Stepbrother Studs: Preston Page 2

  She immediately recognized what was resting on a satin cushion inside. Lifting the necklace on tented fingers, she admired the golden heart with a puckered center, a diamond pressed in the middle. Her mother had worn this locket every single day. Using her fingernail, she flicked it open, and the tears that had been just a trickle suddenly became a deluge. Her mother’s face stared back at her, so like her own.

  “Where did you find it?” She looked at him through prisms, feeling her throat closing with emotion.

  “Kate found it at the house in Boulder last Easter when they were spring cleaning, moving furniture and stuff,” he told her, his smile widening. “She showed it to me and I knew immediately who should have it.”

  She sniffed, closing her hand around the heart. Her mother had lost it just a few weeks before she died and had been bereft when they couldn’t find it. She had kept pictures of them in it—Preston on one side, Lara on the other.

  “Don’t you like it?” he asked, looking helpless as he watched her tears finally spilling over—she couldn’t hold them back anymore.

  “Oh, Preston, I love it.” She threw her arms around him, sobbing, unable to tell him just how much she loved her gift—how much she loved him.

  She asked him to put it on her and she felt the tremble in his hands when she held her hair to the side and he fastened the clasp, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck, giving her goosebumps.

  When she turned to face him, she was sure she saw her own feelings mirrored in his eyes.

  “It’s beautiful on you.” His fingers touched the locket where it rested between her breasts. “You’re beautiful, Lara.”

  She smiled at him, too full of emotion to respond.

  “Someday you can put your boyfriend’s picture in there,” he teased. “I’m surprised they’re not storming the castle already to get to you.”

  The smile on her lips trembled. She couldn’t tell him that, yes, there had been boys who had come calling, but her stepfather had driven them all away. He wanted Lara all for himself.

  “You coming?” Preston asked, stretching out and sliding himself so his head was under the tree branches.

  Lara wiggled under on her belly, using her elbows for leverage. Once she was beside her stepbrother, she turned over to her back, gasping aloud at the sight. It was just as beautiful as she’d remembered it, thousands of multi-colored lights shining through the pine needles, like looking up at a rainbow of stars.

  “Sounds like there’s still a little magic left in Christmas.” Preston reached a hand out and found hers. She clasped it, squeezing hard, the ache in her throat almost too much to bear. The memories were bittersweet now that her mother was gone and her stepfather was...

  Tell him.

  The voice in her head made her stiffen and jolt like she’d been shot through with electricity.

  Tell him. Do it now.

  Part of her was desperate to. It was on the tip of her tongue all the time and she’d bloodied it keeping the words at bay. Preston Ellingston III loved his father, yes, but not because the man deserved it. More because he demanded it. As the only boy, Preston was his father’s heir, so it was all “Yes, Sir” and “Of course, Sir” as there was no arguing with Preston Ellingston II. But Preston loved her, too—not out of duty, at least she hoped, but because they had aligned themselves together from the very beginning on the same side, the same team.

  He would believe her.

  And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Because if Preston believed her, there would be a confrontation. There would be screaming and yelling. There would be a fight, and she had no doubt that punches would be thrown, at the very least. At worst... there were guns in the house. Her stepfather was an avid hunter. Would Preston be angry enough to kill him?

  When Lara was eleven and Preston was fourteen, there had been a boy at school who called her names. They’d attended the same school then, although that was the last year that would happen, just before Lara’s mother had died. Lara didn’t tell anyone about the boy. Her mother was busy with charity work, her stepfather constantly away. The boy, Kyle, was older—in Preston’s grade. Lara had developed quite early and at nine, she had bigger breasts that some of the girls in Preston’s grade. This was a source of embarrassment for her and it was the exact thing that Kyle narrowed in on.

