Chapter 68
CHAPTER 68
Fifteen Years Ago
1:51 a.m.
Jason
Phil slapped Sarah, crashing his hand against her cheek.
Jason recoiled, feeling the shock of Phil’s blow as though it had landed on his own cheek.
When he’d seen Phil enter the bedroom, Jason hadn’t known what to think. Why was Phil there? Had he followed Grace and Sarah to the bedroom? If so, why? The chalet, technically, was Phil’s house and he could go into any room he wanted to at any time, but …
Still, why would Phil follow Grace and Sarah to the bedroom?
And why, when Grace returned from the bathroom, had Phil hidden behind the curtains? For some reason, Phil hadn’t wanted Grace to know he was there. Watching. And waiting. But, for what? When Grace left the bedroom, Jason realized what Phil was up to …
When Phil had sat on the bed next to Sarah, caressing her face, Jason was livid. Enraged. How fucking dare Phil touch her. As Phil’s fingers trailed along Sarah’s beautiful, pale skin, Jason wanted to break every bone in that sonofabitch’s hand. No, he wanted to do more than that. Worse than that.
He wanted to pick up something blunt and heavy and bash it against Phil’s head, over and over, until there was nothing left except a fetid pile of bone, pulpy brain matter, and blood.
But then Phil slapped Sarah.
And now Phil was grabbing Sarah’s chin, moving her head left and right. Opening one of her eyes, peering at it. Lowering his ear to her mouth.
What the hell …?
Jason let out a slow breath. Phil was trying to make sure Sarah was alive. Jason shuddered at the thought that Sarah might be dead. That maybe she’d been stumbling and uncoordinated because she was dying. Because her heart was giving out. Or maybe she was having a stroke.
Phil stood.
Jason held his breath as Phil left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Hands shaking, Jason pushed the closet doors open and stepped outside them. His steps cautious, he made his way toward the bed where Sarah lay. Trembling, Jason sat down next to Sarah, staring at the enflamed bruise on her pale skin.
He reached his hand toward her face but pulled it back before his fingers touched her skin. He wasn’t worthy of touching her. Wasn’t good enough to caress her beautiful face, and yet … her beauty called to him, spoke to him, touched something deep within him that possessed him, compelled him …
Before Jason knew what was happening, before he realized what he was doing, he dipped his head, eyes on her plump lips, and he kissed her …
Sarah didn’t respond.
People said Sarah looked like Snow White, and it was true, but now Jason thought of her as Sleeping Beauty. His sleeping beauty.
And he was the dashing prince.
His gaze traveling the length of her body, Jason focused on a red wetness between Sarah’s legs, staining her thighs. Blood. Panic raced through him. But then, for some reason, he thought of one of his female cousins. Remembered a family party where his cousin had stood up and there was blood on the back of her shorts. Menstrual blood, it turned out. His cousin had been on her cycle and bled through her clothes.
Sarah was getting her period …
His racing pulse slowing, along with his heartbeat, Jason stared at the blood. It made him feel strange, galvanized, and emboldened, for some reason, for some dark purpose he didn’t understand, but somehow knew he must carry out …
Propelled by an odd, enticing desperation, Jason kissed Sarah again, his shaking hands fumbling as he unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped his fly …