Page 38 of Son of a Preacher Man

The house lights came back up.

And everything went to hell.

He held Kelly tight, her back to his chest, as their breathing slowly returned to normal. His cock, happy in its home inside her, was softening. Even so, Kodiak didn’t pull out. He didn’t want to leave the solace of her body just yet.

Tonight, hadn’t gone at all how he’d wanted it to, thanks to Dillon’s girlfriend. Make that ex. Because he was pretty sure after the shit that went down, Kelsey no longer had the title. His brother-in-law couldn’t get the girl out of there fast enough.

Kelly came over to him then. She tucked herself beneath his arm like she had every right to be there, which she did, and looked up at him. “I think the ball’s over.”

She wasn’t wrong. Kelsey had effectively killed the vibe. So, he took her home to his place, his bed, to finish what he’d started back in her loft.

And he did.

More than once.

His fingertips languidly strumming bare skin, he kissed her hair. Kelly sighed. Rolling over to face him, his cock slipped free of her warmth. Kodiak mourned the loss. He wanted to stay there inside her.

Snuggling into his chest, she kissed his pec. With her arm draped over his side, she traced the scars that lay hidden beneath the ink. Her breath catching, she whispered, “Kodiak, what happened?”

Not ready for this, he sat up and reached for his vape pen on the night table. He took a long draw, inhaling deep, and held it in his lungs.

Her palms running over the tattoo that covered his back, Kelly laid her head on his shoulder. “Please, talk to me.”

He exhaled.

“Who hurt you? Your father?”

“Those scars didn’t come from him.” With a shake of his head, he sniggered. “Not by his own hand anyway.”

The scars Jarrid Black left behind couldn’t be seen and ran so much deeper than the physical ones he bore. He’d rather take a thousand lashes than to have to relive any of it again, but Kelly needed to know all his truths.

Those who choose to forget the past are condemned to repeat it.

Here goes nothing…

“The summer I was seventeen, my father sent me to camp.” There was no way to ease into it really. His hand rubbing her thigh, Kodiak took another hit from his pen. “The belts they used to beat us with had names.”

And they used them. Unmercifully. Every goddamn day.

“Jesus.” Her head shook in disbelief, honey-blonde tresses whipping side to side. “What the fuck kind of camp was it?”

“The pray away the gay kind.” He sniggered. “My father…I’m not sure where or how to begin. It’s pretty fucked up. My father is the pastor of…I guess you’d call it a Pentecostal church.”

He could hear her intake of breath, see her deep blues widen in the semi-darkness. Her hand came down on his and squeezed. “Most folks in Crossfield call it the crazy church, and me? Well, I’m the son of the crazy preacher.”

“Why do they say that?”

“Think Jim Jones, David Koresh, or any cuckoo nut televangelist you’ve ever seen on TV. He cavorts like he’s God himself, and worse than that, his congregation believes every word as if he truly is. But it’s all lies. He’s a fake. An evil, manipulating motherfucker.

“Anyway, I haven’t mentioned Jonathan, have I?”

“No.”

“He was my best friend, my brother, and I loved him.” Kodiak closed his eyes, unshed tears burning behind them. “He’s dead because of me.”

“What?”

“My father witnessed the one and only time we were together. Fucker was spying on us through the window. He didn’t say a word about what he’d seen to me, but he told Jonathan’s parents everything. He sure enjoyed it too.” Seeing Kelly gazing up at him, the tears he could no longer hide slid down his face. “I didn’t find out until the next day after Jonathan parked behind the football field and blew his brains out.”

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