, but it’s also destroying any semblance of calm I’ve held on to for decades.

The shadows crowd over my shoulders, whispering, murmuring, getting sickeningly close to my ears.

They started when I was five and haven’t stopped.

They never will.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

I push away from my desk and inhale a few sharp intakes of air, but it’s like I’m breathing smoke, thick and foggy and fucking asphyxiating.

It’s not Sandra Bell’s words that play in my head like a distorted record anymore, it’s not her voice that I’m hearing.

It’s mine and my twin sister’s.

And they’re more haunting than hers, more fucking deranged and raw. I can still smell the rotten stench of our hellhole. The pungent smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and disgusting male musk.

It was twenty years ago, but it feels like only twenty minutes.

The twenty minutes Sandra spent telling me her story.

I can listen to tales of murder all day long and not blink an eye. I should’ve been desensitized to child abuse by now, too.

I’ve come a long way from when it all happened. I didn’t stand there, waiting for the hit.

I fucking punched back and rose above the shadows and their bloody rotten smell. I grabbed my sister’s hand and ran away without a look back, so why the fuck are those shadows dragging me under again?

My phone vibrates and I’m about to hit Ignore. The last thing I should do in my state is talk to people. They wouldn’t recognize me when I’m like this. I’m not the charming, fun-loving Knox they know, I’m the Knox from that hellhole.

A kid in an adult’s body.

A man who still sees his demons.

The picture that flashes on the screen makes me pause.

Teal. My twin sister.

In it, she’s in the middle while both her husband and son kiss each of her cheeks. But that’s not all, she’s smiling.

No, laughing.

When we were growing up, she never had any of these joyful expressions. She also barely spoke for years and only when it was absolutely necessary.

But look at her now. A wife, a mother, and a successful businesswoman.

My finger hovers over the Ignore button, but I don’t press it. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t reply, but Teal is different. Teal is my other half.

Falling back onto my seat, I accept the video call, plastering a smile on my face. “Hey, T.”

My sister and I obviously aren’t identical twins, so she doesn’t look much like me. Her eyes are darker, bigger, and used to be sadder. Not now, though. There’s a light in them, a spark.

Life.

That’s what she lacked until she met her husband during our senior year in secondary school.

She’s not smiling back, though, a deep frown etching between her brows.

“Where’s my nephew?” I search behind her. “How dare you video call and not show me Remi?”

“He’s having a bath with his father.” She inches forward to the screen and her black hair follows the motion, framing her face. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just got a weird feeling. You know, twin hunch.”

“There’s no such thing as twin hunch, T. Especially for fraternal twins, so you’re just making that up to get information.”

“Stop the lawyer talk, Knox, and yes, there’s such a thing as a twin hunch. That’s how we found each other when I was lost in the market while we were kids, remember?”

I grunt.

“So?” she insists, squaring her shoulders and crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s going on?”

“Work.”

“And?”

“And shagging.” I grin. “You want to hear details about that?”

“Ew, no, and you’re not changing the subject.”

“You’re a pain in the arse, T.”

“And glad of it. Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on or should I smash your Metallica collection?”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

“Yes, I will if you don’t spill.”

“I’m bribing Dad to watch them for me, so screw you, T.”

“I’ll just bribe Dad more and have him film me while I do it, then I’ll take the next plane to New York so I can find out what’s going on myself.”

“I’ll call Ronan and tell him his wife is on the loose.”

“Joke’s on you because I’ll just bring him with me so he’ll annoy the shit out of you.”

I groan.

“That’s what I thought. Now, spill, Knox.”

I release a sigh. I can win a million battles in court but not one against Teal’s sense of infuriating perseverance. Especially when she senses that something is wrong.

“It’s really just a case, T.”

“What type of case?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Apparently, I do.” She softens her tone. “Please, Knox, tell me. I won’t be able to sleep if I’m worried about you. Isn’t it enough that I can’t see you as much as I want? I feel like you’re slipping away.”

“I’m here, T. I’ll always be here.” I inhale deeply, thinking about how to deliver this.

The best option is to lie, but she’ll see straight through that. No matter how much I’ve perfected my façade, she’s the only one who detects my bullshit and calls me out on it.

She’s waiting for me, her face blank, but she doesn’t say anything.

