1
KAROLINA
Ashadowy form stalks me through the moonlit woods.
I hold my head high, treading carefully so that I won’t trip over fallen branches in the darkness.
He likes scaring me, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of showing fear.
Not yet.
By the time the trees thin and I near the clearing, my pulse is thrumming through my veins. My feet itch with the urge to run from the perceived threat, but I’m not ready to surrender to our twisted game.
I know this is wrong. Perverse.
But I’ve never felt more alive than I do when Brandon chases me. I’ve never felt freer than I do when he captures me in his arms and tackles me to the damp earth.
At the house, our lives are strictly controlled, our emotions cruelly suppressed.
But out here in the woods, we can let the wildest parts of ourselves overtake reason and decorum.
In our stolen moments when Brandon claims a savage kiss, I don’t care that he’s my foster brother.
I step into the clearing, and my eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the wash of moonlight. Animal instincts start to take hold, and the intrinsic sense that I’m prey makes my heart flutter.
I clench my fists to hide the way my hands are shaking and turn to face him.
My stomach drops when Carter, my worst bully, emerges from the trees.
“What are you doing here?” I try to issue a demand, but my voice is too high and thin.
A sick smirk twists his blandly handsome features. “I knew I’d find you out here. You’re breaking curfew. I should tell Shirley.”
I take a step back, physically recoiling at the prospect that our cruel foster mother will punish me for my infraction.
“No, you won’t,” I hiss with more bravado than I feel. “You’re out after curfew too.”
His smirk tilts into a sadistic smile. “Maybe she’ll drown you for real this time.”
My throat constricts, and for a moment, my head is submerged in icy water, my foster mom’s fingernails digging into the back of my skull.
I narrow my eyes. “And what do you think Charlie will do to you if he finds out?”
Our foster dad is as quick and vicious with his fists as Shirley is with her cane.
Carter’s sick smile doesn’t waver. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
He closes in, and I back away, edging towards the woods.
“Where’s Brandon?” I demand, my eyes searching the shadows frantically for salvation.
Carter’s low laugh coats my pebbled skin like toxic sludge. “Who do you think told me I would find you here? You love beingchased down and fucked, don’t you? I thought you were a stuck-up prude.” His grin widens. “But you’re just a filthy little slut.”
“He wouldn’t.” I barely force the words out in an agonized wheeze.
My heart twists, threatening to tear asunder.
Carter spreads his arms, gesturing at the empty clearing—where I’m utterly alone with him.
