Page 38 of Road to Redemption

But no matter how long I waited, calm never came. Even as Dom lumbered into the bed, nestled in behind me, and let her breath wash over my neck, I couldn’t stop my heart from pounding.

Why am I even trying? What’s the point in this stupid charade?

Fed up with my own pathetic compliance, I flipped toward Dom, ready to end this stupid game. But to my surprise, her back was already facing me, the marred expanse of her skin on full display.

Her tattoo ink was dark, heavy lines shading over her pain. The wings spread protectively over her back, but beneath that, I could see the hurt that she’d endured.

Her scars glistened under the moon; the skin had woven into taut, scattered ropes. In some areas, they rose into high peaks that caught the light, casting shadows over the valleys where she’d been cut deepest.

Beneath the ink, the color of her skin shifted from pinks and browns to pale white, and though nothing beautiful could have caused these scars, I couldn’t help my mind from drifting to cherry blossoms.

It was the closest look I’d gotten at the marks. She was usually so careful about keeping her shirt on, waking up before I even got a chance to glimpse them.

Now, I could see why. They weren’t mountains or valleys or trees — they were a topographical map of her deepest trauma. Even in the dim light, I could tell that they didn’t have just one source — slices, tears, and burns all wove together into an expansive tapestry of pain.

What happened to her?

I couldn’t be sure, but that didn’t stop the tears from welling in my eyes. Before I could think better of it, my hand drifted forward, closing the gap between us as my fingers traced the tall edge of the scar closest to her left shoulder.

No sooner did I make contact than her body tensed under my touch.

“I’m so sorry!” I pulled back, face flushing red. I don’t know what I’d expected. That she was asleep? Or that she would lay still, just like I had as she traced her hands over me?

But before I could turn to the safety of the wall, her hand shot back and closed around my wrist. “Don’t… don’t go.”

The blood drained from my face as I tried to figure out what she meant, but it was hard to think with her thumb caressing the inside of my wrist. One squeeze is all it would take to break me, and yet…

Maybe the pressure is getting to her too.

Pressing my palm back to her skin, I took a deep breath. With every shift of her muscle under my hand, little sparks of heat prickled through my fingertips. “You never told me how you got these…”

“Do you want to know?”

A beat of silence stretched between us as I considered what I was signing up for. All I’d ever wanted from Dom was answers, and tonight, she was offering them to me on a silver platter. But was I ready to hear this horror story?

I had to be. If she was brave enough to show me this part of herself, then how dare I look away?

So despite the tightness in my chest, I scooched closer with a nod, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her skin. “I’m listening.”

Her ribs expanded as she inhaled, stretching the marbled skin taut over her back. Then, one long exhale released the tension. “The night that you left, I did my best to clean up the mess Keith left behind. There was… a lot of blood though, and a lot of houseguests.”

I shuddered to think that this story started with that night — that my presence had caused her any more pain than I already knew about.

“Within minutes, two of the housekeepers found me with a mangled body and a blood-soaked mop. I remember trying to explain myself, but the words just wouldn’t come out. I knew how bad it looked, and I was sure that I was fucked: a few years in prison, at the very least.

“But to my surprise, they didn’t ask any questions. They just… started helping me. I didn’t know it at the time, but they were Oracle spies who’d infiltrated the cleaning staff. Ones placed by my mother, apparently.”

That last part came out with a note of wonder. Apparently, this trip had been eye-opening for her, too.

“It makes sense, in hindsight. Why they were so thorough, so efficient. But it didn’t matter how much DNA we were able to scrub from the scene. Keith wasn’t some random pedo, and you weren’t just any victim; he was my father’s business associate, and you were a business deal. And there was no hiding from Isaac, especially when it came to his business.

“For days, I was terrified of what he would do to me. I hid in my room shaking, flinching every time I heard footsteps in the hallway or a door slamming downstairs. But he was surprisingly calm.

“He directed the body disposal like it was any other piece of garbage and paid off the cleaners generously for their loyalty to the family. And he made sure that I was comfortable in the days that followed.

“Big meals sent up to my room, offers of a masseuse, a budget for books and movies to ‘keep my mind off things.’ As if I was recovering from a hospital stay and not the murder of one of his closest colleagues.

“I was certain there was some sort of catch. But the plushy treatment just continued. He wouldn’t speak to me, wouldn’t even look at me, but he made sure I was taken care of. I thought maybe that was my punishment — that I was basically dead to him. He would keep me comfortable as some last favor to my dead mother, but other than that, I wasn’t to bother him.