I blush.
“I’m not sure why he’s been keeping me in the dark. I don’t know much about you.”
Honesty is not my strongest suit, but I go with it for a change.
Since Victor is much taller, my head is level with the bull tattoo. As he takes a deep breath, the bull charges toward me. As he releases the breath, the bull backs away slowly. I’m mesmerized by each microscopic movement of the thick inked lines on his taut skin.
“I’m a mixed martial arts fighter, so I know all about injuries and wounds.”
And that would explain the rough skin on his hands and the physique resembling that of Dwayne Johnson.
Images of blood spattered on a ring’s floor surface in my mind… or is it an octagon? I hate fighting or any type of violence. I don’t watch the MMA fights on TV but sometimes when my mom has boyfriends over, they watch the fights together. I don’t understand what it is about abusing your body and violating the other person’s body by punching and kicking that’s so exciting.
But why am I not running from Victor right this moment? I’m not into guys who inflict pain on other people for a living, but I find myself about to drool on Victor’s chest. The bull might not appreciate that. It must be my pent-up energy, accumulated over the years of not having any boyfriends.
That must be it. Alek kept me away from Victor because he didn’t want me to be around an MMA fighter.
When we were kids and my parents’ shouting filled the house, I’d put my hands over my ears and lie in bed in the fetal position, my stomach aching. Alek would place his headphones on my ears to stop the negative words from penetrating my mind. He’d stay with me in the room, stroking my hair. He’d tell me I was the star lighting his life. Alek was my protector from anything evil—my parents, the bullies at school, the monsters under my bed. But as I grew older, it turned out the monsters were the people Mom had over.
Sometimes they became violent.
Alek is protecting me from Victor because he’s a fighter, but so what? Could that be the only reason? Is Victor violent? Yet Alek must trust Victor enough if he was okay with us coming up here by ourselves.
Something deep inside tweaks and turns in my stomach. With the abuse that I’ve suffered from my parents, strange men in the house, and Charlie, I should be running away from Victor, but instead I find my body’s reactions disturbing. I’m drawn to him, in an intense and unsettling way.
And that terrifies me.
Victor’s expert fingers spread an extra-large Band-Aid on my lower neck. I can’t believe his hands are so gentle and tender given the size of this man.
“Turn and face the mirror.” His voice is demanding. His face appears satisfied with his work.
I do as he says because I don’t want to be gawking at the bull anymore, not because he ordered me to. Victor steps even closer. If I let myself lean back an inch, my body would be completely enveloped by swelling muscles and warmed by his body heat. So I grab the cold sink with both hands and hold on for dear life.
Victor lowers the T-shirt, which seems more stretched now, at my shoulder blade.
“Wow. This knife wound has been made with precision. Straight. Deeper than I thought. Done slowly and with purpose.” His voice trembles at the end.
Our eyes lock in the mirror, and I’m unable to breathe. He’s radiating something animalistic, primal, bullish, but at the same time his square jaw and bright eyes emit intelligence. His hazel gaze gives me a questioning look. I look away. The toilet. The bathroom floor. The sink. Anywhere but the intensity in his face.
Victor starts doing his magic on my second wound.
“This one will definitely leave a scar.”
I sigh heavily.
“Scars are not a bad thing. They show that you’ve been through a tough fight and you survived.”
I shut my eyes to stop the hot tears that have gathered since earlier today from rolling down my cheek. When I open them I glance at Victor, who’s busy with the top part of my shoulder. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down.
“How did you get it?”
I think I feel his hand tremble but can’t be sure.
“Accident at a party,” I say automatically.
It’s the truth, just not the whole truth.
Victor glares at me in the mirror, jaw muscles twitching.
