Page 45 of Scarred Souls

Not a freak show.

I was so sick of the masks I’d had to wear my entire life when all I wanted was to be comfortable in my own skin, as damaged as it was.

“Hey,” Vaughn said, bringing my attention back to him. “What’s wrong?”

With my wet hair clinging to my back, I couldn’t use it to shield my scars. Instead, I turned away. “Stop staring at them.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I know what’s going through your head.”

“Whatever you think it is, you’re wrong,” he replied firmly. “Hope, look at me.” When I didn’t, he cupped my cheek and turned my face toward his.

I blinked back the moisture pooling in my eyes as our gazes met. “You don’t need to lie to me. What those jerks said at Javi’s? It’s not the first time my face has been likened to a horror show. I own a mirror, Vaughn. I know what I look like.”

His eyes held mine. “Maybe you don’t see what I do.”

“Really? Because if you’re not looking at me with pity or disgust, what is it?”

He opened his mouth, but no words followed. That came as no surprise. When forced to acknowledge an uncomfortable truth, people usually clammed up.

“I knew it.” I shook my head.

Vaughn seized my waist when I tried to leave. “Hope. Wait.”

“Take your hands off me. Now,” I demanded.

He didn’t, and I saw the internal battle raging behind his eyes.

Someone’s not good at taking orders.

I’d thought he was just an overbearing jerk, but maybe Vaughn’s need to dominate was more than some sociopathic desire to piss people off. Maybe it was about being in control.

I delivered him a vicious stare. “You don’t like being bossed around by someone half your size, do you?”

His nostrils flared with each strained breath he took, making him appear even more unhinged than usual.

When he didn’t answer, my lips curved into a mocking grin. “Thought so.”

I reached out to shove Vaughn’s chest, but he caught my wrists in his grip. He held them firm, almost too tight. In the next instant, he hauled me against his solid wall of a body, keeping my hands restrained between us. There was something else lodged between us. Something very thick, very long, and getting harder by the second.

Sweet Jesus. The man was packing.

His chest heaved against my breasts. Slowly, Vaughn’s dark eyes lowered to where our bodies pressed together, and a muscle flexed in his jaw.

“Or maybe I’m wrong.” I glanced toward his erection briefly and lifted one brow. “Maybe you really like being told what to do.”

“Gatita”—he smirked—“I’m only hard because I’m imagining all the fun ways I can bring you into line.”

If he thought that would intimidate me, he was wrong.

“I’m not scared of that.” My eyes dipped below his waist again. “And I’m not scared of you.”

He leaned low so his lips were at my ear. His hot breath made my skin tingle, and a shiver racked my body. “You should be.”

I yanked my wrists away. Vaughn let go, and I lost balance, stumbling on the seabed and falling underwater. When I resurfaced, the asshole had already turned his back on me and was heading to shore.

“Hurry up,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ve got a phone call to make.”

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