Page 28 of Savage Vicious Heir: Part Two

My hand trembles as I rest my back against the wall and expose my inner thigh.

Scarred, damaged skin stares back up at me.

It’s better than it used to be.

There came a point—when girls started paying attention to me—that I realised I needed to get a better handle on things.

That opened up a whole new level of distraction, as long as they didn’t get too close, of course.

That’s where my need for control came in.

If their hands were bound behind their backs and I had their hair in my fist, the only inches of my body they’d be exploring was the appendage in their mouths.

It worked.

It was fucking great.

Until her…

She’s the reason I’m standing here now about to fall back into toxic habits I thought I’d banished.

With gritted teeth, I bring the sharp point of the blade to an unscarred patch of skin.

I’m not going to do it.

I’m not. I just?—

I twitch with it almost touching my skin and it cuts through me like butter.

The rush is like nothing I’ve ever experienced as blood pools at the surface.

I stare at it for a beat before reality seeps back in and I throw the blade across the room in a fit of anger and frustration.

I should have been better than that.

Dropping my foot back to the floor, I snatch a towel from the rack before storming back into my room, self-hatred poisoning every ounce of my blood.

I quickly dry off and I’m about to find a clean pair of boxers to hide the evidence of what I’ve just done when my bedroom door flies open and an angry little blonde flies into the room.

“Tally, what the fuck?” I bark quickly cupping my junk.

One look at the fury on her face and I know what’s coming.

She’s seen Abigail.

She knows…

She knows what I did.

“What have you done?” she shrieks. Her voice is so high-pitched, I’m pretty sure that only dogs can hear it.

“You need to stay out of my business, Darlington,” I snarl, my nostrils flaring in frustration. “Get the fuck out.”

“No chance,” she snarls right back. “We are talking. Right here, right now. Wait… you’re bleeding,” she says, cutting off her rant and staring down at my thigh.

My stomach knots, acid burning up my throat as I consider the chances of her figuring out what I’ve done.

“It’s nothing. All of this is fucking nothing.”

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