So why is he risking his life to tell me this? Is it another trap? Something else entirely?
“Death is coming to us all, my boy,” he sings, his low, eerie voice causing goosebumps to skitter up and down my arms. “Because even when you think the games are over…they have only just begun.”
Chapter 37
Jack
“What is a panty liner?” Hux asks abruptly, and I stumble to a stop. My brother, utterly oblivious, continues walking, and I quicken my pace to catch up.
“W-What?” I stutter out, his murky silhouette nearly indistinguishable. My eyes have somewhat adjusted to the darkness, but I’m still unable to see any of his features. It somehow makes him even more eerie and malevolent—a shadow waiting for its moment to pounce.
And then he goes and says stuff like…
“Panty liner.” He pauses, and I nearly plow into him until I manage to catch myself. Slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile, he repeats, “Panty. Liner.”
“I heard you the first time.” I’m sure my cheeks are on fire. Actually, can I even blush in this disembodied form? Do I even have a body? I suppose it’s within the realm of possibilities that if I so desired, I could contort my body in whatever form I wish. Afterall, I’m quite literally nothing but a figment of my brain. “Why are you asking me about a…” I practically choke on my own spit. “Panty liner.”
“It was in the pink device,” Hux states, as if that explains it all.
“Hux.” Honestly, that’s all I can say at the moment. Just his name, over and over again.
“The…what’s that word…phoney? Violet’s.”
“So you saw a panty liner in Violet’s phone?” I squeeze my eyes shut to fight off the inevitable encroaching headache…before remembering that I don’t actually have a body and I sure as frick don’t have a head for it to ache. I suppose it’s phantom pain from all the times before when I had to deal with Hux’s nonsense.
“It was in a speech bubble,” Hux continues, almost nonchalantly, as he continues walking. I don’t know how long we’ve been trekking forward, each step taking us farther and farther away from where we saw the portal of light. All I know for certain is that panic grips my heart as I think about the unidentified person currently inhabiting our shared body. Is he with Violet right now? Has he hurt her? Hurt the others? I don’t think either of us will be able to forgive ourselves if anything happened to any of them. “Jack, are you listening to me?”
I shake my head vigorously, ignoring the ominous voice in my head warning me that Violet’s in imminent danger. I know it’s nothing but my own subconscious and anxiety, but a niggle of doubt still remains.
“Sorry, continue, brother.”
“Panty liners,” he repeats, and I swear if I have to hear my brother say “panty liners” one more time, I’ll go insane. Well, more insane than I already am, considering I have his psychopathic butt in my head. “She asked Cynthia to pick some up for her.”
“First, why are you going through her phone? That’s an invasion of privacy, and she’ll be extremely mad when she discovers that you read her text messages.” I can only imagine the unrepentant eye roll that he’ll be giving me. I’m not surprised, though. Violet’s the only person he has ever allowed himself to care about. He still doesn’t quite understand societal norms and human decency. In his mind, it’s completely acceptable for him to snoop through Violet’s personal belongings, because he cares for her and has no malicious intent. It’s wrong, of course, but that mentality has been ingrained inside his brain for centuries.
“I wanted to make sure there was no threat,” Hux states, only confirming my suspicions. “Now, what is a panty liner? And why doesn’t she trust me enough to provide one for her?” A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, as if he’s genuinely upset that she didn’t contact him first and foremost. It’s just another thing that has been drilled inside of him—only he can adequately provide for his mate. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even trust the other men to protect and care for her without his presence.
Clearing my throat against a knot the size of Texas, I mansplain, “A panty liner is…errr…something that females put in their underwear.”
His body goes rigid, visible even in the inky blackness. “Are her other mates not providing her with satisfaction? I will have to have a talk with them on how to properly please a lady.”
Horror consumes me. Now, I’m picturing Hux sitting opposite Mason, Vin, and Frankie as he gives them the birds and the bees talk.
I’m just waiting for the day when he discovers the dildo in Violet’s nightstand. He might actually go insane, believing some monster left his dick behind.
“No!” I blurt, waving my hands in the air, despite the fact that he can’t see the gesture. “It’s not for pleasure.”
“So why would she put it in her underwear?” His shadowy head cocks to the side.
“Okay, listen,” I begin, desperately trying to remember what Violet told him before. “You have heard of the, um, Great Period, correct?” At his barely decipherable nod, I hurry to continue, “Well, a panty liner helps capture all the blood that is dispelled.” There. Straight and simple.
But, of course…
“Wouldn’t a tarp be more effective in eliminating all of the blood? You place the dead body on the tarp, roll it up, and barely any blood remains on the floor.” Hux points out matter-of-factly. “Is a panty liner another name for a tarp?”
“Yes,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “Yes. Yes, it is. Now, can we talk about something else? Please?”
The last thing I want to do is continue talking about my girlfriend’s panty liners with my sort-of brother.
Hux resumes walking, his gait confident and determined. The tension he emanates hangs palpably in the air between us, nearly suffocating.
“Who is this fucker that dares try to take control of my body?” Hux hisses. When I obnoxiously clear my throat, he relents, “Our body.”
“It could be one of Frankenstein’s tricks,” I point out, but Hux is already vehemently shaking his head.
“I don’t think so. I think…” He trails off with an agitated grunt. “Maybe it’s someone wanting revenge for your past transgressions.”
I can’t help myself; I break into raucous laughter, bending at my knee and holding my stomach. Surely, Hux hears the words he says when he speaks them, right?
“You’re joking.”
When he remains quiet—the silence explosive—I reel on him with tightened fists. “For all of these years, I have done nothing but cover for you. Every murder. Every ‘accidental’ death. Every mistake. Don’t you dare turn this around on me.”
“What the bloody hell are you rambling about?” Hux asks, exasperated.
“The massacre in the eighteen-hundreds at the governor’s home,” I state as I begin ticking them off on my fingers. My blood boils at the memory. I had allowed Hux one month of free rein, only to reawaken to see myself standing in a bloodbath. Body parts littered the ground, staining the tiles red with blood. Male. Female. Young. Old. No one escaped my brother’s brutality.