Words never were and never will be her strength. She’s also really a pain in the arse, because she knows she can get to me with a look alone. That’s how she used to communicate her discomfort to me when we were kids and she didn’t speak.

After a moment of fruitless deliberation, I say, “A woman wanted me to represent her because she’s suing her father for sexual abuse and is demanding monetary compensation.”

That look returns, the dimmed one that kills all the light in her eyes. Eyes that were dead for so long and finally started being alive ten years ago. That’s gone now as if, like me, she’s back to that hellhole in Birmingham. The hole filled with the stench of alcohol, drugs, and men.

And I want to fucking shoot myself. This is why I don’t want to tell her, why I keep it all buried inside.

I’m a fucking bastard, but I had one purpose—protecting my baby sister.

And I just screwed it up with flying colors.

“Listen, T, it’s not…”

“I knew it,” she says in a calm tone.

“Knew what?”

“You’re hiding things from me.”

“I’m not hiding anything. It’s just work. There’s really nothing you should worry about.”

“But it’s affecting you. I can see the hardness forming on your face, Knox.”

“I’m fine.”

“I said that, too, and we both know how that ended up.”

“I’m a criminal defense attorney, T. I’ve handled worse than this.”

“Worse, yes, but not that exact subject.”

“Didn’t you tell me to defend those who are as defenseless as we were?”

“Not if it triggers you, not if it takes away your humanity and steals you from me.”

“Who’s stealing who?” a male voice calls from her end before Ronan, her husband, appears by her side. He’s shirtless and carrying a half-naked Remington in his arms. They’re both wearing towels and their hair is wet. Is that shampoo on Remi’s head?

“Daddy…” My nephew claps, then points at me. “Uncle Nokth…”

That’s what I am to my three-year-old nephew—a gibberish of consonants and vowels.

“Hey, there, buddy.” I smile at him, thankful for their interruption. If they hadn’t shown up, the conversation with Teal would’ve veered into disastrous territory.

“Hey, Uncle Nokth!” He claps again. “Daddy made me a bath.”

“That’s right. Who’s your favorite?” Ronan gives him a fist and he bumps it, giggling uncontrollably.

“Daddy!”

“Okay, go change now and let me talk to your uncle Knox.” Teal kisses her son’s cheek.

“Not until we clear this whole thing up.” Ronan leans forward. He passed almost all of his genes to Remi, from the brown eye color to the straight aristocratic nose that he himself inherited from his earl father. “Are you going to steal my wife, Knox? Because Remi and I won’t allow it.”

“Won’t allow it,” Remi repeats, mimicking his father’s frown.

“No way. In fact, I have work to do, so you can take her back.”

“Knox, don’t you dare!” Teal objects.

“Bye, Remi.”

“Bye, Uncle Nokth!!”

My smile drops as soon as I disconnect.

I attempt to get my head occupied with work, but after an hour or so of reading a case file, it’s impossible to ward off the tension that’s building in my shoulders.

So I opt to get out and change the scenery.

Preferably by fucking someone.

It’s the best way to get rid of accumulating tension, but there’s one tiny problem about that.

Ever since I fucked Anastasia three weeks ago, I haven’t had the appetite for anyone else.

It’s not that I don’t want to fuck. It’s that I want to fuck her. No one else but the lying, conniving thief that I should’ve outed by now.

The background check Daniel did on her is squeaky clean, which is suspicious as hell. Just like her.

And I’ll handle it.

I just haven’t figured out how. Because every time I see her, I picture my dick in her mouth or her tight pussy.

And that’s not very productive. Or maybe it is, depending on which angle one looks at it from.

I leave my briefcase in my office and take the lift to the car park. Someone stops it a floor below, one of the assistants. She smiles and I fake one right back.

It’s easy now, to pretend that I’m normal, that I can automatically smile upon seeing another human instead of having nefarious thoughts about throwing them from the highest floor.

I might act friendly, but I don’t trust people. Not after the kindest-looking ones made mine and my sister’s lives hell.

The rotten people looked posh, elegant, and had all the right connections and money to hide their nefarious tendencies. They used their power to prey on the vulnerable and feed their fucked up animalistic urges.

Which is why I made it my mission to make them pay any chance I got. The press and everyone in the law circuit says I’m picky, but they don’t know the actual reason behind that.

