Page 106 of Beautiful Prey

His smile widened. Every expression was a shot to the heart.

Unable to stop myself, I lifted my hand toward his face.

He flinched away.

I dropped my hand, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

He looked at me with a serious expression and blew out a breath. “No, Evee, I’m sorry.”

“Did he…” I wanted to ask if it was my father who had done that to him. But I feared bringing it up now, if it were too soon.

Still, he knew who I was talking about. He shook his head. “Me. It was me.”

“You did this…to yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” I breathed.

It took him a moment to respond. He tilted his head in that way to hear his sister speak, then he shut his eyes and turned away, pained to have to ignore her but doing it all the same.

“After the warehouse, I was forced back to the agency. There had been talk of…selling me. To a…specific kind of clientele who were looking for teens to…keep old men company.”

I closed my eyes in disgust.

“Already fucked in the head, I didn't want to endurethatkind of abuse too. I figured if no one wanted to look at me, well…” He shrugged. “The smiling woman had started speaking a lot more then too. She…influenced that decision a lot. Played on my fears of what they would do. So…I took a knife and cut away. They took me to a hospital and the rest is history.”

“Is that when you started wearing a mask?” I asked.

“Not right away. But I found it harder and harder to look at myself. When I started wanting my revenge, I was changing. I felt like…death. I found the mask and made up my mind to hunt Martel down. It felt a part of me after. I felt it was the new me. Like the scared little boy had died and a monster took his place. And to keep the other monsters away—monsters like…”

“My father,” I said sadly.

“They had to see me for what I was.” His eyes met mine. “Does that make sense?”

“For you...yes, it does.”

He looked at my hand. “I never liked being touched at all after the warehouse. But…that was before you.” His face drew closer to mine. “If you really want to, go ahead. I’ll deal if it means feeling you in every way I can.”

I hesitated before lifting my hand again. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. You deserve to.”

I wasn’t sure about that. Still, I lifted my hand. Gently, I let my fingers brush across his face, down one long scar. He shut his eyes and breathed in. I could see his body tensing, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch away.

My fingers traced another scar down to his mouth, still unable to believe he had done it, that he had been so scared of enduring more trauma that he’d rather live with a mangled face than be abused more.

But who could blame him.

I lifted my other hand, cupping his face. His eyes, half-lidded, watched me as he began to relax.

Unwilling to stop myself, I pulled his face down to mine. His gaze lit up as my lips stopped an inch from his.

“I want to kiss you,” I whispered, keeping him close. “Is that okay?”

“You think I’d say no?”

His lips parted in anticipation. I drew in a breath, then closed the distance between us.

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