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“How did she die?” She places her hand on my chest, making my muscles tense. The warmth of her palm spreads out through my body, and I know I should push her off, but I don’t want to. She makes me so conflicted about everything, and I hate second guessing myself.
“Her rich husband at the time murdered her.” Zamira sucks in a gasp, while her fingers press harder into my chest. The ache where my heart is supposed to be is growing rapidly to the point it’s almost unbearable.
“W-were you there when it happened?” The tremble in her voice has me staring at her intently. Does she actually care or is this all part of her game?
“Yes.” My hand covers hers as I let her feel the erratic beat thumping beneath her palm.
“Is that how you got the scar?” Her chin tilts up defiantly, refusing to look weak after asking such a personal question. She’s asked it before, but I’ve refused to give her what she wants.
“Yes.” The swooshing of blood pumping through my veins seems to drown out any other noise in the room. There’s only the sound of my echoing heart trying to eradicate the hole in my chest that was left by the loss of my mother. She was the only family I had, the only person who understood me. The only person who could simultaneously make me feel unstoppable and disappoint me at the same time.
“How did it happen?” She breaks free of my hold on her hand, slowly inching it toward my face. The rigid tightness of my body has me holding in my breath. Every inch of my skin screams to stop her from touching the ugly scar that reminds me every day how I was too weak to save my mom’s life. The reminder that I’m nothing more than a monster, both on the inside and outside.
But I want to feel her warmth. I want her to feel the jagged edges and the bumps of the disgusting scar, because she doesn’t look at it with disdain. She looks at it with wonder and curiosity. She doesn’t look at me like I make her sick, but rather with understanding. With knowledge that the truth is more than just the way we present ourselves or the way we look.
Her tiny fingers gently land on my forehead where the scar starts as she begins tracing over each curve and edge of the line. The lingering ghost of her touch as she moves away from each part tingles while it waits for her to return to trace it all over again. I’ve never let anyone touch my scar since it healed. Only the doctors touched it when I first got it, and since then, no one else has.
The light coming in from the window shows a soft twinkle in her eye as she studies my face, like she’s never going to see it again. Her touch encourages me to keep going with the story, but she doesn’t press for any information that won’t come naturally.
“He was trying to rape her when I walked in. He was accusing her of sleeping with his butler, and I tried to stop him.” My mouth feels like a desert, drying up as I remember the scene unfolding in that bedroom. “I was able to push him off her, but he was so much bigger than me. He was strong, and I was just a weak eleven-year-old.”
The smooth pads of her fingers stop on my cheekbone so she can cup my face. She doesn’t say anything, but it feels like millions of words are passing between us at the same time.
“He punched me in the face so many times, but I still fought, while my head was spinning from how dizzy I was. He stabbed my mom, and when I tried to stop him, he swung the knife out and attacked me, mangling my face. He stabbed me as well and left me for dead along with my mother. I remember him calling someone to tell them that he fucked up. He needed help, but I passed out soon after that. The next thing I remember was waking up in a hospital with nothing familiar in sight. I was told my mother and I were found behind an abandoned warehouse in what appeared to be a fatal mugging. My mother died and I was supposed to die with her. Whoever he had clean up the scene forgot to make sure I was actually dead before they threw me out like the garbage.”
The memories flood to the front of my brain after waking up in that hospital, being told my mother was dead and that we were apparently in a mugging that turned into a bloodbath. All I am reminded of is how I am the reason my mother is dead. She wanted a better life for me. She thought she was helping, and when she needed me most, I crumbled, unable to find the strength to fight to save her.
“But that’s not what happened. Did you tell them that?”
“I did, but they looked at me like I was trash, like I was the scum of the Earth. My mom and I were from the wrong side of the city. We were nobodies. I tried to tell them who did it, but no one would believe me. How could someone with his prestige be with a woman like my mom? I knew the cops were dirty, and fucking Ben had enough money to line their pockets, but I hoped they had some morality. Turned out they didn’t.” What’s done is done and I can’t change the past, but I can make sure those that left a child to rot and die get what they deserve.
“I know what it’s like to tell the truth and have no one believe you,” she whispers. I open my mouth to ask what she means by that, but she interrupts me with another question. “Where is he now?” The tenderness and hesitancy in her voice make me want to tell her that he was held accountable in the court of law by a jury of his peers, but let’s be practical, she wouldn’t believe me if I lied.
“He’s dead.”
“Did you kill him?” My eyes stay locked on hers as I pull her hand away from my face. Her brows crease from the movement, but she doesn’t say anything.
“That’s enough for tonight. We need to sleep.” I move my hand to trace the cut on her forehead from her encounter with Ace. She leans into my touch, fluttering her eyes closed from the tender motions I make around the bruising area.
“He didn’t do it on purpose, just so you know.” It’s like she’s trying to justify not only Ace’s action, but all of ours. Like she knows we only hurt her together in a controlled atmosphere. Not like that makes it any better, but it’s still good to know he’s not completely lost on us.
“I know, princess,” I whisper as her eyes finally close. Her breath evens out, succumbing to the exhaustion of the day.
She’s in a deep hole with us that she won’t be escaping from, but the same could be said for us. All of our feelings have shifted, and I know it’s only a matter of time before we truly test her. Before we see what she’s made of and if she’s truly like us.
“You better be careful, princess. You’re falling for the Saints, and the place we rule is Hell.”
The sunlight shines through my eyelids, making me groan. I didn’t realize how bad it was not having blinds on the windows until that first morning I woke up in this room. Of course, these assholes thought of everything—even taking the fucking blinds.
Scrunching my eyes, I turn my head, burying my face into the muscular chest beside me. Theon stayed with me last night, but it was different from our first night together. This time, he wasn’t hugging the edge of the bed, acting like I’d give him a disease if he got any closer. Instead, last night, he let me cuddle up next to him, which was nice. He’s oddly comfortable for a mountain of muscles.
Our conversation got personal real fast. The fact that he even opened up to me was surprising. I know I threatened to annoy him all night, but I would’ve given up eventually. It seemed like he wanted to share though. Like there was another reason why he told me about his past.
Learning what happened makes me angry enough to tear the world apart, and softens my heart in a way I didn’t expect. His story pulled on my heart in ways I didn’t imagine, enough to almost make me spill personal facts about my past. I understand what it feels like when the police don't believe you. They're supposed to serve and protect, but the only thing they’re really serving is their bank accounts.
I’m finding myself connecting to Blais and Theon more each day—Ace is a different story. That man hasn’t opened up at all.
Snuggling happily into his large body, my head lies perfectly on his chest, moving with his deep breaths, as my hand rests on his defined stomach. His hand lazily draws circles across my bare lower back where my shirt has ridden up, but he hasn’t said anything to me yet.
