Chapter 10 #2
Bianca hiccupped, her fingers curling in the fabric of my shirt.
“It was about a year before I was adopted,” she began.
She’d barely started, and already, the stirrings of anger swelled in me.
“And, one time, I decided to fight back,” she said. “That’s how it happened. So I g-guess, technically, it’s my fault.”
What?
My breath caught as I squeezed her. This was not what I’d expected.
“You… fought back.”
She nodded. My pulse quickened.
Was she going to talk about the abuse? But she’d never opened up to anyone about this before. She’d barely acknowledged it had even happened. For years, all anyone ever had to go on was outside evidence.
It was horrible and cowardly, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear this.
Somehow, despite the raging turmoil burning within me, I didn’t know if I could.
“I wasn’t supposed to do anything,” she sniffled. “Not even if I was scared.”
I could hardly hear her over the pounding in my ears.
“But I was sick that day, and it was hard to think…” Her voice trailed off in the end, or maybe it was becoming harder to focus through the red cloak falling over my vision, and I missed her words. I wasn’t sure.
“And he was hurting me,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
Hatred made my vision flash with blood and murder. I was going to kill them.
“I kicked him,” she said, her voice gaining conviction and force. “Normally, it wouldn’t have worked, but he wasn’t walking right that time, and he fell into the window. There was glass everywhere—and a lot of blood.”
Was this a regular ‘client’? And she was sick? “What—”
“I got cut, and they burned me to stop the bleeding,” she said, her breath hitching. “M-Mr. Richards said it had to be this way because I was bad. It was my fault.”
“They burned you?” Shadows began to creep along the tent walls as my control slipped. But her small form trembling against me kept the darkness at bay. “Why would it be your fault?”
“Because I fought back,” she repeated her earlier remark.
“Did Eric Richards normally treat you when you were hurt?” I asked. “Did they ever take you to the doctor?”
She shook her head against me. “Mr—Mr. Richards never touched me. They only took me when things were really bad. Otherwise, it was his job. To learn.”
“Who is he ?” I asked, somehow, through the pounding in my head.
She shook her head again, not answering, before she pressed her face against my chest. “Damen, you’re hurting me.”
Her statement barely registered through my tumultuous thoughts, but when it did, I forced my arms to relax. She was so small against me, so warm and sweet, that everything in me recoiled at the thought of her getting hurt. I breathed through my rage, hoping to steady my spiraling emotions.
I had to hold it together. Nothing good would come from giving in to my true nature.
“Where is it?” I was mildly curious, trying to steer the conversation from Eric Richards himself. I knew the scar was on her upper thigh, but I was unsure of the exact location.
She was shaking, and I almost regretted asking—of course, she would be afraid to talk about it further—but then she spoke, voice steady. “It’s ugly.”
Her statement hung in the air between us.
“I doubt it,” I answered with complete sincerity. Nothing about her could ever be ugly.
She sucked in a breath, trembling, and I almost thought she would change the subject, but then she surprised me.
“I guess it’s fine,” she sighed. “You’ve basically seen my boobs already.”
What? Her boobs ? What did that have to do with anything?
Bianca shifted in my arms, fidgeting with her leggings, and my thoughts slammed to a halt.
She couldn’t mean…
I couldn’t breathe, her intentions suddenly clear.
I’d only asked a question! Why in the world was she showing me?
“Don’t make fun of my underwear,” she warned, a note of embarrassment in her voice.
I barely held back my laugh as panic threatened to pull me under. That was her concern?
I just wanted to know why she was stripping .
What the fuck was I supposed to do about this?
I inched backward, giving her space to move freely. My warring emotions clouded my thoughts, and I had no idea what was happening—all I could do was focus on her.
Her button nose was wrinkled, and her face was the picture of concentration as she twisted to undress. I couldn’t look away.
I didn’t understand why she was doing this.
She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“There,” she said, tugging on the waistband of her pink lace panties. “It’s awful.”
I had no idea what she was talking about.
Her skin was perfect and smooth, and while the shorts Maria had dressed her in for the slumber party weren’t underwear , they’d left little to the imagination. So this wasn’t much more than I’d already seen, and I couldn’t imagine what she thought I’d notice…
But then again, Bianca hadn’t been lying less than a foot away from me then. Plus, it’d been hard to get a good look with the others nearby.
However, at this moment, I could look without distraction. She was entirely mine.
My drive for revenge plans and fury faded, and I was unable to tear my gaze from the half-naked girl beside me. But then, as my vision moved up the length of her thigh and along the soft curve of her hip, I saw it, and my blood cooled.
A small portion of rough, scarred skin extended from the place where her underwear covered her groin. I moved without thinking, moving until my chest was over her knees, and pushed the lace band away until the entirety of the scar was exposed.
The wound was about two inches thick and as long as my hand. I tentatively touched it; it felt like leather.
Everything else faded; the sight would be forever burned into my memory.
The sight of that marred flesh on her perfect skin made my blood boil.
“Bianca…” What could I say? What could I do to make it better?
“I’m s-s-sorry,” she breathed, her voice trembling.
I tore my gaze from the sight, glancing up to her face. But her arms were thrown over her eyes, and—through my shock—I realized she was shaking harder than before.
I frowned, crawled until my face was even with her stomach, and crossed my arms over her hips, resting there. She’d been triggered the last time I touched her near here, but right now, she didn’t seem to be bothered by it at all.
“Why are you sorry?” I asked.
“It’s really ugly,” she said. “And despite how you keep your home, I know you like pretty things.”
I scowled. What did she have against my house?
But I understood what she was saying—I’d seen her side-eyeing certain pieces of my collections—and something came to me.
“Do you know why I like antiques?”
