Page 67 of Mr. Match

“Senior,” I add, because it makes a difference. “Senior. I was promised to Senior and Victoria was promised to Junior. At least he was close to her age. I lied about which one did it because I wanted Tori to feel a connection to me. But it wasn’t Junior who ruined my life. It was his father.”

“Did he rape you?”

I don’t answer.

“They killed my parents a few months before I met you.”

Oliver sinks back into his pillow. His arms tightening around me once more. “I don’t need to know the rest.”

No. No, he really doesn’t. And I don’t need to talk about it either. I came to terms with it a long time ago. No amount of talking can change the past.

“Where did you really go when you left me?” He asks the question with fear in his voice.

“I lived at Lucio’s house. But it didn’t matter. Lily was here at the Parson School for Girls. Far, far away. Just like I planned.”

I wait for the next question. Why did you come back? But he is silent for a very long time after that. Ten minutes. Fifteen, maybe.

He leans in and kisses my neck. The place he likes to start. Right where the scar begins. I have always wondered how he knew. The cut goes from ear to ear. How did he know that the starting point was on my left side instead of the right?

I don’t know.

“We better take those pictures. It would be a shame to waste the moment.” Oliver slips his arm out from under me and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

I sit up in bed but don’t make to get out. “Do you really think we need to keep this moment?”

Oliver is pulling a pair of jeans on. I stare at his tattoos while he does this. The ravens. The words. The wings. The bike. More words. “Fuck, yes,” he says in a low, deep voice. “Fuck, yes, we need to keep this moment.” And then he looks at me.

His eyes are no longer rain showers, but a tornado of hate, and anger, and fear.

“Because this is the moment that changes everything.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine - OLIVER

My hands tremble with anger as I adjust the aperture setting on the camera so we can take advantage of the low, early-morning light streaming through the garage bay windows down on the far wall.

“Are you going to be in the pictures?” Katya asks, self-consciously pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts.

“Sure,” I say, smiling at her to hide the violence thundering inside me. “But let me get you first. Turn over.”

She does. I walk over to her once the camera is set, and start arranging the white sheets into a sexy puddle. Drape it here and there. Cover her pussy that peeks out at me from between her ass cheeks. But just enough to hide what’s mine and not enough to hide what’s her. I want to see her curves. I position her hip this way. Her arm that way. Prop her up on one elbow, tip her neck back so I can see that scar. That fucking scar. All the scars will be in this image. It will be a tribute to her journey.

Maybe she started life with those fucked-up assholes. But she’s gonna end her life with me, so help me God.

I am going to kill someone over those scars.

Maybe a lot of someones.

Who cares anyway? I already killed that driver of Claudette’s. Nolan already killed Boring Richard. Paxton already killed Claudette. If Victoria had her way, she’d have been the one to kill Gori Junior.

What’s a few more kill shots on the score card?

“Oliver?” Katya says, breaking my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling at her as I pretend to adjust the sheet one more time.

“Do you think this will turn out OK?”

I grin. Kinda big to ease her mind. The last thing I want is to make her worry. “I’m an excellent photographer, Kat. Trust me.”