“I’m sorry, I just… Jesus, Oakley. You have to tell me who did this to you.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t.” “Why the hell not? Look at you! You’ve got bruises everywhere, your face is all cut-up and you’ve got choke marks around your throat. Even your fucking head is bleeding. Who is it? What do they want?” “Asher, please. I– I can’t…” He sighs, a sound that seems to come right from the very depths of him, and leans down until his forehead rests against mine. “Oakley…” he whispers, panting breaths hitting my lips. “Don’t you get it? I would hurt anyone for you. Anyone. All you have to do
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