“Turns out, he owed someone a lot of money,” he said, teeth clenched and grinding. “Some drug dealer. He was older, massively built, covered in scars.” “What happened?” I leaned into his touch. Reed stared at me for a heavy beat, pain creasing his brows and flickering across his face. Then he let go of my dressed hand and reached down to lift his T-shirt. My eyes dropped. I gasped. The gnarly, jagged scar shot ice through my veins, and my eyes misted at the sight. I’d seen the scar once before, at his apartment three months ago. I’d figured it was some kind of accident. But it wasn’t an
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