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After getting Dakota fed and down to bed, Samantha ignored me for the rest of the night. I head over there now, determination in every step. We will have the conversation that’s been a long time coming. Then we’ll deal with the other issues, including my daughter’s fears for her mother.
I walk into the house, following the sound of Samantha singing. When I walk around the corner, I find her puttering around in too-short shorts and a tank top that shows the skin of her belly and lower back. She’s dancing around and singing Creep by Radiohead.
Her voice is immaculate like it’s always been. She has a natural rasp that one would assume comes from smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. It doesn’t though. It’s just always been there. When she hits high notes, her voice takes on an airy quality that sends shivers down my spine and blood straight to my cock.
That is until I see the scars that litter her lower back. I’m just about to reach out and run my fingers over them, but I pull my hand back at the last minute. Clearly, Samantha thought she’d be home alone for the day.
Rage like nothing I’ve ever felt before runs through me. I get a pretty good sense of why Dakota is so afraid of the ex. How long had he been hurting Samantha? Why didn’t she leave? Did that fucker hurt my daughter, too?
Samantha spins, a whisk in her hand, and lets out such a high-pitched scream I fear my ears are going to explode. She holds her hand to her heart. “Jesus, Shane! You scared the hell out of me!” She screeches.
I look her over from head to toe. She sees my gaze and follows it as she takes in what she’s wearing. She realizes quickly that her shirt has now ridden up her middle. A look of utter horror flashes across her face before it drains of all color.
“Shane.” She whispers.
I take a step toward her. She steps back. I follow until she’s pressed up against the wall. When I have her trapped, I grab her and turn her so that I’m not looking in her face while I ask her the question at the tip of my tongue.
I lift her shirt to take in all the damage six years caused. “Who did this?”
Samantha gasps but stays silent.
“Sunshine, did he do this? The man you ran to when you left?” I ask. Again, she doesn’t answer. “Samantha. Tell me now before I lose my shit.”
“Some of them.” She responds in a small voice.
“And the rest?” I ask. “And don’t lie to me.”
“There were other men.” She responds.
“What do you mean, and how many others?”
“Too many.” That’s all she gives me.
They say when rage takes over, your vision goes red. Not so much. My vision goes black and then in vivid color I see faceless men taking advantage of her. Too many to count as they slice ribbons into her back. None of the cuts are extremely deep or long. Just enough to leave scars and a reminder they were there.
“They touched you?” I ask, and she nods. “Where did they touch you?”
Samantha shakes her head, a small sob the only sound she releases. I turn her back around to face me. My finger under her chin raises her face to mine. She closes her eyes tightly.
“Look at me,” I order. My voice is husky from emotion that I’m barely holding in.
I want to wail for the tears that are spilling down her cheeks. I want to hunt every motherfucker down that hurt her and show them what happens to anyone who dares mess with those I love.
I raise my hand and put my fingers against her lips. “Did they touch you here?” I whisper.
“Yes.”
My hand travels to her breasts. “And here?”
“Yes.”
I continue my trek down her body until I’m cupping her between her legs. “And here? Did you let them touch you here?”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes on the ground.
“Don’t you dare look away from me, Samantha. You will face this. We'll face it together.”
She looks back up at me, some of the fire returning to her eyes. “I didn’t want them to touch me, Shane. I didn’t ask for any of it. It was my only way of protecting Dakota.”