I refuse to represent a person if I doubt they’re rotten.

They have a stench—the rotten ones—and I can smell it from a mile apart. It’s a sixth sense that I’ve had ever since I was a child.

Don’t get me wrong. That doesn’t mean I give a fuck a fuck about justice. At least not in the traditional sense.

If a woman comes to me because she murdered her abusive husband, good for her. I’ll get her out of prison in a heartbeat.

If a man killed his gold digging, emotionally abusive wife, good for him, too. I’ll give him a new page so he can start over.

Yes, I get murderers out of prison, but not any murderers.

Not any abusers.

Just the ones I don’t smell that rotten stench on them.

When the lift is about to close, I spot a very petite and very familiar woman walking at a brisk pace in the opposite direction.

I don’t even think about it as I hit the button that opens the doors before it closes. This is not the IT department, so what’s she doing here?

That girl is shady as fuck, and today, I won’t let it go.

I follow after her, keeping a safe distance. She doesn’t notice me, though, since she has that nerdy way of being so focused either on her computer, or on her feet, like right now.

She’s carrying her laptop case and lowering her head as she cuts the distance in record time. She’s fast, but not forceful, almost like a breeze passing through.

Her destination is, apparently, a staff supply room that’s rarely used. She stops in front of it and checks her surroundings like a thief before breaking and entering. I hide around the corner until she goes inside.

I wonder what the little daredevil is doing on a floor that shouldn’t concern her and in a supply room. I doubt it’s because a tech was needed here.

Instead of following right after, I wait five minutes. I need her to be engrossed in whatever her task is so she doesn’t get the chance to hide.

I’m patient like that. Hunting doesn’t happen with only speed. Stalking before the attack is the best way to leave the prey with no way out.

Once the five minutes are up, I stride to the door and slowly open it. Sure enough, she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in the midst of stacks of papers and typing away at her computer.

The blue light reflects in her glasses as her fingers move at lightning speed. She’s facing me, so I can’t see what she’s working on, but she doesn’t notice me, even when I close the door, trapping us both inside.

Click.

The sound echoes in the air and she lifts her head, her lips forming an O.

With the door closed, the only light in the pitch-black supply room comes from beneath the door and her laptop. There’s light, but I don’t use it.

For me, darkness is familiar. Light is not.

Due to the blue glow, I can make out the parting of her full lips. Lips that should’ve never left my dick since that first time.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“That should be my question.” I stalk toward her. “What are you plotting now? Another identity? Another name?”

She tracks my movements as if I’m indeed the predator that’s coming after her. I lean forward to peek at the computer. “What do you have there, Anastasia? Why do you need to come here to do it?”

As if just realizing what I’m after, she slams the laptop shut, filling our surroundings with dark shadows.

“Do you think that will stop me?” I reach for it and she tries to curl up around it.

I slip my hand onto her stomach and she’s forced to get on her back, keeping the laptop overhead so I can’t reach it.

So I climb on top of her, my chest glued to hers, and that stops her from wiggling about. She strains, her fingers clutching the laptop in a death-grip.

“What are you doing?” She pants, half-mortified, half-strained.

“I told you, I’ll uncover you, and now is as good a time as any.”

“There’s nothing to uncover, let me go.”

“Hmm. I would’ve believed that if you weren’t going through so much trouble to protect your crime weapon.”

“Laptops are personal, asshole.”

“Not if they’re at the crime scene.”

“Ugh…you’re crushing me.”

“Then give it up.”

In one last-ditch attempt, she tries to knee me in the balls. I grip her knee with one hand and stroke her thigh. A smile stretches my lips, a real one, though it probably looks like an evil smirk in the dark. “You really shouldn’t have played dirty. Now, I’m tempted to do something.”

“D-do what?”

“Make you squirm.” My fingers inch closer to her hips, and even though I’m touching her through her clothes, I feel her warmth and the shudder going through her body.

“Y-you said you wouldn’t touch me.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because your body gets so pliant underneath me and I might like that.”

“It does not.”

“Hmm. Should I prove it?”

“D-don’t.”

“Challenge accepted, my little butterfly.”

After all, she’s the reason I lost my sexual appetite and it’s only fair that I get it back through her.

Yes, she’s a liar, but she might be the best form of distraction I’ve ever had.