She shook her head, still hiding under her arms.
“Because they survived ,” I explained. “A true collector doesn’t care if a piece is imperfect, and a little wear and tear is good. When something is strong, sturdy, and dependable, a scratch won’t affect its worth.”
“You could at least fix up the outside…” she muttered. “It looks haunted.”
“I’m not talking about my house.”
Bianca was smart. Not grasping cultural references was one thing, but this was entirely different.
There was no way she was this dense.
She inched her arms from her face, glancing down at me. Her cheeks had dusted over a light pink. “I know…” she admitted, further confirming my suspicions.
I had thought this might be the case for a while now, but—
“When you change the subject or pretend you don’t know what’s happening, is it because you’re avoiding the conversation?”
Her skin deepened to an almost scarlet color, and she could no longer meet my eyes. “Don’t analyze me.”
I was right—my chest twisted with both pride and fury. Pride that she’d found a way to survive and fury that it’d been necessary.
“I guess the bigger question is this: are you doing it purposefully? Or is it happening on a subconscious level?”
She frowned at me.
“Or maybe it’s a bit of both?” I raised my eyebrow; the possibility had never occurred to me before. Did she also do it in her thoughts?
Trinity’s notes did say she had an avoidant personality, but this was extreme. Still, this was a hell of a defense mechanism—no wonder she wasn’t getting any better.
“You’re not bothered right now?” I asked.
A calculating gleam entered her eyes—a look Mu often wore while thinking unkind things about people. I’d seen this expression more often than not being leveled in my direction lately.
“Actually,” she began, her voice a conspiring whisper. “You are kind of annoying.”
I fought the urge to smile. I didn’t mind if she sassed, just so long as it was only between the two of us and that it was without malice.
I still had a reputation to uphold.
“And you’re being disrespectful,” I lightly chastised, lips twitching.
I moved slowly, carefully watching her wary expression as I wrapped my hands under her lower back.
She was tiny and could easily break with my touch.
Even though I was waiting for it, the spark of awareness never entered her narrowed gaze.
“But that’s not what I’m referring to,” I added.
Her brows lifted, more irked than curious, and I sighed, resting my cheek over the curve of her bare hip.
Her eyes widened, all traces of ire fleeing instantly. She sucked in a breath.
So, fears didn’t haunt her when she was angry. That was interesting.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Y-y-you’re lying on me.” She sounded alarmed, lost about how we’d ended up like this.
I rubbed my chin against her silky skin, making sure not to break our eye contact. “I am.”
“Your face is too c-c-close.”
“Are you scared?” I pulled back slightly.
“Yes…” she started, eyes brimming with uncertainty, and she continued. “No. I don’t know.”
“I’ve touched you here before.” I slid my hand toward her stomach, and goosebumps broke over her skin as I moved. Time seemed to freeze, the moment fragile, and she held her breath as my fingers drew closer to her navel.
It was there I paused.
Her eyes had started to take on a glassy sheen, and she’d become so tense I thought she might shatter. “Bianca?”
“P-p-please don’t touch me there.”
The pain in her voice twisted at me, and I rolled off her. I moved to my knees and gathered her against me in one quick motion. I wrapped the blanket around us.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, rocking her in my lap. But I knew what she’d say.
She shook her head, and disappointment tore through me anyway. I’d hoped there might be a chance since she’d opened up—even just a little bit—earlier.
“A-a-are you going to tell the others?”
The words seemed familiar, and it took a second before the recollection hit. She’d done this before—depended on me to tell the others her history of being locked away.
Knowing her now, it had probably taken everything for her to open up the first time. And somehow, even back then, she’d trusted me to handle things when it became too much for her.
I’d seen her relationship grow with the others: Julian had become her support, and Titus her defense. Miles’s position was still up in the air, especially since he’d run off like an idiot, but I suspected he’d be more of a comfort to her than anything.
All this time, I wasn’t sure where I’d fallen, but now I had my answer: she was asking me to be her voice .
The realization took my breath away.
Our roles were reversed from our usual dynamic, but I could do that. I would do whatever she needed.
“Do you want me to tell the others?” I asked.
This—everything that had just happened and what I’d learned—was something they should know. But at the same time, I struggled with jealousy, not wanting to share any part of her with anyone else.
But she nodded, and my resolve solidified. This was no time to be selfish.
“Then I’ll take care of it, baby girl.” I tucked her closer until her head rested snugly under my chin. Her violent trembling had subsided, and she fell perfectly in place against me.
We were almost finished. I’d already pushed her too far.
Yet, there was still one more matter that needed discussing.
“There’s something I’ve been wondering.” I tried to keep my tone light.
“What is it?” she asked, exhaustion lacing her voice.
Another stab of guilt tore through me. We’d hiked long and hard today, and she had already been anxious about Miles and upset from earlier.
Still, this would only take a moment. Besides, I was sure I already knew the answer.
However, Titus had wanted to make sure, and there hadn’t been a good opportunity to ask. And with how she closed off her emotions, there might not be another chance.
So I pressed forward. “You’ve always had that mark on your chest?”
The answer was obvious from her sudden, wary tension. “Y-y-yes.”
I almost couldn’t breathe.
“Other people have seen it?” I fought to keep the urgency from my voice. I’d be surprised if they hadn’t, considering the nature of her abuse.
“Yes…”
I expected this, but her confirmation didn’t make me feel better.
I buried my face in her hair, surrounding myself with her honeysuckle scent, as I willed my temper to calm.
Our marks were unmistakable signs of power and protection. No one with knowledge of our society could miss their significance. The fact that Richards and his people had seen Bianca’s mark meant they’d deliberately targeted her, knowing exactly who she was.