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“He came after them, but the scrawny one was fast. He got away. Initially. The slower one—”
“You weren’t slow,” Shane protested.
Bronson smiled knowingly. “The slower one got dragged into the supply closet by a psychopath. He beat the kid to within an inch of his life.”
Shane bit down, his sculpted jaw working hard under the strain.
“The scrawny one tried to help but the guard had locked the door, so the kid broke the knob with a fire extinguisher and found the guard standing over an unconscious thirteen-year-old.” He paused to look at Shane. The regret on his face warmed Bronson, but he needed to finish the story. He needed Shane to understand. “But the guard wasn’t finished. He had another kid to assault and he went after him with fists clenched.”
Shane stood and turned his back on him, clearly not enjoying their stroll down memory lane.
“The kid took off but how far could he go? It wasn’t like he could run outside. He was in a detention center no matter how it looked from the outside. He had a choice to make: face the guard or hide in the only place he knew the guard wouldn’t dare look.”
“It wasn’t much of a choice,” he said over his shoulder.
“It was, actually. And you chose me.”
Shane turned back around, his brows drawn sharply in confusion.
“You chose to crawl under the bed with me.”
“You were in the supply closet.”
Bronson shrugged. “To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You knew I was really under there. I wasn’t just a rumor.”
“You?”
“And yet you chose to entrust your life with me.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” he asked, his voice razor sharp. “You were in the fucking supply closet.”
“That part of me was. The human part. But the hound was still under your bed.” Bronson lowered his head and looked at Shane from underneath his lashes. “And he was angry.”
Shane’s gaze slid past him as the memory swept over him. “I slid under the bed and waited for it to kill me. Better the beast than that asshole guard. But it didn’t. It pulled me farther under the bed, cradled me, and when the guard got close, it crawled out.” His breaths quickened under the weight of the memory. “I’ll never forget the look on the guard’s face when he saw it. He stood in shock as the giant beast emerged, petrified as it stalked closer. When he finally came to his senses and took off, the beast turned back to me. Teeth as long as my dick glistened in the moonlight and I could’ve sworn it smiled.”
“I did.”
He shook his head, unable to process that part. Not yet anyway. “The beast followed the guard, as silent as the night as it took off after him. And then we heard the screams.”
Bronson lifted a nonchalant brow. “I roughed him up a little before I ripped out his throat. Sue me.”
Shane continued unmoved. “A lot of beds were wet that night. Every kid here saw it and yet no one said a thing to the cops. The authorities chalked it up to a mountain lion, but we knew the truth. At least some bizarre, imaginative version of the truth.”
“Nothing about me was in your imagination.”
“When the screams stopped, I ran back to the supply closet. You were dead. Your eyes were open. You had no pulse.”
“Only for a few seconds,” Bronson said as though offended. “Funny thing about hellhounds: they can take over a human just as easily as a bona fide demon can. Especially a dead body.”
“You’re saying you’re…”
“Part hellhound. Yes.”
“And Bronson?”
