Page 106 of Connor's Claim

Which would Piers like?

Tearing off my long-sleeved top, I snatched up the green dress.

But in my quest to ready myself for a man worse than even my father, the edge of the tape covering my inner arm tattoo caught on my clothes.

I hadn’t looked. Hadn’t even peeked. Suddenly, I needed to know. I dropped the dress to the floor and peeled away the tattoo’s opaque cover. A word was revealed, black ink written into my skin in beautifully executed script.

CLAIMED.

My breath hitched. My heart pounded. Spinning around, I peered back to the mirror and lifted my cami, tearing away the tape over my lower back.

WANTED.

The next were at the top of my back and then my thigh.

OWNED. NEEDED.

The word under my breast gave up MINE.

My laugh came out as a sob. He’d threatened his name, but the delivery was just as perfect.

My hip declared LOVED.

Oh God.

I had one last tattoo to read, and it was the smallest, inked right behind my ear.

FREE, the mirror told me.

I wasn’t free, not yet, but a burst of hope suffused me. I’d been wrong about his rejection. What he’d done to me was the evidence of Connor’s claim, and it changed everything.

Now, I’d do all I could to end this horror show in the best way possible.

My heartbeat marked my exit from the wardrobe, the click when I unlocked my room, and each step of my cramped limbs carrying me down the stairs. By the front door, my father set down the phone, his conversation over. He spotted me and his lip curled.

“How dare you disgrace me in public.”

I lifted my chin. “How dare you spend a lifetime doing nothing but causing hurt, manipulating people, and enabling abuse.”

His gaze darkened. A backhand I didn’t see coming knocked me to the wall. Adrenaline helped me ignore the pain. I stood and spat blood, not taking my eyes off him.

“Show me the evidence,” I demanded. “Show me exactly what you’ve got on Connor. Do it now if you want me to play along with your game.”

“You’ll do as I tell you.”

“I’ll bite Piers Roache’s dick off and see how much he likes you after that.”

He stalled. Never once had I seen him falter.

“Do it,” I shouted.

A thud rocked the front door beside us.

“Mayor Makepeace? You have a visitor. He’s unarmed,” one of the guards called.

My father’s smile returned. “Piers, at last.”

My skin crawled, and I readied myself for the fresh hell of my father’s associate.

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