  One day, when she was hugging her books to her chest, head down, determined to make it home as fast as possible, Kyle had caught up with her. He called her funbags and juganauts, dancing around her, delighting in her tears. When he’d grabbed her and pulled her behind a tree, she went from annoyed to afraid. Kyle’s interest in her anatomy hadn’t just been about torment. He groped her through her sweater, pressing into her, hard, then dared to pull her sweater up, the tree’s bark biting at the tender flesh of her back.

  That day, Preston caught up with them. He usually stayed behind after school, waiting for his friend, Brandon, who had basketball practice. But Brandon had stayed home sick that day, and Lara had never been so glad for someone else’s misfortune in her life. One moment Kyle was squeezing and twisting her breast so hard it would leave bruises, trying to kiss her although she did her best to turn her head and avoid his slobbering advances, and the next minute, he was flying through the air.

  Preston wailed on him so hard that day, Lara found herself screaming for him to stop, even though part of her didn’t want him to stop at all. A neighbor heard the commotion and called the police but Kyle’s face was so bloody by the time the cops showed up, he was hardly recognizable.

  Kyle’s parents threatened to press charges against Preston, but when Preston told them what Kyle had been doing to Lara, suddenly everyone changed their minds. She’d been happy that her big brother had saved her that day—she didn’t like to think what might have happened if he hadn’t—but it had also terrified her. He had terrified her. She’d seen Preston mad before, but never like that. He’d turned into an animal, a machine, fists pounding Kyle’s face so hard she thought she heard bones crushing.

  Like his father, Preston had a temper, and when it was triggered, it could go completely out of control in an instant.

  Lara didn’t want to think of the two of them going at it—she didn’t want to take even the slightest chance that her stepfather would win that fight. And if he didn’t—if Preston won, which is what she suspected might happen if she told her stepbrother the truth—what if Preston went too far?

  She kept seeing Kyle’s face, the way his eyes rolled back in his head, heard his labored breathing. Preston could have killed him. Might have, if the cops hadn’t been called. What if he did the same to her stepfather, but this time, there was no one to stop him? She couldn’t be responsible for Preston going to jail, spending the rest of his life behind bars, just for protecting her.

  “What is it, Lara?” Preston’s voice was soft, the touch of his hand on her cheek even softer.

  He had turned onto his side to look at her, his face reflecting the multicolored pattern of the lights over their heads.

  “What?” she asked, her own voice small, trembling.

  “You’re so far away.” He frowned, his hand cupping her chin so she couldn’t turn her head away like she wanted to.

  “I’m right here.” She swallowed, turning toward him, too, so they were face to face.

  Tell him.

  That voice again, stronger this time. The urge rose up in her suddenly, like a wave, and she barely kept it at bay.

  She was only fifteen-years-old but her stepfather had been raping her since she was twelve and she felt like she was a-hundred at least. She felt ancient, old, used up. Only Preston made her feel human. He drew her back into her body, made her feel young again.

  “I love you, Lara.” His eyes were full of concern, his touch so gentle it hurt.

  “I...” She had to tell him. It was imperative. Preston would help her. He loved her. He would make it all stop hurting. “Oh Preston, I...”

  “Tell me,” he urged. “What’s wrong?”


  “I... I...” I can’t. My pain is nothing. I can bear this. I can’t hurt him—I can’t let him do something that would jeopardize his future. His whole life.

  “I love you, too,” she choked, and did the only thing she could think of to stop the words from flowing out of her weak, stupid mouth.

  She kissed him.

  It was just a kiss. Nothing sordid or even wrong about it, really. Her lips touched his, her eyes closing, tears salting their mouths. She felt Preston’s spine straighten, felt him begin to pull away, but that would be a disaster and she knew it.

  So she put her arms around his thick neck and held on for dear life, crushing his mouth with her own, feeling his hands move to her shoulders as if to keep her at bay, or maybe just to steady the sudden onslaught. She heard him groan a little when she moved her body against his, felt him shift his hips toward her in response. He was a man, after all, and if she’d learned one thing from being a girl, it was that men couldn’t control their urges.

