But he still answered. “Yes.”
“Most people go forever and never get buried alive, not even once. And this happened twice to you.”
“Just call me an unlucky bastard.” But it wasn’t about being unlucky, was it? It was about being targeted. Hunted. I escaped him once before. I escaped. I got out. I can do it again. “Been here before,” he gritted out once more.
“Not with me, you haven’t.”
No. He’d been alone in the dark when he’d been a teen. “No one…coming to save…”
“No one saved you before? Well, if you were in the dark before, how did you get out?” A careful question.
Another swallow. He was far too conscious of the movement of his Adam’s apple. Of the softness of her body against his. Of the slight trembles that shook her every few moments.
She is not as brave as she appears.
“Preston?”
He liked how his name sounded on her lips. A strange thought to have but…
“How did you get out before?” she pushed.
“Loose piece of wood.” He’d gotten lucky. The coffin had been handmade. Not the kind you went to a funeral home and bought. Because that kind would have been traceable. “Was able to pry a few nail free, able to break that board.” His breath heaved at the memory. “Then all the dirt came crashing in?—”
She kissed him again.
Every time you panic, I’m kissing you. His fingers pressed tightly to her waist. Too tightly? Was he hurting her? Because he was kissing her hard, with too much force, and he had to hold back. He didn’t want to hurt her.
But we’re both going to die in this hell.
“We aren’t dying.” She’d raised her head off his. Not far, because there wasn’t very far for her to go. “We are going to get out. You got out before. We’ll get out now.”
He’d had to dig his way out of his own grave before. He’d barely made it. His fingers and forearms had been bloody, ripped to shreds. He’d choked on dirt. Had spat it out over and over again, but the dirt had gotten in his nose. It had gotten stuck between his teeth. He’d had the taste of it on his tongue?—
Peppermint.
She kissed him again, and he tasted peppermint.
“Trust me.” She nipped his lower lip. “We are not dying here. This is not how I’m going out. We are going to be rescued.”
“How can…” Too rough. Too snarling. He tried again, “How can we be rescued when no one knows where we are?”
“You and I don’t get to just vanish. There are people in this world who will look for us.” A pause. “I have friends who will not stop until they find me.”
Yeah, but they might find her lifeless body, sprawled on top of his.
You have to save her. Protect her. Get her out of here.
They couldn’t just stay in the dark, kissing whenever he fucking panicked. And the very fact that he had panicked? That he’d let the old ghosts rise up to choke him? Something that both infuriated and embarrassed Preston. But he needed that rage. He needed it to fuel him as he pounded his way out of this nightmare.
I will break the coffin. I will dig us out of this grave. I will get her to safety.
He might deserve to die. His angel didn’t. “Tell me your name again.” A gruff demand. Preston thought he remembered, but when he’d first woken up, his mind had been cloudy. Too cloudy. Still was, in some ways. What happened to me?
“Sloane.” Just that. A first name. No last name. Musical. Mysterious.
Kind of like the woman on top of him. A woman he hadn’t seen. He couldn’t. It was absolutely pitch black in their grave. No matter how his eyes strained, he would never see anything but the darkness.
He eased in a slow breath.
