It was my first test. Pass or fail, the scars are a reminder of all the times I failed. All the nights I screamed and cried until their disgusting needs were satisfied.
They took everything from me.
My pride. My future. My life.
Stripped as easily as they did my nightgown all those years ago. It was humiliating, even for a pre-pubescent girl.
So I got smarter. Stronger.
And when I was finally strong enough to take back what was mine, I took it all. I took until their screams broke through my callused shell. Until their blood soaked through my clothes and the life drained from their eyes.
Their pride. Their future. Their life.
I took back what was mine.
Ronan’s wet nose nudges me gently, knocking me free of my thoughts and back into the present. He’s looking at me expectantly, our morning exercise long overdue at this hour.
“You’re such a good boy. Always keeping me on track.”
I bend down and cover his scars with my lips. Kissing away the past, I cuddle my baby boy until he’s antsy and restless to run.
“Alright, go get your collar.”
He lets out a bark and goes to get the sparkly monstrosity I fell in love with a few weeks ago. Clipping it onto his neck, I ruffle his ears one last time and straighten my spine.
“You ready?”
Tilting my head, I study the white scars breaking through his dark fur. The lines so faint and pale you would have to know exactly where to look to see them.
I bend down and run my finger over his skull. Pushing the fur aside, I feel the bumpy ridge that caresses the bone, the years of abuse leaking through years of recovery.
Abuse that can be easily hidden by a thick patch of hair.
Or murals of ink.
I press my fingers against the scars, thinking about the uneven texture of Christopher’s skin. A texture no tattoo artist would have been able to create, not even with the most intricate design.
A chill settles deep in my bones, one that won’t be easily washed away by my baby’s affection. It’s the kind of gut-clenching feeling that drives my feet through the forbidden forest and into the darkness.
Knife in hand, I go racing for the closest solution.
The wrong that almost makes me feel alright.
Chapter 20
CHRISTOPHER
The silence is deafening.
“But you got the diamond, right? The Hoffmann Diamond?”
I stare at the screen of my phone, seeing the faces of my crew. None of them look happy to see me and I can’t say I blame them.
“No. There was a… situation.”
“A situation.” Horace leans forward, his left nostril taking up most of the camera, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Calista got the diamond as well.”
