Page 120 of Inflict

His question was vague at best, and not exactly what he wanted to ask, but he was a feckin’ coward. He was scared that if he asked her the question burning on the back of his tongue, that her answer would be one that told him he still hadn’t made it in time to save her from one more man taking from her body.

Evelyn released a shaky breath, her hands skimming the milky colored water. “I don’t want to smell him, or the dirt, or feel it right now.”

“Scrubbing yourself raw won’t help.”

“Gives me something to do, Connor.”

“It gives you a distraction.”

Evelyn looked up at him as he came to kneel at the side of the tub. He traced the welts on her arm, and the ones leading to her back. She leaned forward when he asked, letting him check the tattoo on her back for any breaks in the skin. He found none, thankfully, but the area was quite red.

“You shouldn’t soak for too much longer,” he said. “Your back is going to breed infection. It’s not been properly cared for, love.”

She nodded. “I’ll get out.”

Evelyn still didn’t move.

Connor ran his fingers through her hair, untangling the waves with gentle strokes. “If he touched you—”

“He didn’t,” she cut in quickly but quietly, “not like that. He was more focused on hurting me in other ways.”

His relief was sweet.

It was also selfish, he knew.

Connor rubbed his thumb over a particularly sore-looking welt, just beneath her left breast. Evelyn winced, moving subtly away from his touch. “Sorry, love.”

“I learned something in all of this.”

“Did you?”

“There’s not a dark enough, or deep enough, place in my head to save me from pain that I don’t want,” she whispered. “I’ve always found it, but it wasn’t there this time.”

Connor leaned forward far enough to press a kiss to her temple. “You don’t need to have that place, now. You know that, right?”

“It’s always there, Connor. It doesn’t just go away.”

“It’s not the same as being forced into it to deal with your circumstance.”

Evelyn shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Come on, get out. The food is ready. I’ll clean your back up, too.”

She didn’t argue with him, instead standing up when he offered to help. He noticed the trail of pink slipping down her outer thigh as he reached for a towel. Instantly, Connor was back on his knees, trying to find the source of the blood. He found it easily enough—a particularly bad welt on her gardenia tattoo had been irritated enough to bleed.

Probably from her scrubbing.

“Oh, love, this needs something done for it, too,” he said, dabbing at the wound with a clean towel.

“He was angry.”

Connor looked up at her. “I’m not sure he felt any other emotion except anger.”

She shook her head. “No, about my tattoos. He was angry about them. He said I wasn’t as perfect because of them. I wasn’t supposed to be marked.”

It was only then that Conner realized the majority of Evelyn’s beating marks had focused heavily on her back and her thighs. She had others, of course, but those spots owned the very worst of them.

Something else to add to his pile of guilt that he wouldn’t speak of. He’d been the one to put the tattoos on her, but she had been the one to be beaten for wearing them.