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His complexion glowed so vibrantly with health, one could almost overlook the four-inch red cut. The laceration Mr. E had given him when the buyer returned her without payment. The mate to the one she’d received minutes after his.
“Yeah, you saved me.” She clenched and unclenched her hands. “Instead of a life as a sex slave or a bullet in the brain, I got a disfigured face, my tubes tied, an illegal job, and a promise that I will never hug the only two people who matter to me.”
She wanted to love him even as her fingers twitched to run a blade across his throat.
Maybe she ran marathons when she wasn’t trafficking humans. Or maybe she kicked kittens. Into end zones painted with the blood from dead puppies.
“You don’t want me.” Her whisper cracked. “You want…someone who deserves you.”
“Don’t hide this from me.” He tapped the spot over her heart. A noise hitched in her throat. “It’s ugly in there, decayed by lies and shame, endlessly bleeding for all the lives I’ve ruined. You’re the eighth reason I don’t deserve affection.”
