Chapter 6 #2
And that cock.
Her eyes squeezed shut.
The man is a red flag for you. And the fact that she wanted him so badly? Another red flag. Waving. Practically slapping her in the face.
She gripped the covers. She’d yanked the bedroom door shut behind her, but Sloane half thought—hoped?—that he would throw open the door and come inside.
She stayed like that, eyes closed, gripping the covers, body tense until…
Until she finally gave into exhaustion and slept.
She rushed down the stairs. “Mom!” Sloane’s fingers slid down the gleaming banister.
“Mom, you didn’t wake me up!” Okay, fine, that was an asshole thing to say.
She was sixteen. She could wake up her own self.
Yes, got it. But they had a routine. Her mom would always knock lightly on her bedroom door, and she’d come in, using that sweet, singsong voice of hers, and she’d promise Sloane that “Today will be a great day!”
Her mom had been telling her that since Sloane had been eight years old, and they’d buried Sloane’s biological father. Since they’d stood at his grave, and Sloane had tugged and twisted at the black dress she’d been forced to wear. Since they had started a life on their own and…
Today will be a great day.
Her mother had said those words for so long, and they’d finally come true. Life wasn’t scary. She didn’t have to worry about her bio dad hitting her any longer. The dead couldn’t hurt you. She was safe. And her mom had found love again. She’d remarried. She and Sloane had a good life.
Nah. They had a great one.
But…
Where was her mom?
Her steps stopped on the second stair from the bottom.
The silence in the house had just hit her.
There was never silence. Not on a school day.
A work day. Her stepdad would have the news blaring because he loved to watch the news while he had his two cups of coffee to start the day.
And her mom would be singing a song as she made pancakes or waffles in the kitchen.
She would sing old songs, Broadway songs, modern songs—her mom’s voice would float and drift through the house.
Sloane’s stepdad wouldn’t even care if her singing interfered with him hearing the news broadcast because he loved his wife’s voice.
But there was no singing in the house this morning. No news. Nothing at all.
Just a sort of an unnatural silence that felt wrong.
“Mom?” Her voice was a little bit worried now. Her head tilted as Sloane glanced back up the stairwell. Maybe her mom and stepdad had overslept? She should go check. Her punctual stepdad would hate being late. In a flash, Sloane turned and her bare feet bounded back up the stairs.
Their bedroom door was closed, so she knocked lightly on the wood. “Mom?” Sloane jiggled the handle.
No answer.
But…
The door was unlocked, so she turned the knob. Opened the door.
Light drifted through the curtains, and she could just make out the two figures in the bed. The covers were pulled up high, tucked almost over their heads.
Relief rushed through her. They’d overslept. That was all. Unusual, yes, but…
She rapped again on the door.
Wayne would need to get to work. If he showed up late for court, Sloane was sure that would create all kinds of problems for him.
Neither figure moved in the bed.
Biting her lip, Sloane hesitated. Then she inched forward. “Mom?”
Nothing.
“Mom?” She cleared her throat and advanced a little more. “I, um…it’s going to be a great day!” Her voice cracked on the word great.
Why were goosebumps rising on her arms?
And why were the figures in the bed so still?
“Mom?” Her hand extended toward the bed. She grabbed the soft blue bedding and tugged it back. “Mom, it’s going to be a great—”
Blood.
So much blood. Everywhere.
She screamed. And then someone grabbed her from behind. Hard arms locked around her body, and Sloane was trapped.
Trapped.
The one word blasted through her even as her eyes shot open. But they opened to darkness, and her legs were weighed down. Her chest weighed down. She twisted and turned but could not get out. Her breath heaved in and out, and she screamed.
The bedroom door flew open. It banged against the wall. Sloane’s head whipped to the right at the sound, and her gaze automatically locked on the figure in the doorway. Light surged in behind him, spilling around his big, looming body.
Past and present blurred.
“Sloane.” He rushed toward her.
She tried to flee but the damn sheets and the comforter were curled around her. She could not get free. He was going to reach her.
“Sloane.” He shoved the covers out of the way. Tore some. She heard the fabric ripping. “Sloane, I’ve got you.” He hauled her out of the bed and into his arms.
His scent hit her. Crisp. A hint of sandalwood.
His strength surrounded her.
“You’re safe.”
His voice soothed her.
Preston. Preston was the one who held her, not the monster from her nightmares.
“I knew you’d have nightmares. How could you not, after what happened?” He cradled her in his arms. Held her as if she were as light as could be. And he hurried back toward the open doorway. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Had he said all of those words before? She thought that he had. Sloane looped one arm around his neck. She should tell him that he could put her down. Maybe she should apologize for screaming.
She didn’t let him go. Didn’t apologize. She held him tighter.
His feet raced down the stairs. They reached the first level of his sprawling home, and, truly, it was massive. Open, airy, with huge ceilings. Windows everywhere.
He took her to a big, heavy, leather armchair. Sat down in it with her, keeping her in his lap. In his embrace. He was warm and strong and so solid, and it seemed natural to put her head against his shoulder.
“I warned you.” Preston’s voice rumbled beneath her. “Warned you that as soon as you closed your eyes, you might be back there.”
He wore black jogging pants. Nothing else.
“I’ve been there,” he told her. “And it’s one of the reasons I bought this house.” He reached over. Grabbed a remote. Hit a few buttons.
The soft lights that had been on downstairs turned off.
She couldn’t help but tense.
And then…
Then the blinds on the windows folded up. They folded until she could see outside, all around her, in every direction, and she saw stars. So many stars.
“Mountains. Stars. Trees. For miles and miles. We’re not closed in. It’s wide open here.” His voice rumbled beneath her once more. “We can see anything we want from here. You’re not trapped. You’re on top of the world, angel.”
It hadn’t been the coffin that haunted her. It had been her own past. But she didn’t talk about her past. Even as she dug up other people’s pain, she kept her own carefully hidden. Was that fair? No, not at all. But life wasn’t fair. Sometimes, it was shitty. Sometimes, it was terrifying.
“The sun will rise soon enough,” Preston promised her. “And it will be gorgeous. Like the whole sky is on fire.” A pause. “You can sleep here, in my arms, or you can stay awake, and we’ll watch the sun rise together.”
He was being kind to her.
She choked down the lump in her throat. She was holding tightly to secrets, and he was being kind to her. Hardly seemed like an even arrangement. “Preston…”
“I am going to kill him.” A vow. “I will not let you spend the rest of your life wondering if that sonofabitch is out there, hunting.”
But he hadn’t been hunting her. She hadn’t been the target.
Preston had been carefully selected because—
“You’re safe with me,” Preston told her. One hand began to stroke her back. “You have nothing to fear from me. I will never hurt you.”
No, but he had plenty to fear from her.
Her gaze remained on the stars.
I am going to kill him. Preston’s words. His promise.
She knew a monster waited.
Sloane was still cradled in Preston’s arms when the sun rose.