Page 96 of His Wild Attraction

She was wearing a pristine Chanel suit in a fall appropriate pink with gold accents and her blonde hair twisted back in a neat chignon.

She didn’t look at me.

But when I looked closer, I saw the telltale signs of faint bruising on her cheek. Emotion filled me, twisting my gut. She’d done an excellent job of covering up the greens and blues of her injuries with cosmetics.

But I knew what she was hiding. I used to hide, too. I remembered it all. The disbelief, the fear, the guilt. I swallowed, pushing those awful emotions back down.

My heart went out to her, and to everyone like her.

Everyone like me.

Well, the me I used to be. I wished for a better world. Where women who had suffered at the hands of someone bigger, stronger, and meaner than them knew their true worth. Found the help they needed. And the support to get to a better place.

I was lucky. I knew that, and I was so fucking grateful.

No man should ever raise his hands to a woman.

It was a physical contest whose outcome was already predetermined by biological design. It wasn’t fair or right.

Sure, there were women who could kick a man’s ass. I didn’t doubt that. And I wasn’t arguing that point.

But I couldn’t think of a single instance where a wife or girlfriend deserved to be hit.

The same went for the reverse.

I’d heard of men who’d suffered abuse at the hands of their spouses and girlfriends.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Violence towards your mate was not okay.

If you didn’t want to be with someone, just leave. You didn’t have to cheat, lie, manipulate, or hit.

You never had to hit.

Those were just lies.

Vile means used by small, weak, scared people to try to make themselves feel better about their pathetic existences.

Anyone who said you deserved to be cheated on, lied to, hit, or abused in any way, shape, or form were the real liars. Those were just lame ass excuses to be miserable human beings, spreading pain and despair because of their own feelings of worthlessness.

I knew that now. I understood that better than most.

Suddenly, I wanted to cross the room.

I wanted to go to Gary’s new wife and tell her she didn’t have to stay with him.

She wouldn’t look at me, though. Hell, she wasn’t looking anywhere but down.

My throat tightened, and suddenly, I didn’t give two shits about Gary, except to hate him a little more.

I just wanted to make sure this woman, his wife, knew she didn’t deserve the way he treated her.

No one deserved that.

“Late as usual,” Gary hissed, and I froze with affronted anger.

“Are we?” Andres said, the hand on my back subtly pulled on my waistband, stopping me in my tracks.

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