Page 4 of Damaged

I knew what rough was. I’d known it from the moment I’d been exchanged for what had looked like a bag of white crystals when I’d been eight years old. I’d known rough and so much more.

So much fucking more.

A violent tremor racked my body. The sensation was enough to remind me where I was and what I was supposed to be doing.

My hands were on autopilot as I pulled my clothes off. I wasn’t worried about the guy, Dalton, seeing me naked. That was the least of my problems right now.

My whole body ached as I removed the soaking-wet clothes. Ivan’s punishment had been more severe than I’d been expecting. Unfortunately, by the time his men had caught up to me after I’d gotten Willa to Jace, Ivan had been in a rage unlike any I’d ever seen before. I’d known he wouldn’t kill me; I was too valuable to him for that. I’d hoped once we were alone that his mind would once again be malleable and I’d be able to talk him down, but I hadn’t even gotten the chance to get any words out past the title I’d been calling him from the moment he’d taken my small hand in his large one and led me to the pretty black car that had looked so out of place in the neighborhood lined with garbage bags, motionless bodies stuffed into sleeping bags or huddled beneath makeshift cardboard shelters, and women on their knees in front of men doing something to them that I hadn’t understood at the time.

Vater.

That was what Ivan had wanted me to call him. It had taken me a while to learn what the German word meant.

Father.

When I’d first gone to live with Ivan, I’d known he wasn’t my father, but I’d only made the mistake of telling him so one time. After that, he’d been Vater, no matter what the circumstances were.

Unlike his single title that I’d had to use, he’d had a lot of names that he’d liked to call me, especially when his big body was covering mine…

I shook my head to free myself of the image. The past was the past. I didn’t need a plan for that. I needed one for now.

I glanced at Dalton through the window. He was only a few feet from the vehicle, but he had his back to me. It didn’t matter because I remembered what he’d looked like when I’d literally run into him at Maggie’s funeral. His black hair had shone so brightly it had almost looked blue.

And then there were his eyes.

Emerald.

Or maybe a deeper color, like forest.

I wasn’t really sure exactly what shade of green they’d been because I’d had only seconds to take in as much of him as I could.

Square jaw, neatly trimmed beard, full unsmiling lips, and big hands.

Gentle ones.

He’d grabbed my biceps before I’d actually slammed into him, but his hold had been soft and entirely escapable. I’d automatically looked up, prepared to order him to release me, but the words had gotten stuck in my throat as I’d taken in his pained expression.

Lots of pain.

Dalton had tried to hide his physical distress behind those captivating eyes of his, but his body hadn’t been as cooperative as he probably would have liked. Even now as I watched him standing outside the SUV, I could see the curve in his spine, like one of his shoulders was lower than the other. He was attempting to alleviate whatever pain he was feeling by shifting his weight from one leg to another.

I forced myself to ignore the man’s stance and quickly pulled on the dry clothes. I couldn’t help but inhale the woodsy scent that clung to the soft fabric.

Get it together, Silver.

The sharp voice in my head had me reaching for the door handle. As soon as I opened the door, Dalton quickly turned and there was no hiding what it had cost him because his entire body appeared to lock up as if he were frozen in time. He took several deep breaths before covering his condition by reaching for the wet clothes in my hand.

“I’ll put these in the back,” he murmured and then he was moving toward the rear of the vehicle. If he was trying to hide the limp plaguing his right leg, he failed miserably. He put the clothes in the back and then made his way to the front of the SUV on the driver’s side of the vehicle.

He didn’t order me to get in the car or even invite me in. He simply settled himself into the driver’s seat and waited.

It was my choice to get in or not.

My choice.

I wasn’t used to choosing things because I hadn’t ever been given that right.

“Things are different now,” I softly murmured to myself.

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