Temptation (Secrets of Winworth Book 2) Read online

  TEMPTATION

  SECRETS OF WINWORTH BOOK TWO

  L.K. REID

  CONTENTS

  Playlist

  A Quick Word

  Quote

  Prologue

  1. Dylan

  2. Skylar

  3. Skylar

  4. Ash

  5. Skylar

  6. Ash

  7. Ash

  8. Skylar

  9. Dylan

  10. Dylan

  11. Skylar

  12. Skylar

  13. Ash

  14. Skylar

  15. Dylan

  16. Skylar

  17. Ash

  18. Skylar

  19. Ash

  20. Skylar

  21. Skylar

  22. Skylar

  To be continued…

  Also By L.K. Reid

  A Note From The Author

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2022 by L.K. Reid

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Any resemblance to places, events, or real people is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Pretty in Ink Creations

  Editing by Maggie Kern at Ms. K Edits

  Formatting by Moonshine Creations

  PLAYLIST

  Music has always been a very important part of my writing process, and even more so with Temptation. For a while there I was completely lost and didn’t know where to go with this story, and “No Me Importa” by In This Moment helped me to put it all together. Most of my other books have the entire playlist written here, but with the size of this one, there was no way that I could fit all these songs on only two pages. So, the link is below, and I hope you will recognize these characters and feel Winworth in the lyrics of these songs.

  TEMPTATION PLAYLIST

  For those who are still waiting to be found.

  A QUICK WORD

  Back in September after Apathy was released, I was fully ready to sit down, write Temptation and publish it in December. But then it crashed, or better yet, I crashed. I wish I could tell you what exactly happened, but I can’t because I don’t understand it either.

  I wrote half of Temptation at that time, but because my mind wasn’t in it, I hated every single part of it. So I stopped, focused on some other projects, and let it stew for a bit. Then after How Our Hearts Break got published, Skylar, Ash and Dylan started talking to me again, and like a crazy person that I sometimes am (my friends would tell you that I’m always a crazy person), I thrashed the old draft and started anew.

  And I’m glad I did.

  I like to think that Temptation isn’t as dark as Apathy was, mainly because we’re focusing on characters a lot more this time around than Winworth, but it still is dark. There are mentions of child abuse, human trafficking, drug and alcohol abuse, as well as some bloody situations. Secrets of Winworth started as MF in Apathy, but Temptation is MMF, which means we have a male-male-female relationship developing.

  If any of the above are not appealing to you, or you feel you can’t read a book that has those things in it, then maybe Temptation isn’t a book for you. I would also like to mention that you should definitely read Apathy before reading Temptation, otherwise you won’t understand what’s happening.

  This book, just like the previous one, ends on a cliff-hanger, so be gentle when you start yelling at me for that reason.

  I hope you’ll like it, and if you do, please consider leaving a review.

  “You're just so pretty in your pain.”

  Evanescence, The Last Song I’m Wasting On You

  PROLOGUE

  I once heard that this earth we were living on was nothing more than a Purgatory, created for sinners with pure hearts but vile thoughts. Created for people like you and me, destined to live with this heaviness in our chests, swallowing our cries, hiding the pain behind fake smiles and sweet lies, until Judgment Day came.

  Have you ever closed your eyes, wishing you were born in some other place? A different family, with a different name, different friends, and a different destiny.

  Have you ever wished to be someone else, imagining what it would feel like to go through life without the constant need to run away?

  Have you ever screamed without a sound? Have you ever cried but tears never came? Have you ever put a knife to your skin, pretending that you only wanted to see the color of your blood, while demons whispered in your ear to end it all and be free?

  Has your mind ever told you that no one would ever love you, because you would never be enough?

  Have you ever craved your father’s love and your mother’s acceptance?

  You have, haven’t you?

  You wished for all these things and more. You wished for a world to stop turning, just for one minute, so that you could catch a breath and feel alive.

  You probably had at least one of these thoughts running through your head, and if you hadn’t, I envied you. I envied you because I wanted to know if the rain felt like rain, or if you smiled because you were truly happy.

  I wanted to know the taste of a life fully lived.

  I wanted to know if the love you felt really brought those butterflies people so often talked about, because I never felt that way. I thought I did. I thought that this feeling inside my stomach was the representation of the love I felt, but it was still just the fear coating my blood in the color black, stopping me from truly living.

  For a moment there, I thought I could be free.

  I thought I could get far away, if only I survived.

  But I should’ve known that even when I couldn’t feel it heavy on my shoulders. Darkness had a way of concealing itself, hiding in the corners of my room, waiting for my shields to go down.

