“You’ve got glass stuck to your ass, girl. I need you to snap out of it.”
My brows snap together, and I roll my lips between my teeth. She’s not facing me, but I can see how hard she’s suddenly trembling. Finally, a sign of life.
I gentle my voice even though no amount of effort can disguise the gruff sound. The command comes out steady. “I know you can hear me. Nod your head. Tell me you’re listening.”
Her head bobs, and she whimpers.
“Your knees are done, but I’ve gotta get these shards out of your ass. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
She whimpers louder but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge what I said.
“Never violate you. Not into that. I’m just gonna clean you up. You hear me?”
Nothing.
I start to lose my temper. “You got a mouth on you, don’t you? Answer me.”
“Y-yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling as hard as her hands.
There’s no time to waste before she launches back into la-la land, so I work quickly. I lift the hem of the tee and clench my teeth. A breath of air puffs out of my chest before I can remember how to exhale properly. The tips of my fingers curl tighter into the cotton fabric while I try to contain myself.
Hundreds of thin, shallow lines cover every inch of her bare skin from her lower back to the middle of her thighs. Every direction and varying lengths as though she was beat repeatedly with some thin reed or sliced into methodically.
My gut constricts, and I choke back the bile rushing up my throat. I tell myself it’s from the weekend bender. Those three days of drinking and snorting coke with no food are making me sick. I tell myself that because if I admit the truth, I’d admit there’s a bit of decency left in me after all.
“I know how ugly I am.” Her soft whisper pulls me back to this house, this bathroom, this minute. It takes a second for the words to register, and she takes my silence as assent.
Her small hands try to brush me away. “Just leave it. I can get the rest myself.”
“There’s nothing ugly about the scars inflicted on us by others. What’s ugly is letting them sink down deep enough that it starts to come out of your eyes and your mouth. You can’t let what someone else did to you affect the way you see yourself. Speak about yourself. You can’t let it.” The small fire I see inside her captures my interest and pulls the words out before I can stop them.
She peeks over her shoulder at me. “You really believe that?”
I grunt in response. “I’m goin’ to get to work here. It’ll be quick. Hold still.”
The silence lasts for only a beat before her soft voice fills the small space. “I haven’t seen you around much since I woke up. I’ve spent a lot of time with Elias. He’s been really nice.”
Plink. Plink.
“Um…and I just want to say that…that I’m sorry for intruding on you like this.”
Plink.
“And I’ll, uh, get out of here as soon as I can. A couple of days tops.”
“No.”
The muscles of her legs tighten as she goes rigid. “What?” she breathes.
“You got family?” I ask while staying focused on my task.
“I, no. Not anymore.”
“You got a place to go? A job? Money?”
“I can take care of myself. I’ll find a job.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
“Yeah? You think you can just waltz into some business wearing one of Elias’s tees like a dress and someone will hire you with no background and no work history besides the fact you were recently a prostitute?”
The girl sucks in a sharp breath that I feel all the way in my gut. Fucking Christ.
“How did you know that?”
“None of your damn business how I know. Point is, you’ll stay put until we can figure out what to do with you.”
The last piece of glass comes free, which means I can stop staring at her damn ass and pretending I’m unaffected. Which I’m not. The scars are prominent, sure, but they don’t detract from the beauty in front of my face that I wouldn’t mind sinking my teeth into. Fuck, I’m a sick bastard.
After carefully applying some ointment, I tape the cuts with a large piece of gauze and some medical tape.
“Turn around,” I command gruffly.
The girl does, and I snatch her small wrist and go to work on her hands. To her, my focus is on the shards in her palms. That’s because I don’t want her to see how angry her bony wrists make me.
“It seems you know more about me than I do.”
I don’t bother with a response to that total baited bullshit.
“I don’t even know my own name.”
The tweezers slip and sink into the fleshy part of her palm, but she doesn’t even flinch.
“The, ah, place I was at, they called me Chloe. Wouldn’t let me use my real name. I’m not that girl anymore either, though, you know? I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I mean, it’s really nice of you to help me. I thought, maybe, you’d want to know.”
“Pick a different one.”
“I’m sorry?” Her brows furrow in confusion.
“Your name. You’re free now. Pick a new one.”
“Oh, right. I’ll have to think of something.”
The gauze is rough beneath my thumb as I slap it over her palms and tape it down. Then I shove the kit back under the sink. The slamming cabinet door startles her.
“Get in the kitchen and make yourself some decent food. You’re a fucking skeleton.”
With that parting shot, I leave her standing in the bathroom. Her shocked stillness follows me out the door.
I don’t know if she follows or listened to my insult. I storm straight from the bathroom, grab my leather jacket, and hop on my bike, all the while ignoring the feeling in my chest and the mess left on the kitchen floor.
I need to get my father’s bar open and running again. Priorities first. Dealing with the stray is not even on my fucking list.
I make it to the bar fine in my reckless state. Get the door open, call in a few staff, and the regulars start trickling in.
Business as usual. Who gives a fuck my pop died? So long as they have their alcohol and a place to plant their asses to drown out their own problems.
After that, it’s all a blur. The bottle of liquor on my father’s desk might be to blame. The image of that girl's face and torn-up flesh swirling like a kaleidoscope in my mind might be too.
Or maybe it’s because I’m a lowlife piece of shit.
Black consumes me, and I welcome the darkness.
Chapter Four
Sin
What in the fuck is that noise?
A loud trill sounds again, reverberating around my skull like a tiny fucking jackhammer. I groan. Lifting my head from the black leather couch, I wipe the puddle of drool with the hem of my shirt.
My mouth feels like I was sucking on cotton balls all damn night. With more effort than I care to exert, I push myself from the couch and stumble to the bathroom. The auto light flicks on, blinding the hell out of me.
And that goddamn ringing won’t stop.
Turning the cold water as high as it can go, I cup my hands and drink greedily. After I’ve had my fill—enough to take away the thirst but not enough to make me puke—I splash some coolness on my face to wake up.