Page 84 of Defiant Beta

When I’ve made up my mind to do something, I follow through. So, I hand him the ointment and turn my back to him, wincing as I pull off my shirt. It sticks slightly, as if it’s been bleeding and clung to the cotton of my shirt.

“Let me wash my hands first,” he says. “I don’t want to get these infected.”

I nod as I listen to his steps move away. Water starts up in the bathroom, and I pull my shirt off the rest of the way, holding the material to my breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to stifle my shame.

Ignoring those wounds means it’s easier to pretend nothing happened to me. Showing someone those scars means itdidhappen. It means I’m scarred, maybe forever, by what those alphas did to me because I was too weak to fight back.

“Can I…”

I jump, startled by the warm air on my exposed neck when he speaks. He’s quiet. I didn’t know he was there until now.

“Can you what?” I stare at my bare toes, cheeks hot, wishing this moment over.

“Your hair. I need to move it.”

Letting go of my shirt means flashing him my boobs, so I nod. “Sure.”

He sweeps my auburn hair over my shoulder, the ends brushing the top of my arm.

I suck in a breath and continue to hold it as Levi applies the cooling ointment to the hot wounds on my back.

He doesn’t say a word and I couldn’t be more relieved.

I neither want nor need his pity.

“How long do you have to apply the ointment?” he asks.

“Three days, the instructions said. I guess if it’s infected, I keep doing it. There’s another tube in the bag.”

His hand falls away. “I’m done.”

I move to put my shirt back on.

“You should leave it off for a while. Let it sink in.”

Good idea.

I turn around with my shirt clamped to my chest, and look at Levi, though it’s really fucking hard to meet his gaze. “Thanks.”

He passes the tube of ointment back to me. “Let me know when you need to reapply it.”

I nod my head, and he walks away.

In our world, alphas are the heroes. They are the biggest of the big. The fearless. The ones in power who control everything. So why does this alpha have scars like that on his back?

Just before he leaves, I call after him, “Who did it?”

He stops, his back to me, and my eyes linger on his T-shirt as I remember those marks crisscrossing his skin. “My uncle.”

“Why?”

He twists the door open. “Because he could.”

And he walks out, leaving me alone with a million and one questions.

I’m still standing there several minutes later when Vincent calls up the stairs, “Miss Jackson, we had a deal.”

Carefully slipping my shirt over my head, I hiss when the material settles over my tender skin. Then I go downstairs to eat breakfast with the man who will help me find the three alphas who hurt me so badly that they’re going to die for it.

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