  I thought I would be able to run away from my sadness, from my grief, and my pain.

  But I was so fucking wrong.

  And I knew—this wasn’t Purgatory.

  This was Hell.

  1

  DYLAN

  Before

  She’s calling my name.

  She’s calling my name—again.

  But I didn’t want to go to her. Not today, not ever again. But I knew I had to.

  I knew I had to get up from my seat, walk upstairs, and open the door of that filthy room she always resided in.

  “Dylan!” Her high-pitched voice tore through my mind, like knives on my skin, their tips pressing and pressing and pressing, drawing blood, hurting me, and I didn’t have a choice but to lean in further, letting them cut me.

  “Dylan!” It came again, that whiny sound I hated so much.

  How could I hate her and love her at the same time? How could I wish for her to be both alive and dead, but still unable to voice what was happening in this house of horrors?

  “Come to me, baby!”

  I dug my nails into my palms, trying to drown out the sounds coming from the first floor of our house. The weather outside looked how I felt—thunderous, angry, on the brink of breaking apart. There was a storm brewing inside my chest, and I was old enough to know that it shouldn’t stay inside.

  But how could I let it all out?

  This entire house smelled like her, and every corner I took, wherever I went, it was as if she followed me, caressing my skin, drawing invisible droplets of blood. I wanted to cry, but Father’s words echoed around my skull, bouncing back and forth, fighting agai
nst the invisible need to shatter, to break free.

  “Blackwood’s never beg, son,” he told me the other day, his eyes boring into me, burning me. “We don’t cry. We are the strongest force this town has ever seen, and I want you to remember that.”

  And I didn’t cry. I never begged, even when she started hurting me. I never said a word, and it ate me alive.

  Thunder sliced through the sky, the lightning following like an old friend, illuminating our front porch. Goosebumps erupted over my skin as the night started descending slowly, but I still wasn’t ready to go back inside—to face her.

  I hugged my knees, shivering as the storm started picking up, reflecting how I felt on the inside.

  If only I could leave.

  If only I could run away, never to look back, I would.

  But I was smarter than that. I knew I wouldn’t be able to survive out there all on my own, so I had to wait. A few more years were nothing if it meant I would be able to get away from her.

  “Dylan!” Her voice bounced against the walls of the house, traveling all the way to me through the open front door. I flinched, my eyes momentarily closing of their own volition. Deep inside, a familiar fear uncurled, waiting for her punishment.

  In front of other people, she always looked so loving, so kind, so happy, but I knew better. I knew what went on behind the closed doors of our house. I just couldn’t say it out loud. Somehow it felt more real if I said it out loud. As if I was going to give this horror she bestowed upon me more power if I told them what she did.

  Even my father didn’t know. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t care.

  “Dylan! If you don’t come up, I will—”

  “I’m coming!” I shouted, gritting my teeth, hating how weak I sounded. Yet, I had no choice but to obey her.

  I pushed myself up and started shaking off the debris from my black pants. I was lucky that she didn’t come down, because if she saw me like this… No, no, I didn’t want to think about it now.

  Maybe she was better today, right? Maybe knowing that my father was coming back from his business trip would make her feel happier and less inclined to bother me.

  But I knew that all these were only wishful thoughts, keeping me alive for a moment, painting a much prettier picture than what was actually waiting for me once I went upstairs.

  Our house was quiet, too quiet without my father walking around, smiling at me, talking on his phone. Without our maid, Marija, who got fired by my mother three days ago. At least while she was here, I felt like I could breathe.

  But now I know that even that was stolen from me. Those little moments where I felt as if I truly belonged in the body of a nine-year-old, my heart thumping happily when Marija baked, somehow, even though she didn’t know, protecting me from her.

  I was all alone now, and as I stepped back inside, the eerie sounds of the wind hitting the sides of our house, the tremors I fought against started rocking through my body.

  One step, and then two, and three and four, and I was in front of the staircase leading to the first floor. A crow cawed from somewhere, and I turned around only to see a little black creature standing right on our porch, staring back at me with its beady eyes.

  As dark as the night descending on Winworth, it cawed, making me jump back. The hair at the nape of my neck stood up as it came closer to the door, tilting its head to the side—observing, looking—while I stayed frozen, unable to move.

  Crows were locals. Whoever came to Winworth, no matter the time of the year, they could see them. They could hear them. I never saw one this close to me. I saw them in the distance whenever we went to the cemetery, but none of them ever approached.

  Not like this one.

  “Shoo.” I swatted with my hand, but instead of scaring her, the crow cawed again, coming closer and closer, until she reached the threshold.

  I should’ve closed the door.

