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I hug my wrist closer and close my eyes.
I am not ready for this.
Ares leans closer, his voice soft and reassuring, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. “Don’t be afraid of me, little one. You can trust me with your secrets.”
The tenderness in his voice sends tears to my eyes, and my face tightens with emotion.
It’s crazy because I don’t even know him.
But it feels like I can tell him anything.
I hold up my wrist so he can see the puckered scar etched into my skin. It’s a permanent reminder of my evil stepfather and how creative he could get with his teeth.
My voice is monotoned, almost alien, when I say, “The first time he raped me, I was fifteen. This was a warning to keep quiet.”
I hear his rough exhale of breath behind me before he mutters, “Goddammit.”
“After that, he visited me whenever my mom was bombed on vodka and pills, which was pretty much every night, and did whatever he wanted to do to me.”
Ares curls his big hand over mine and brings my knuckles to his gentle lips. “You don’t need to talk about it. If it hurts—”
“It does. But I want to share this with you.”
I can’t explain why. As a rule, I don’t tell anyone about what happened to me. About the horrible things Donnie did to me and how my mother let him.
But I feel safe in Ares’ arms, and it makes me want to get it off my chest.
It feels good to get it off my chest.
He squeezes my hand. “Did you tell anyone?”
“I told my mom once, but she slapped me across the face and told me I was making it up because I didn’t want to see her happy. The second time I told her, she slapped me harder and accused me of being an attention-seeker, so I packed a bag and ran away, only for the authorities to bring me back home. No one believed me.”
Ares’ voice is rough. “Why?”
My stepfather had enough cops on his payroll to start his own damn police department.
But I don’t share that detail with Ares because it will only make him curious.
And I can’t risk him wanting to know more and finding out the truth.
“My mom didn’t want to face it. Or she didn’t care. The jury is still out on that one.”
It wasn’t because she loved Donnie. She wasn’t capable of love. That the jury is sure about. No, it was because she didn’t want anything to upset the apple cart that was her life. My stepfather kept her in the life she was accustomed to, and every now and again, all she had to do was open her legs and fake like she enjoyed it.
And turn a blind eye to him messing with her daughter.
I swallow back the image of him creeping into my bedroom at night.
“You mentioned once that you had a brother,” Ares says.
I stiffen. “Yes.”
“Did you tell him?”
“He was away at college on a football scholarship when my mom met Donnie. We weren’t as close by then. When he left home, he stayed gone.”
“And your uncle, the one who owned the gym?”
