Page 68 of Moth to a Flame

Guilt twists my heart. Talking about eternal love and dead soulmates must’ve reminded her of her late husband. Good thing I can fix it with alcohol. I get up, heading toward the kitchen.

“I moved it to the wall cabinet,” she calls out behind me when I step into the wall. “Sneaky Stu stole it from the counter when I let him out last week.”

“Okay.”

“Oh my God.” I hear Deidra’s terrified gasp. Poor thing.

My smile dies out when I reach the rustic kitchen.

The lights are out, which is weird.

They were on the last time we were here, getting our drinks and snacks.

Then there’s the back door. Fear paralyzes me as I’m standing next to the old wooden butcher. It wasn’t open earlier. The floral blue and white curtain didn’t flail when we left here.

It didn’t, since the door was closed.

Teresa locked it. I remember the click of the lock. I remember it so clearly.

A large hand slaps over my mouth, silencing my scream.

There’s a man behind me, his free hand snatching the empty popcorn bowl, putting it away on the butcher. Just as fast, his palm flattens on my stomach, yanking me to his front.

He runs his lips along my shoulder, sucking in my scent. Inhaling me.

“Daddy’s home.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Regan

“Little girl like you.”Landon bites my neck, and I scream louder into his palm. “Back here. Alone. It’s like you’re…”

He sucks in a breath. I hold mine.

“Innocent.” His teeth are daggers. His palms burn my skin. “Yet begging to be defiled.”

My first instinct is to fight him.

Landon. Landon. Landon. That’s him. Remember that.

This is my rape fantasy coming to life. The free use he talked about. What he prepared me for. He’s going to be violent and assault me.

With my consent.

I remember our conversation. I said yes. Vehemently.

Unfortunately, my past makes it so my head is having a hard time catching up.

That’s why my hand flies to my hip. Why my index finger curls around the trigger of my Ruger. Why I pull it out of my leggings.

“Fuck. That’s hot.” Landon rips Jigsaw out of my grip and slides it on the butcher. He doesn’t slam it. Doesn’t make noisethat’ll alert the women in the other room. I scream into his palm in terror again. “Would you look at that. I got myself a fighter.”

His muscles strain, caging me in when he hauls me out of the kitchen. He manhandles me out of Teresa’s home and into her backyard.

To where he’s going torapeme.

Dark night welcomes us into its arms. Soft wind whispers against my heated skin.

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