Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
I stared at my body in the mirror. I tried not to anymore. But some days—like today—it was hard not to stare at the mess I had become. I was hardly eating anymore, which was the fight Ink and I had earlier. He found out that I wasn’t, and he confronted me about it.
He wasn’t the kind of man to just let me lay around and neglect myself.
I flipped my shit—told him I wouldn’t be controlled—that he could find some other club bitch if he was just looking for the classic, perfect old lady to follow his every command.
Eating was the only thing I felt like I had any kind of say-so in—any kind of control over.
My body? It was littered with scars—healed cuts, cigarette burns, whip lashings. The skin on my back was mangled, and it had never healed properly. Instead, I was left with this shit to deal with.
I quickly stripped out of the rest of my clothes and stepped into the shower. And I cried. I couldn’t help it. I was so weak, so destroyed. There was no saving a woman like me.
I dropped to my knees on the floor, dropping my face into my hands. Charles had always had a thing for me, and I had ignored all of his advances. So, he had taken me as his the first moment he could, and he fucking destroyed me. He made sure no other man would ever want to look at me.
I hadn’t let Ink touch me. Ink and I—we’d never even had sex, not even orally. I had never let him see my body. He respected that—gave me space when I wanted to shower or change my clothes.
I didn’t deserve a man like him.
I sobbed, my shoulders shaking. Some days, I wanted to commit suicide, but then, that would only send me to Hell right along with the man that still haunted my fucking dreams, still haunted my every waking thought.
Because of Charles, I barely held myself together anymore. I could barely stand it when another man that wasn’t Ink touched me. I even flinched at my brother’s comforting touch—the one man that I knew would never fucking hurt me, only protect me and take care of me.
I was so lost in my head that I didn’t hear the bathroom door open, but I jerked up in shock, my panicked eyes meeting Ink’s when he flung back the shower curtain. My bottom lip trembled, and his eyes reflected what I knew was in mine—pain, suffering, anguish.
“No, baby,” he whispered. He stepped into the shower fully dressed, and he pulled me into his arms, cradling my naked body in his arms as he sat on the shower floor. “Not like this, my girl. Not alone.”
I sobbed, my tears coming harder and faster. His hand was touching my back, but he wasn’t even paying it any attention. He just held me close to him, his arms circling around me like bands of steel. “I’m a mess. I’m so sorry,” I cried.
“Shh,” he soothed, his lips brushing over my temple. I sobbed. “You may be a mess, my girl, but you’re my fucking mess, you hear me? Don’t do this shit to yourself, baby. I’m here. No matter what the fuck we fight about, you can always come to me. I’ll push aside whatever we were fighting about, and I’ll hold you together until you feel like you can do it on your own again.”
“He destroyed me.” I hiccupped. “I can’t—you can’t want me like this. I’m not strong enough.”
“That’s a fucking lie,” he grumbled. “You’re stronger than any fucking woman I know. You know why?” I looked up at him through my dark eyes, his green eyes clashing with mine. “Because I can see how much it kills you to force yourself out of bed every morning, and yet you do. You put on a brave face for all of us fuckers here, hiding your pain behind those beautiful, dark eyes. Not a goddamn other woman I know can do that shit, my girl.”
“But my body—my face—"
He cut me off by pressing soft, tender kisses to the scar on my face as he ran his hand over my back. I whined, my hands fisting in his wet cut as more tears slid down my cheeks at his tender touch.
“Perfect,” he rasped. “Your scars show your strength, my girl, and that, in my eyes, is just a visual reminder of the strength you carry inside of yourself.” He gripped my chin and tilted my head back, forcing me to look up at him. “How long were you planning on hiding from me, baby?”
A wry, broken smile titled my lips the slightest bit. “Forever,” I admitted in a soft whisper.
He took my lips in a soft, slow kiss. “You don’t have to hide anymore, my girl. Because now, I’ve seen it all, and I love every broken, fragile piece of you.” He cupped my cheek. “There are no more excuses for running, Jessie, no more hiding. This—" he grabbed my hand, placing it on his chest, “me—this is what matters,” he told me. My bottom lip trembled. “I’m here. And I know you’re stubborn as fuck, but after what I just saw—what I just walked in on—I’m never fucking walking away from you again.” He smiled wryly. “I don’t give a fuck if we shout this entire fucking clubhouse down to the ground.”