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“He’s taking women who look like me, isn’t he?” I asked, turning to look at Scar over my shoulder.
“I don’t know yet. It’s possible, but—”
“What did he mean by ‘little liar’?” Rafael asked, pushing forward even though Scar had said we were done. I shook my head, shoving away the memories tormenting me.
Trying to find the liar of his words, a hint of what he could have meant.
To find him with his little liar.
There was only pain. Only violation. His words drifted in one ear and out the other as he used me.
“I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. I wanted to help, wanted to give some insight, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t relive it.
“You will,” Rafael ordered, pushing even when my nails dug into the skin of Scar’s forearms where they wrapped around my waist.
“Back the fuck off,” Scar ordered, his voice deep and menacing in my ear. I knew if I didn’t do something the two men would escalate.
Images volleyed through my brain. A torment of sensations.
I collapsed in Scar’s arms, my limbs shaking with the exertion of trying to remember it wasn’t real. Not anymore.
The last thing I heard before the memory swept me up was a growl that thrummed through my body, dragging me into the safety of a warm embrace even while my mind was nothing but torment.
