Page 7 of His End Game

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

But I do know.

I wear gloves twenty-four-seven because of the reason why.

Flashes of the dirty motel bathroom I was tied up in fill my vision and I squeeze my eyes shut to be rid of them. I wasn’t conscious when my hands were burned to a crisp, but it doesn’t stop my imagination from filling in the blanks. Only my imagination comes to me when I sleep. In my nightmares, my throat burns raw from screaming from the pain. I gag on the smell of burning flesh, and I struggle to breathe through searing pain.

“You know, it’s normal to be plagued by bad memories. I shy away from the smell of whisky. Occasionally, I’ll catch a whiff and before I can stop them, all the bad memories resurface, and it takes me back to that night.”

I don’t need to ask what she’s talking about. After I first went to stay at the cabin with Leo, he’d talk to me in the middle of the night after he woke me from my nightmares. It’s the only time I hear him talk about the night he lost India.

“Oh, it’s not that. I’m fine now. He’s dead and I’m still here.”

Again, it’s a lie. It’s not like we’re friends. I think we’ve spoken once or twice, and it was only in passing.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m a good listener.”

I frown. “You don’t even know me.”

“You’re a part of the club, aren’t you?”

Snorting, I instantly wish I could take it back. I don’t mean any offence.

“Not really. Leo pays me to watch over Rayna.”

Her eyes narrow, but not in a glaring way. “For Leo to keep you close, for you to be able to sit at this bar without being questioned, you’re a part of the club. It’s not all about dicks and patches.”

I can’t help the short laugh that escapes me.

“Thanks, but I am fine. I’m just tired.”

“I thought you said you were going over to the house?” Luca cuts me off.

Victoria’s eyes glaze over with lust, and she slides off the stool and into his arms. Like everyone else, he doesn’t acknowledge my presence. He slings his arm around her shoulders and pulls her toward the door. She throws me a wave before disappearing outside.

Twisting the cap off, I drink half the water. Before I ended up in Leo’s life, all I sought was fun. I stupidly believed I had found that with Tal, or Ethan, as he was called. A summer of fun before leaving town to find my own path in life. Sometimes, I still don’t know how I ended up here after all this time. All around me are couples, openly loving each other, not afraid or embarrassed to show affection to one another. I went from wanting a good time to developing feelings for a guy who can’t let go of his dead fiancée. Don’t get me wrong, I totally understand, but I hate it.

I’ve thought about trying to be the girl I once was. There are certainly plenty of loose-living brothers around the place that would be all too happy to indulge me, but then I’m sharply reminded I’ll never be that girl again. It only takes one look at my gloved hands for all the efforts to vanish.

Who the hell would want my scarred hands all over them? It would be enough to soften their hard-ons and fill them with disgust. And it’d be weird to keep gloves on, just like it cringes me out when guys keep their socks on. Either way, I lose.

“Can I get you a beer? My treat.”

Snapping out of my thoughts, Shane is leaning on the bar in front of me. I should decline the beer and ask for tequila. I should get wasted and numb the self-hatred, but I say, “Thank you, but I should get back to the house.”

“Maybe another night?”

Smiling, I say, “Yeah, maybe.”

Taking my regrets and sorrows with me, I walk over to the main house and let myself in. The old ladies are in the kitchen, their laughter and the smell of wine and good times assaulting me as soon as I hit the stairs.

It’s not that I particularly want to join them, but sometimes I wish they would offer. After checking on Rayna, who’s finally crashed out and tucked up in her bed, I close myself in my room and slip my gloves off.

Keeping the light off, it’s the only time I can look at the mottled scarred skin. Revulsion nearly cripples me, and I grab a clean set of gloves from the dresser and hide my hands away once again. It’s bad enough I live with the constant feeling of tightness over them, but sometimes, so rarely, I sometimes forget it happens. I forget what’s been done to me.

Curling up on my bed, I drag the sheets over me and release the first tear of the night.

A part of me wonders if Zara will be sitting at Leo’s bedside when we walk into his room. My heart pounds at the thought. Leo made it clear he feels nothing for me, though he’s spent many nights sleeping in the same bed as me. When I’m not being irrational, I get he’s probably chasing the loneliness away as I do and I’m reading into shit that isn’t there.

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