Page 58 of Panic-Button
That was what he said after the church picnic. I tried to tell him about Sheriff Nash but only got as far as ‘he was in the bathroom’ before being dubbed a sinner because I shouldn’t have gone into a man’s domain.
I didn’t get a chance to tell him about the other stuff or point out that he followed me in. I was on my knees, praying for forgiveness before another word left my mouth.
That was when I decided God wouldn’t punish the wicked because he didn’t exist. So, I would do God’s job for him. I’d redeemed seven men so far and one woman. Lillianna Whitley was next on my list, but fate found her first. Too bad. I had a good plan for that witch.
But now I was faced with her son, a man who kept polluting my thoughts by making me hear my father’s lessons.
‘Consecrate yourself’ gave way to ‘do not share the sins of others.’
I tried to quiet the voice and rid myself of Preston’s touch, but I could still feel him no matter how hard I scrubbed or how much soap I used. His scent mingled with the vanilla aroma of the body wash. His hands remained on my skin, and every time my hips shifted, a dull ache radiated up my core.
I could hose myself down in bleach and still not be pure. Preston took that from me, and some sick twisted part of me liked it. My body tingled at the thought of him stretching me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t be cleansed.
That was the worst part because I wasn’t sure I wanted to be purified. Every reaction my body gave to Preston’s violation was a silent fuck you to my father and his holy daughter’s image. For years, I dreamed about defiling the clean persona of Pastor Dupire. He was the one person I couldn’t devise a punishment for because nothing seemed fitting enough. How did I make someone like that see the error of his ways?
“How do I make someone like Preston?”
“Depends.” I shrieked at the sound of Preston’s voice. “What are you trying to make me do?”
I quickly hugged the front of my body against the tiled wall and grumbled, “Get out.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
And I wasn’t going to. I didn’t like having conversations with Preston when I was clothed, let alone naked in the shower.
“Get. Out,” I reiterated.
Preston snickered. “What about this situation makes you think you have any control?”
One could hope. Though now that he pointed it out, I could see the idiocy in my demand. I wasn’t a guest in this place. I was a prisoner. Preston could and would do whatever he wanted. Who was going to stop him? Me? I’d need more than liquid soap for that. That didn’t mean I had to make it easy for him. At the very least, I could cover myself up.
I glanced back at the blanket lying across the sink.
That was my mistake.
As I glanced over my shoulder, Preston pulled his shirt over his head. The strength I’d seen in his arms was nothing compared to the hard ridges on his abdomen. I didn’t even know a guy could have an eight-pack. How extreme was his exercise regimen for him to have those two extra muscles? That was a terrifying thought all on its own. When I considered his beauty, it would be easy to dub him the perfect predator.
Everything about the man drew you in: the disheveled appearance of his sandy hair, the heat in his eyes, and the detailed tattoo of a black and red Asian dragon crawling up his torso. Even his scent was enticing. Masculine yet crisp and clean. I think I hated him more now. If that was even possible?
My eyes trickled over the scales of the dragon that seemed to move whenever he shifted. The beast stared back as if daring me to look away. And trust me, I was trying. Every time I moved to tear my gaze away, another muscle would tense under his tanned skin, and I’d be stuck gawking like a hormone-driven teen. Technically eighteen was a teen, but still. I wasn’t Trina. Boys didn’t rule my life.
But he sure is pretty.
I tipped my head to the side as my gaze trickled down his chest. I’d admit he was nice to look at—okay, maybe a little more than nice, but that didn’t erase who he was. Preston Whitley had a lot of innocent blood on his hands, like Lindsay’s and countless others. They deserved justice too.
“You’re staring at me, Little Bird.”
That snapped my attention away from his physique.
I turned my head back to the tiles I was squished up against and grumbled, “I was thinking.”
“Oh yeah?” There was a soft rustle, followed by what I was pretty sure were his jeans hitting the floor. “What were you thinking about?”
“I’m plotting your murder,” I snarled into the wall.
When two hands flattened against the wall beside my head, I audibly gulped.
“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he purred in my ear.
