Her very bruised wrist. Before I’m even conscious of what I’m doing, I grab her hand in mine and push the sleeve to her elbow, fresh rage erupting behind my eyes. Marks I didn’t put on my girl. “What the fuck is this?” I growl. “And don’t even think about lying to me. I know you didn’t have these when I left you last night, so where the fuck did they come from?” My eyes are glued to the dark angry marks around her wrist in the shape of a hand. I don’t give a fuck how low her iron is, there’s no fucking way this was done accidentally. Whoever put their hands on my woman did this intentionally.
