Jonathan grabs my hand and yanks it up to my breasts. The feel of his skin on mine sends electricity through my stomach, almost like he’s trying to shock me to death. “Hold it there. Don’t move.” I don’t know what he means by that until his fingers trace alongside my scar. A different type of bolt rushes through my skin and memories zap to my mind like lightning strikes. Vacant eyes. Duct tape. Dirt. The crunching of a metal against bones.
Yup the scar is def from maxim
