Page 17 of Temptation
His angry voice bit out, “Who are you really? Why were you at my house? Why were you on my private property?” He sat across from her on the leather seat of the limo. Preston leaned forward, his hands dangling between his spread knees. “And what the hell do you know about the Last Breath Killer?”
Oh, she knew quite a few things about that particular serial killer. Things like the fun fact that…
The Last Breath Killer was actually Preston’s biological father.
A fact that she did not think Preston knew.
So, was this the moment when she sent his world spinning? Or had his night already been shitty enough? Being buried alive certainly weighed heavily on the shitty scale.
Then again, finding out that your long-lost dad was a serial killer…
That sucked, too.
Chapter Four
They hadn’t died.
A fact that pissed him off straight to his core.
He’d known trouble was coming the instant the woman had appeared. Running toward him. Screaming. He’d clocked her hard in the face, and she’d fallen. Her head had hit the cement of Preston’s driveway, and, for a moment, he’d thought that she died then and there.
But she’d just been unconscious. And he’d already had a grave ready, so he’d thought…
Why not two for the price of one?
Only they hadn’t died.
People had come searching for the woman.
She ruined it all.
A team had tracked her. Deputies had come in with sirens blaring on the top of their patrol cars. A crew had begun digging right on top of the grave he’d prepared.
And somehow, Preston and the woman had been coming out even as help dug down to them.
Preston Byron had now cheated death two times. He’d crawled out of the grave two times. The lucky bastard.
It’s her fault. No one would have found him. But they were searching for her.
And now she’d gone home with Preston. Who was she to him? A friend? Lover? A weakness?
He watched as the deputies and the crime scene techs scattered over the scene in the dark woods. Not really so dark, though. Not with all of the lights that they had strung up in every direction. Someone lifted a small, delicate bracelet from the grave. Gold. It glinted.
It was bagged and tagged.
Little evidence flags were everywhere, marking the dark ground like yellow flowers. He’d always hated flowers.
He also hated failure. Preston should have stayed in the ground. Death was his punishment. Preston would have received his punishment. He would have died…
If it hadn’t been for the woman.
Everything that had gone wrong that night—all her fault.
The rage within him built. Twisted. Grew. She would pay for what she’d done. Just as Preston would pay. But…
But Preston would be on guard now. Waiting. Watching. Ready to attack any threat. So, perhaps the game would be different from what he’d originally intended. Perhaps…
Perhaps you have to suffer more before you die, Preston Byron.
