Page 92 of Temptation
It already was consuming him.
You won’t hurt my mom. The mom who’d cried and hugged him so tightly. You won’t hurt my dad. The dad who stayed up late with him at night, teaching him about tech and playing video games when Preston’s mom was sleeping.
Not adoptive parents—my parents. My real parents. And you will not hurt them.
“I’ll train you,” the jerk was telling him. “I’ll teach you. I just have to get them out of the way first. You can’t have any ties. Don’t you see that? If you have ties, they’ll pull you back. They’ll control you. I want you without control.”
“N-no—” Preston tried to lunge away. To stand up.
But he couldn’t stand. He fell right back down. Had the freak broken one of his knees?
“I’ll be seeing you around soon, son.” A little salute. Then he jogged toward the trees.
I’ll get rid of that fake family you have. I’ll bury them deep. They weren’t fake. They were real. They were his. No one took what belonged to him.
Preston pushed up. Fisted dirt and gravel as he rose. His knees—both of them—burned. Agony tore through him. But he stood upright. Then he stumbled forward. One step. Another. Faster and faster. His back throbbed and ached, and every breath had pain exploding through his ribs.
But he kept lurching forward. Leaves slapped at him. Branches. Twigs.
Preston saw the bastard up ahead. His father? No, no, that was the devil.
He was not taking Preston’s family. A primal scream tore from his throat. He launched into the air, and he slammed his body into his prey. Preston tackled him, hard, arms locking around the jerk’s neck, and his body heaving as they fell.
And then there was a crack. A loud one. Because when they’d hit the ground, the bastard’s head and neck had slammed into a big, jagged rock. Preston rolled away from him, unnerved by the sudden laxness of the man’s body.
His head…was twisted funny.
They were near some water. And…blood from the man’s head was seeping into that water.
His eyes were open. On Preston.
But as far as Preston could tell, the man—the monster—was not breathing.
Preston sucked in a deep breath, and his eyes flew open.
Not buried. Not trapped.
He was in his bed. Sloane was with him. Sloane was soft and warm, and her breath blew lightly over his shoulder. Sloane…
She’d kicked the covers away. Or maybe he had. She was naked next to him. Beautiful body. Perfect Sloane. So soft. So delicate. So…
You can’t have any ties. Don’t you see that? If you have ties, they’ll pull you back. They’ll control you. I want you without control.
It had taken him a long time to understand what the Last Breath Killer had meant with those words. As he’d aged, as he’d become more and more isolated, as his parents had died and he’d been left alone, the truth had hit him.
When you cared about someone, you had something to lose. You would toe the line, you would follow the rules—you would do what was necessary in order to protect the ones you loved.
They counted on you. You needed them. They needed you.
But without them, without that tie, without that safety net…
There was nothing to pull you back. Nothing to make you want to follow rules and be a good person. Nothing to make you keep your darker urges in check.
A connection to someone else could save you.
Sometimes.
He turned in the bed, letting his gaze sweep over Sloane. A peek at the nightstand clock told Preston that he’d slept for three whole hours. Pretty much a record for him. How was he able to sleep with her, when he couldn’t with anyone else?