  “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  The booming voice turned her blood to ice water in her veins.

  Her stepfather was home.

  Lara’s eyes flew open and she looked at Preston, who stared back at her, both of them like a deer in the headlights. She prayed her stepfather hadn’t seen anything, that he was just talking about the presents pushed aside, the two of them half under the tree, but considering his tone, there was little hope of that.

  Preston moved first. In fact, he was out from under the tree so fast, she wasn’t sure what had happened. One minute he was there, the next he was gone.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” Preston’s voice was surprisingly calm.

  “It looked to me like you were feeling up your sister.”

  Lara flushed at her stepfather’s words, at the uncontained anger in his voice. She squirmed her way out from under the Christmas tree, sitting up to see both of them squared off, father and son, so much alike and yet, to her, there was nothing similar about them, at least on the inside.

  “You fucking little slut.” Her stepfather’s gaze fell to Lara and she shrank back against the myriad of gifts, trying to get away from the pure rage she saw in his eyes. “You’re going to pay for this.”

  She could tell from the way his fists were already clenched that she would.

  “Don’t blame Lara.” Preston stepped between his father and his stepsister. “None of this is her fault.”

  Her stepfather gave a low, throaty laugh. “I thought it wasn’t what it looked like?”

  “It isn’t.” Preston glanced back at her, giving her a half-smile, something she was sure should be reassuring but wasn’t. “Nothing happened. We were just—”

  “Lara, get upstairs.” Her stepfather’s voice was filled with gravel. There was no arguing.

  Preston took her arm as she stood to go and she looked up at him, both fearful and questioning.

  “Don’t you touch her!”

  One moment Preston was there, holding on to her arm, the next, he was sailing past her, his body crashing into the Christmas tree. She faintly heard the breaking of glass as ornaments popped and shattered on the parquet floor. Her stepfather was on him in an instant and the two of them rolled around among the gifts, crushing boxes, tearing paper. Lara stood watching, aghast, feeling rooted to the spot.

  That’s when Kate and Phillip appeared, clearly drawn to the scene by the noise. Kate ushered Lara upstairs to her room, away from the fight, while downstairs she heard Phillip trying to break it up. There was a lot of shouting after that but she couldn’t make out the words. Lara crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her head, wishing it would stop.

  Eventually, it did stop.

  When her door opened, she turned her tear-stained face toward the crack of light, whispering, “Preston?”

  But it wasn’t her stepbrother.

  “I’m sorry that happened,” her stepfather said, coming over to sit beside her on the bed, his weight making the mattress sag. His hand moved in her hair and she cringed in the darkness, the tenderness of his touch almost worse than a rough one. “He won’t ever touch you again.”

  He won’t? What about you? she thought, but didn’t say.

  But he seemed to read her mind because his hand tightened into a fist in her hair and he pulled her close so he could put his mouth right against her ear.

  “You’re mine, Lara,” he growled, his other hand moving roughly up under her blouse. “You will always be mind. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded and replied with a whimpered, “Yes.”

  Merry Christmas, she thought to herself, as he unzipped his trousers.

  She wondered if this holiday could be saved. If their little family could be saved, after what she’d done.

  She’d ruined everything.

  Preston was the one person in the entire world she could trust, the only one she loved, and she couldn’t bear to lose him.

  I’ll fix this somehow. That’s what she kept thinking as her stepfather took what was his. Lara held onto the heart locket around her neck, thinking only of Preston and how to make things right again.

  The next morning, when she crept silently down the stairs, she saw the Christmas tree had been righted, the broken glass swept up, the battered gifts stacked neatly.

  But there was no Preston waiting by the tree as usual, sipping coffee.

  She found Kate in the kitchen, sitting at the table, sobbing. When Lara asked what had happened, the housekeeper would only say, “He’s gone. He’s gone.”

  Lara went to her stepfather, who was in the drawing room, seeking answers.

