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Clenchingthe strands.
Wanting to yank them out of his fucking scalp.
He’d seen a lot of her in the hospital, back at his place—her arms, her torso, even the bottom parts of her thighs.
But he hadn’t looked at the tops of them—hadn’t allowed himself to notice, anyway—his gaze sliding straight through any of her personal bits in the practiced way of having seen hundreds upon hundreds of personal bits.
If he had—
“Fuck,” he growled, pushing off the hood of the car, taking a few steps away. He dropped his arms, fists pressed to his waist, head tilted back, eyes on the sky.
Breathing.
Regaining control.
Then he turned around, moved back to her and carefully, oh so fucking carefully, traced the line of cigarette burns that mirrored her bikini line, brushed his fingers over the ridges of an old scar. An oldburn.
“There are more,” she whispered. “On my back. And there were others, but they’re beneath the new ones.”
Shit.“Sweetheart.”
“My parents are addicts,” she whispered. “Heavy users and my mom, in particular, was abusive. Though my dad was the reason I ended up in the burn ward the first time. His drug of choice was booze, and he managed to burn our trailer down. My mom—” She swallowed. “She didn’t like me.Stilldoesn’t like me. And”—a hand toward the row of burns—“she was smart about showing that dislike. She always hurt me where it wouldn’t be noticed. The burns here.” She touched her leg before smoothing her shorts back down then lifted an arm, touching the parts of her body in turn. “Bruises on my back, my ribs, my chest. Hidden hurts until I was old enough to fight back, to stop her from taking her anger out on me.”
“Shit, Raven,” he said softly, sitting back down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and tugging her against him.
“I saw the girl’s marks,” she whispered. “Saw the bruises, and I was ready to step in, to demand you report it. I was ready to think the worst of you—that you’d ignore the injuries or discount them or miss them—but you didn’t. And you made that girl’s life better, at least for a few minutes. You listened to her, addressed her pain, and then you contacted the proper authorities.”
He didn’t remember the girl.
He wished he did.
Wished he could follow up with the girl, with the girl who reminded Raven of herself, wished he could make sure she was okay.
But there were a lot of cases like the little girl, too freaking many for him to remember them all.
He just…wished he remembered that one.
“I didn’t get that help,” she whispered, “and the first man I let into my life…he wasn’t a good choice either. I—” She clamped her lips together.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, tugging her closer, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry. He—”
“The rest of it,” she said quickly, leaning into him, resting her temple against his chest, “is that he was good, and I liked him. Ilovedhim, and I still messed things up.”
He waited for her to give him more, wanting the rest of it, but not willing to push her to disclose something that was painful, something that would rehash things better left buried.
“He was the was the only man I’d ever been drawn to—” Her head lifted, their eyes connecting. “Until you. So everything else aside—work, your brothers and my friends,you—I couldn’t risk it.”
Shit.
Fuck.
He got it now.
And there was too much shit running through his head, too many questions and demands for information.
Name. Social security number. Last known address.
Get Carter and Chance to pull their magic.
