Page 197 of Under the Bed

Dad might be—or mighthave been—a terrible person. Violent. Short-fused. Hateful.

A predictable one. I could handle him.

This psycho isn’t something either of us have anticipated.

We have no idea whatto expect from him.

I thought it was bad before. That Dr. Reynolds just wanted to use us for research purposes or to write a book about us.

As much as I loathed the idea, in a way, it was harmless.

Him being here, hurting people to get to Kaleb—that’s a nightmare.

Shit.

Kaleb moves to block me from his therapist again.

“Kaleb Leo Blackwood.” I hear the therapist clapping his hands once. His voice is warm as if he’s welcoming us tohishome. “My favorite patient. I’ve been expecting you.”

Of course he guessed it was Kaleb behind the mask. My man is his obsession. He’s been studying him for years.

“You had orders,” my stepbrother hisses.

A chill runs up my spine. I would’ve hightailed it out of here had I been Dr. Reynolds.

Except he’s too far gone to recognize the threat for what it is.

“Well.” Another two loud footsteps toward us. His shoes click on the floor. “This distance between us wasn’t working for me.”

“Where are they?”

Kaleb doesn’t give a fuck about them, no. He’s buying us time, dragging information out of the doctor.

“You care about them? That’s new.” By his tone, I can tell he’s just as curious as he’d ever been. “An interesting development.”

Kaleb’s murderous energy vibrates in the air, almost choking me.

“Stop where you are.” His grip on my wrist threatens to crack the bones.

“I missed you, son.”

“Not your son.”

I want to see what’s going on there. I need to be a part of it. To help Kaleb, in case this man has more tricks up his unhinged sleeve.

I won’t. Any movement I make will distract Kaleb. Will make him vulnerable.

But it hurts, to be this helpless. This useless. My heart, most of all, demands that I come to his defense like I wouldn’t and couldn’t eleven years ago.

“Kaleb, you wound me.” My hackles rise. He’s too close to us. I glance between Kaleb’s legs and there it is, the tips of Dr. Reynolds’s tethered brown shoes. Fuck, that can’t be good. “I had such high hopes for you. Thought you’d appreciate that I came here. The things I’ve done. The connection I’ve tried to establish with you through my actions. I understand you better, too, now that I’ve killed your other parent. You started it, and I finished it. Isn’t it wonderful?”

My throat locks. I try to swallow. Try again.

Give up.

Because a repressed memory surges to the surface, and I can’t breathe.

“Grease?” I asked Kaleb from my place on the floor. I sat at his side, my brow scrunching. I wasn’t sure I heard him right. “He died from grease?”

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