Page 48 of Scarred Souls

“Vaughn? Are you okay?”

Nothing but the sound of running water.

I crept toward the bathroom door, convinced that at any moment, Vaughn would call out that he was fine. But he didn’t.

Instead, he groaned, then muttered in a low tone, “Fuck.”

My mind filled with images of Vaughn on the floor, his head split open and blood leaking down the drain. That had happened to Dee only six months ago. Granted, she’d been battling an MS flare-up, but those tiles were slippery as hell. I’d feel terrible if Vaughn was hurt and I left without checking on him.

“Vaughn?” I called out one more time, and his only response was a groan.

That didn’t sound good. I threw the towels onto the bed.

That’s it. I’m going in.

The door was already ajar. I pushed it open a little and?—

Nope. Not hurt.

I’d made a mistake. A terrible mistake, because Vaughn wasn’t in pain. Quite the opposite, in fact.

With his back to me in the steamy room, he had one arm braced on the tiled wall and the other firmly pumping away. The dark ink covering his torso drew my eyes to where water streamed over his tan skin. Spanning the entirety of his back, a large skull with black eyes stared at me, and when Vaughn’s muscles flexed, the skull moved as if it were alive. I imagined the terrifying artwork was intended to invoke fear and warn people to stay away. All I wanted to do was touch it. To run my fingertips over every intricate detail just to know what it felt like.

I should’ve knocked. Why in God’s name hadn’t I knocked?

I mentally cursed myself for not buying a new shower curtain when the old one had fallen to pieces. A microsecond later, I congratulated myself for the same oversight, because, holy shit, this was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

I didn’t want to be drawn to Vaughn. These days, I was all about sensible choices, and standing here, watching him get off, was a very bad one. Still, something about him called to me.

I should go before he noticed me standing here. At the very least, I should look away.

The problem with that? I couldn’t look away.

Not while Vaughn’s shoulders and biceps bunched with each powerful stroke. Not when he tossed his head back and hissed with rapture. Not even when he turned his head oh so slowly and looked me dead in the eye.

Mother. Fucker.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and judging by the challenging grin on his face, he was enjoying every second of this uncomfortable situation I’d walked in on.

Nope. No way. He didn’t get the satisfaction of rattling me. I would not let him one-up me with this…this performance. Did he think I’d be embarrassed? That I’d scream and run out of the room like some timid, virginal schoolgirl? Nuh-uh.

Grim was messing with the wrong woman.

Game on, asshole.

Without missing a beat, I let my eyes travel over the broad expanse of Vaughn’s tattooed torso, lingering on every bulky muscle and sinister piece of artwork. Water sluiced down his spine, over those delicious dimples on his lower back, and cascaded over his shapely, ink-free ass. Good God. I’d thought the man was huge when we’d first met, but seeing him naked, there was only one word to describe him.

Vaughn was a beast.

I swallowed deeply, and for a moment, his sheer size and obvious strength intimidated the heck out of me. He could overpower me so easily. I should be terrified by the thought, but as I continued watching him, tingles traveled straight to my core. Why did I like the idea of Vaughn pinning my wrists above my head and using me instead of his hand to bring him pleasure?

“You shouldn’t be in here, Gatita,” he said in warning, although it sounded more like a dare.

Stay if you can handle it.

Run if you’re afraid.

My mouth turned dry. “Do you want me to leave?”

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