Page 16 of Craving Sin

He was following me tonight.

This couldn’t be about me. His surprise when I told him who my father is was obvious, so I know it’s not some weird political thing where someone comes for me to get back at my dirty politician of a father.

Someone then tried to kill him…he shot at least one of them…then kidnapped me. Those are the three points that are truly sticking out to me. There’s no way he can let me out of this alive. The only way I don’t end up dead is to hurt him first or get away from him myself.

“Who are you?” I ask, but he ignores me. “Fine. Why were you following me?” I try, and then glance over to see him rubbing his nape again. Nervous habit? He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who gets nervous about much—if anything. And if he does, I feel like he would try to hide it.

“Because you’re intriguing.”

I’m… “What?” That makes absolutely no sense.

“You heard me,” he replies before turning to look at me. “Are you married?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” I counter, and the look of disgust on his face tells me everything I need to know about him. “Oh, too macho for that? You’re sitting in the car next to a gay man right now. Starting to regret your choice of target?”

Maybe I misjudged him, and this is some kind of ransom situation, and he does know who my father is. But if that were the case, he would have looked into me, and my sexuality is common knowledge.

“I’m not homophobic,” he says.

“You seem like it to me,” I taunt.

“You don’t know anything about me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why am I arguing with you?” From the tone of his voice, the uncertainty of it, I can tell it’s a real question. I seem to be able to irritate him. Maybe I can use that to my advantage. “My son is…well, honestly, I don’t know what my son is, but he’s in love with a man.”

“First of all, the whole I know a queer person defense isn’t really a defense, and how do you not know how your son identifies?”

Before I realize what’s happening, he has the gun in hand, pointed at me. My heart jumps into my throat, and I swear it nearly climbs up and out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.” His son is a weak spot. That much is obvious.

“My. Son. Is. Everything. To. Me.” Each word is said like they’re each their own sentence, with such a ferocity I can guarantee my own father has never shown about me.

“Okay. Sorry. I understand.”

My stalker lowers the gun again, but doesn’t turn away from me. I feel his gaze on me as I continue to drive. “He’s lucky…to have you,” I say, but he scoffs.

“I don’t know about that. I’m a murderer, remember?”

“Yes, but one who loves your son…and his boyfriend.” I try for a lightness I don’t feel, hoping to put him at ease. Maybe I can get more out of him that way. Maybe I can find something to help me out of this situation before he makes me drive us to wherever he plans to kill me. “So, you know two queer people. And now me, of course. I go by Abbott, by the way. Not Preston.” I hate sharing a name with my father.

“First of all, what you’re doing won’t work with me—trying to talk to me, to get close. Second, my nephew is with a man, as is my son’s best friend. My niece is also with a woman. I’m not homophobic.”

Wow. That definitely seems to be important to him, so I say, “Okay. You have an incredibly queer family. I’ve got it.” Still doesn’t mean he’s not a homophobe. That’s not how this works.

I’m surprised when he gives a soft chuckle. It feels so unlike him, but I don’t know why. It’s not as if I know him. Maybe because the main thing I know about him is that he’s a cold-blooded killer.

“I guess you could say that.”

He wipes sweat from his brow, which is wetter than it was a moment ago. He looks paler too. At least he’s back to holding the jacket over his wound instead of pointing his gun at me.

I glance up just as I approach an exit, make a quick decision, then pull off.

“What the fuck are you doing, Doc?” he asks.

“Going to take care of your wound so you don’t die.”

He curses but doesn’t argue. It’s not a busy exit, but one with a rest stop, so that’s where I go. There are a couple semitrucks and two cars, but they’re all toward one side of the lot, so I go to the opposite side.

Once parked, I turn off the vehicle and get out. “Where the fuck—” he starts, but his voice is cut off when I slam the door closed.

I walk around the SUV, grab my bag from the back, then go around and open his door, realizing for the first time that he never put his seat belt on. “You didn’t wear your seat belt.”