Page 1 of Savagely Scarred

Chapter One

Kyle

My thoughts are interrupted by sloppy wet sounds, bringing me back to the present. I look down at the brunette greedily sucking my cock. Her eyes rise to meet mine and my grip tightens in her hair. They’re not the correct shade of blue. They’re too dark.

They’re not Olivia’s.

A snarl takes over my face and I close my eyes, picturing her kneeling before me instead. My wife. I don’t care what the fuck her lawyer did while I was in prison—she is still mine.

My dick grows thicker thinking about her lips wrapped around me and I slam myself to the back of the girl’s throat, making her gag. Her nails dig into my jeans seeking reprieve, but I don’t give it to her.

Instead, I thrust into her mouth relentlessly while I picture taking Olivia from behind when she was hanging from the beam of her father’s cabin. Her cries of anguish filling the damp, musty space.

“Fuck,” I groan.

I fist the girl’s hair, holding her head still while I fuck her face harder. She pushes against my thighs, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. She’s not allowed to breathe until I come down her throat.

A vision of licking blood off Olivia’s ribs has me coming undone. The way she flinched from my touch and whimpered, her eyes filling with tears of despair.

“Fuck! Yes,” I hiss. A shudder rolls down my spine right before my cum fills her mouth. As soon as my hold on the girl loosens, she scrambles backward, falling on her ass and gasping for air.

I tuck myself back into my jeans while watching her remove the drool from her chin. She sniffs and wipes frantically at her wet cheeks, refusing to make eye contact now.

I was right. Olivia has ruined me for all other women. The only way I can get off now is when I picture her. Her perfect body that I scarred. Her tears. Her cries. The torment in her haunting blue eyes.

My head tilts towards the mirror behind the salon chair. I run my fingers through my now dirty blonde hair, making sure she perfectly matched my eyebrows and the beard I grew out. Satisfied, I pull out my wallet and throw a handful of twenties at her.

“See you in a few weeks,” I promise.

She sniffs and collects the money before picking herself off the floor. I don’t even wait for her response before walking towards the door. Before leaving, I turn the sign back over so it reads 'Open' from the outside.

Bells clang as the door closes behind me and I start walking down the street. The June heat radiates all around me. The temperature inside of the city is always more intense with the sunlight reflecting off the building’s windows and hundreds of miles of asphalt. It permeates the air and mingles with the smells of different foods and the stench of the trash along the sidewalks. I’ve always hated New York City.

Too many places to hide.

Good thing my little princess decided to move out of her parent’s house. I only had two entry points into that house anyway. And a man on the inside. Trevor is now useless to me behind bars. And after I kidnapped her, there was no way I was getting in again without having a gun pointed at my head.

Heading back to my apartment, I turn the corner and bump into a tan woman with jet black hair, knocking the shopping bag from her hand. Being the gentleman that I am, I bend down to pick it up and hold it out to her.

“My apologies.” I force a smile.

My hazel eyes meet her big brown ones, and she gives me a questioning look before thanking me. I nod my head and continue past her toward my place.

Ava Delvina.

My wife’s best friend.

Her face said that she recognized me but couldn’t place me. And she won’t. I never met Ava. I’m sure Olivia has told her about me, but the only pictures of me floating around are from over ten years ago, the last being my mugshot. Since then, I’ve gained about fifty pounds of muscle, and I’ve been dying my hair since Olivia stabbed me and left me to die.

She stabbed me.

Can you believe that?

After everything I gave her—after everything I did for her. She buried that screwdriver in my side like I was some kind of monster. No hesitation. No tears. Just rage. And betrayal.

It was beautiful.

I still remember the way her hand trembled. The heat of her breath. The look in her eyes—not fear, not sorrow—defiance. She thought she was taking her power back. She thought she’d won. But all she did was remind me how deep I live in her.