Page 32 of Striker’s Rebel

I move the fabric carefully.

Finger-shaped bruises darken her skin.

My temper goes cold.

Should’ve hit the bastard harder.

“Don’t,” June says.

“What?”

“Don’t make your murder face.”

“This is my face.”

“No. Your regular face is slightly less homicidal.”

I look at her.

She barely knows me and already knows there’s a difference.

I like that.

My thumb brushes the edge of the bruising.

Her breath catches.

Mine damn near does too.

Then I see the scars lower on her arm.

Thin. Pale. Old.

June follows my gaze.

For a second, neither of us says anything.

Then she exhales.

“Foster mother.”

My eyes come back to hers.

“She was drunk one night. That happened a lot.”

I wait.

If she wants to stop there, she stops there.

“She broke a beer bottle.” June runs her fingertips lightly over one of the scars. “Things got ugly. I got cut.”

My jaw tightens.

“That where you met Eliana?”

“Yes. She was younger. We stayed together after that. Not legally or anything. We just...” She shrugs. “Decided we were sisters.”

“Sounds legal enough to me.”