  He was talking on his cell phone and she waited patiently for him to get off.

  When he looked up at her, his face was pale, drawn. “He’s gone, Lara.”

  “Gone where?” she puzzled. “Did he go back to school?”

  “He wanted to go back. He insisted. But… there was a weather incident. The helicopter went down in the mountains.” Her stepfather held a hand out to her and, in spite of herself, she took it. She felt like she was going to pass out. “There were no survivors.”

  He took her in his arms and rocked her like she was a little girl as she sobbed against his shoulder.

  Preston was gone. Her light, her salvation. Gone in an instant.

  “It’s all right,” her stepfather soothed, his grip tightening, crushing the air from her lungs. “You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll never let you go.”

  And that, she thought, was exactly what she’d always been afraid of.

  ~ Present Day ~

  Lara woke with a start, unsure if she was really awake or still dreaming of the mountain getaway of her childhood. Everything was dark. She opened her eyes and felt something there—a blindfold? Pushing it away, she realized she still couldn’t see. The blackness was complete.

  The bed beneath her creaked as she rolled to her side, her mind trying to locate herself in this place. Where was she? Disoriented, she tried to use her other senses—the wind whistling outside, the faint caw of a bird spotting prey. But no other sound at all—not even ambient sounds, like the gentle hum of electricity. The place smelled old, musty. Unused. There was a slight smell of fuel or gasoline. Her mouth felt dry, her lips cracked, and she found herself wishing for water.

  She flexed her hands, wincing at the sharp tingling in her fingers. Her toes, too, she noticed, rolling her ankles. Her shoulders ached, but still, the pain wasn’t as bad as before. Rubbing her wrists to move blood through, she felt the raw, raised skin there. It burned to the touch and she gasped aloud at the sensation.

  I was tied up, she thought, feeling the same burning sensation around her bare ankles as she rubbed them.

  But who had tied her up? And why?

  She couldn’t remember anything, as much as she tried.

  Her head pounded and she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, cringing at the pain. It felt as if someone was poking sharp instruments int
o her eyes. Something hovered at the edge of her memory and she tried to catch it but it skittered away again. Her fingers moved through her hair and she found it caked with something dried and thick. Blood? Gently, she felt her scalp, inch by inch, locating several painful lumps.

  What had happened to her? Who had done this?

  Was it the man who had carried her? Was she a prisoner here?

  Her heart was racing and she tried to calm herself. She was no longer bound—that was a good sign.

  She tried to recall something, any memory, her last memory. She knew who she was—Lara Ellingston. She knew where she lived—Boulder, Colorado. She was a nineteen-year-old student at the University of Colorado. She had wanted to go to Oxford. Had applied and been accepted. But her stepfather had insisted she attend a school closer to home. Somewhere she could commute.

  Her stepfather.

  The hair rose on the back of her neck and she forced herself to sit, despite of the dizziness and slight nausea it caused.

  Had he brought her here? Was this his way, finally, of keeping her all to himself?

  Lara edged her fingers along the mattress, reaching out blindly, finding a night table.

  Good. Now for a lamp. Yes, there it was. She followed the smooth metal line from the base up to the bulb.

  “Ow!” Lara recoiled from the heat, her fingers already blistering as she put them into her mouth.

  The lightbulb had burned her.

  The realization took a moment to sink in, but when it did, she thought for a moment she was going to pass out.

  She gripped the edge of the mattress with both hands, reeling, her eyes wide open but seeing nothing. The light was on. The bulb was burning hot. But for Lara, there was nothing but darkness.

  I’m blind.

  Panic clawed its way up her throat and she bit it back. Slowly, she let her fingers move their way up her face, exploring gently around her eyes. They were still there, moving back and forth underneath the lids—thank God for that. But useless. She blinked, hoping it might bring back any sort of light. Magical thinking, she supposed. There was no injury, as far as she could tell.