Chapter 1 #3
He’d fought those urges. He’d invented rules for himself. Routines to follow. He’d been so very careful. Never getting involved too closely with anyone. Never letting anyone know his real secrets. Never giving in to those low whispers that would slide into his mind.
But someone had put him into hell once again.
And this time, Preston feared that he would not be strong enough to keep the darkness chained inside himself.
This time, he feared it would consume him completely.
“Help will come,” Sloane assured him. “People will hunt for me.”
People. Did Sloane have a lover at home, someone waiting for her? A devoted husband? Jealousy stirred. Irrational rage burned.
No, no, she wouldn’t have kissed me. She wouldn’t have kissed me if she had a husband at home. A partner waiting.
But he didn’t know her.
He didn’t…
I want her. I want her because she comforted me in hell.
“How long will it take your people to find us?” Preston growled.
“I…” Sloane stopped.
No answer.
“We’re in a coffin.” Like she’d needed the reminder.
He caught the rasp of her breathing. Then, “It took him…a while to bury us.” A shiver skated over her. “At first, I heard all the thumps of the dirt hitting us. Every single one. I screamed for him to stop, for help, but…”
Silence.
She shivered on top of him. He felt the movement along his body. “He didn’t stop,” Sloane murmured. “After a while, I couldn’t hear the thumps because so much dirt was on top of us. Because we were buried so deeply.”
Fucking hell. “If we don’t get ourselves out, we are dead.”
“How? How do you think we are going to get out on our own?”
“Easy, angel. We dig ourselves out of the grave that he made for us.”
“That is not going to be easy. There is not exactly a lot of room for us to start punching in here as we try to break the wood”
“If it’s like before, then the bastard made the coffin himself. There can be loose boards. Loose nails. Shoddy fucking craftsmanship.”
What could have been a sob but might have been a laugh spilled from her.
“I’ll find a weak spot,” Preston promised her. “If the dirt above us is loose enough, we’ll have a shot at digging out.” He’d been lucky before. Back then, the bastard hadn’t buried him too deeply. But this time…
She heard the thump of the dirt hitting us. Until it was so thick that she couldn’t hear the sounds any more.
Shit, how long did they have left? He could not waste more time.
He had to find a weak board. A loose nail.
Something and then… “The dirt will come in. Be prepared. It will weigh down on you. It will cover your face and your nose, and you’ll feel it everywhere.
Do not give up. Fight until…” Preston stopped.
“Until what?” Sloane asked, voice catching.
“Until you see light. Until we’re free.” But it was a long shot. Dammit, they might just suffocate when the dirt came tumbling down on them. If they could even break some boards or dislodge them or…
Just get her the fuck out. You can’t let Sloane die down here. She’s only in this mess because she tried to save you.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” Her head moved again. Came close to his. Right over him.
His lips pressed to her—not her mouth. He’d missed her mouth. Her cheek. And then he edged downward until he touched her mouth. A soft kiss. “For coming to save me.” That was a novelty.
He wouldn’t let her die for trying to save him.
“When the dirt first starts trickling in, take some breaths.” Because there wouldn’t be any more breaths once that soil collapsed on them. “Take a deep breath…”
Pray it’s not your last.
His hands began to search the coffin. He searched and stretched and felt her doing the same. Smooth wood everywhere. No give. No give at all and…
A nail cut into his palm.
A loose nail.
A loose board. To the right. Above his head.
Take a deep breath. He began to claw at the nail. He wrenched it. Twisted it. Heaved. In that fucking tight space, he heaved and got the nail out.
The board became looser.
Sloane shifted to his side, giving him more room. Helping him as they hit at the board and grabbed it as best they could.
Dirt began to drift into the coffin. He felt it feathering over his skin.
Take a deep breath.
They worked and worked and worked with that loose board.
He made a fist and drove the back of his hand and his forearm and his elbow against that wood. He fought and fought and…
More dirt.
Splintering wood.
“Take a deep breath,” he said again, the words no more than a whisper.
Dirt poured onto his chest.
“Pray it’s not your last.” Words so low that Sloane would not be able to hear them.
Those words had first been said to him so long ago.
Back when he’d been fourteen years old, and a twisted, psychotic bastard had kidnapped Preston from his home.
Had taken him deep into the woods. Buried him.
Right before the creep had closed the coffin lid over his face, he’d spoken those words to Preston.
Take a deep breath. Pray it’s not your last.
More dirt rained down on Preston and Sloane.
He broke through another board.
More fucking dirt. Too much.
Pouring down, down… In his face. His mouth…
He missed the taste of peppermint.