  I should’ve—

  “Dylan!”

  Jesus. Her voice wasn’t melodic and basked in honey anymore. She was angry, and I knew I would rather stay downstairs with the crow that looked ready to attack than to go upstairs.

  I took a step back, climbing on the first stair, taking a hold of the handrail, as if it could keep me grounded and less afraid.

  The storm started picking up, and as the sound of the rain registered in my brain, the crow looked behind her and flew away without even looking at me.

  My heart thundered in my chest, hitting against my ribs, and without a second thought, I ran upstairs, into the darkness, into her den, her endless pit of suffering.

  Even the air here smelled like stale bread and old buildings. But that’s what she liked. She loved wallowing in her misery, pulling everybody else into the vicious circle she created.

  On the wall on my right side was a picture of the three of us—smiling, happy. Or at least I was. It was taken before everything else happened. Before the life I knew was ripped away from me, leaving me naked and cold to the elements hitting me from each and every side.

  I pressed a palm against the cold, white wall, staring at the picture, as if I could wish this time to come back. And I wanted to. I wanted it to come back so badly. I wanted to feel like this, like in this picture.

  Happy, carefree… Just free.

  But she placed shackles on me, chaining me to her, to her bed, to her misery and her eternal darkness, and I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t shake her off, because I loved her, and it was killing me.

  My eyes zeroed in on the figure standing at the end of the hallway, shrouded in darkness, but I knew that silhouette. I would know it no matter how many years passed. I knew those hands, that long hair she used to let me play with. I knew her.

  “Dylan, baby.” She spoke with so much love, but there was poison hidden behind, dripping from her tongue, coating her lips, and every time she touched me. Every time she kissed me, I could feel that poison burning my skin. “Come here.” She lifted her arm, coaxing me to her.

  I didn’t want to, I wanted to shout, but it would’ve been futile fighting the inevitable.

  With heaviness in my body and tired limbs, I slowly walked toward her, breathing through my mouth, trying to fight against the stench sneaking into my nose. Sweat, stale food, and something akin to death, were all mixed together, and it was all her.

  She extended her hand to me, wiggling her fingers like I used to when I was younger. When I was just a child, instead of this thing she was turning me into.

  “What took you so long?” she asked as she took my hand in hers, squeezing it, holding me tight.

  “Sorry, Mom,” I whispered, dropping my head. “Storm is coming. I wanted to close the doors and windows.”

  “A storm is always coming in Winworth. Nothing new there.” She laughed as we entered their bedroom, where all my childhood dreams died one year ago, after she lost her last child—my sister. “But we are stronger than these storms,” she mumbled. “You and I.” She kneeled in front of me, her hands going over my hair, then my shoulders and my chest. I closed my eyes as she pressed her face against my chest, inhaling slowly, while her hand kept rubbing circles against my back.

  It should’ve been comforting—she was my mom, after all—but this was how it always started. Loving, almost like a fairytale, and just when I thought things would get better, she always made them worse.

  That’s why I didn’t allow myself to relax because I knew it would come—the switch, her pain, her misery, her darkness. It would slam into us. It would leave me breathless, and there would be nobody to help me pick up the pieces.

  Marija was gone. My father didn’t know. I was all alone.

  “Come on.” She stood up suddenly and started walking toward the bed.

  No, no, no, erupted in my head, but the words never left my chest. They were lodged in my throat, terrified to come out.

  Terrified to anger her when she wasn’t who she used to be. When all the love she had for me died with my sister, leaving behind a living corpse. Wh
en the mother I used to know was nowhere to be found.

  And I needed her.

  I needed her to be back, so that I could be a kid again. But somehow I knew that things would never be as they used to be.

  Her nails dug into my wrist, and I swallowed a whimpering sound threatening to come out. She wanted me to keep quiet. She wanted me to lower my voice.

  Her bed was her sanctuary. No matter how much she hurt me, no matter how much I hated all of this, I just wanted to help her.

  The bed dipped beneath us, and as she moved closer to the headboard, I followed, climbing over on all fours. The soft, pink blanket caught my attention, but I didn’t dare to touch it. She was the only one allowed to come close to it.

  “You’re my best boy, baby,” she crooned, pulling me closer. Her back was against the headboard, her chest rising and falling evenly, her eyes searing into me. I tried not to touch her, keeping as much distance as possible, but I couldn’t stay away forever.

  With trembling hands, I touched her thigh first, listening to her breathing.

  “More,” she rasped. I bit my lip and moved my other hand to her stomach, where her sleeping gown opened up, feeling the bare skin. “Yes, baby,” she moaned, throwing her head back, closing her eyes.