Page 130 of Broken Blades

Then I saw it.

A scar. Old. Jagged. Running along her left ribcage just below her breast—the kind of mark that didn't come from passion or play. The kind that came from violence.

I froze mid-stroke.

Ice flooded my veins, drowning the heat in an instant.

"What the fuck is this?" The growl tore from my throat before I could stop it. I released myself, fingers moving to trace the raised skin. "Who did this to you?"

Chastity sucked in a sharp breath, body going rigid beneath me. Her eyes widened—not with desire this time, but with something closer to panic.

"Wyatt—"

"Answer me." My voice came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn't pull it back. Couldn't soften the rage building behind my ribs. "Who fucking did this?"

She swallowed hard, looking away. "My ex. He… he got too rough."

The words punched through me like shattered glass.

"Did you want it that way?" I demanded. The question was brutal, the timing worse, but I needed to hear it. Needed to know if this was consensual play gone wrong or something darker. "Did you ask for this?"

"No." Her voice cracked. "He… Wyatt, please don't make me⁠—"

"He hurt you?" I cut her off, fingers still hovering over the scar. "Your ex hurt you."

"It doesn't matter." She tried to pull away, but I held her in place.

"It does."

"It doesn't!" The snap in her voice startled us both. Her eyes blazed as she looked up at me. "This is fake, isn't it? It's to get at my dad for some reason⁠—"

I kissed her. Hard. Brutal. Swallowing whatever poison she was about to spit. When I pulled back, I let my lips brush against hers as I spoke, voice low and dangerous. "Never bring up your father when my cock is about to fill your pussy. Unless you're calling me daddy."

Her breath hitched.

I grabbed her throat, forcing her to look at me. To see me. To understand that this moment, right now, had nothing to do with her father or revenge or any plan I'd ever made.

"Your ex," I said again, softer but no less intense. "He hurt you. Didn't he?"

Chastity swallowed beneath my palm. The movement rippled against my fingers.

Then she nodded.

The pieces clicked together like a broken bone setting wrong. That documentary about the college girl who'd been attacked by her boyfriend—the way Chastity had gone so still, her face pale as she watched. The way she'd flinched when I'd reached for her that night. The scars I'd just found weren't just physical.

My chest caved in.

That was why she'd been so skittish at first. Why she'd tensed every time I moved too fast. Why she'd looked at me with those wide, wary eyes like I might turn on her at any second.

Fuck.

I loosened my grip on her throat, thumb brushing her pulse point. She was still trembling, but not from fear now. From need. From the way I'd touched her, kissed her, made her come apart.

"That's why you got emotional over that documentary," I said, voice rough. "Because you related to the victim."

Her breath hitched. She didn't deny it.

I cupped her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. "You know I would never hurt you."