Page 53 of Depraved (American Street Kings 1)

What if there was more to Granite than this big, cruel, selfish man who had no problem interfering with other people’s lives? Maybe, if I got closer, I would see layers too. Different lines, different shapes that in the end formed something unique. A better man, maybe. Hopefully.

One thing was for certain, though. I looked like shit. My hair was clean, but unkempt, strands hanging over my shoulders like it was clinging to my scalp for dear life. With one bruised eye, the other was framed with a dark circle. There was no color in my cheeks, my face pale and beaten. Even the shade of my eyes seemed more gray than blue.

Now that I was wearing baggy clothes, it was painfully obvious why everyone I’d come across had something to say about my eating habits. My body was nothing more than flesh covered bones. No curves. No palm-sized breasts.

I was all cheekbones and ribcage.

I was a mess.

The first thought that popped into my head was how could Granite kiss me. How could hewantto kiss me, and be jealous when it came to his brother? I wasn’t beautiful. I wasn’t pretty and curvy. The only thing that made me noticeable around here was my weight. Nothing about me gave Granite any reason to want me—something he had admitted a few times already.

It was nothing but ugliness that stared back at me. The sight of my reflection made me want to look away. Like when you passed a handicapped person in the mall, or a mentally disabled child. You’d do anything to look the other way so you wouldn’t embarrass that person by staring at them with pity. It was the weirdest feeling, not wanting to look at myself. My entire life, my mom had praised me when I lost weight, told me I looked beautiful. Whenever I picked up an ounce, insults would fly out of her mouth like poisoned darts aimed right at my heart. After a while, it seemed like I started seeing myself through her eyes. A perfect ballerina. But now that perfect ballerina was slowly morphing into a flawed, skinny girl.

The more I thought about it while staring at my reflection, the more I convinced myself that Granite’s jealousy just wasn’t plausible. Was he trying to mind-fuck me, seduce me so I’d end up giving him what he wanted? Sex? Submission?

But then again, if it was only sex for him, why would he have gone to such lengths to keep other men away from me? Whether other men had me or not, it should have made no difference to him if sex was his only motivation. Nothing about any of this made sense.

He was big, bold, and beautiful—in an obsessed, creepy kidnapper kind of way. And I was pretty sure panties dropped for him daily. A man who had the kind of power he had didn’t run out of pussy options. I was willing to bet he had women falling at his feet every goddamn day. Yet here I was. Confused, angry, and scared, feeling guilty for liking his kiss so much. Embarrassed by the way my body responded to his touch and mortified to think I was anything but disgusted by having his tongue in my mouth.

And now, while staring at my reflection, I hated the way I looked because there was no way a man like him would find it attractive, and I couldn’t understand why that was important to me. He was a kidnapper, a psychopath with stalker tendencies. Now that I knew he was responsible for my lack of a love life, I wondered about all the times I felt like someone was watching me. For all these years I ignored the prickle in the back of my skull, feeling the way my skin tingled while being watched. I ignored it because I had convinced myself it had always been my father’s men, my bodyguards. But could it have been him all along?

Bewildered and disgusted, I pulled the baggy shirt over my head and slipped the oversized jeans off my waist. After tossing the clothes as far away from me as possible, I finally looked at my naked reflection. That was when I noticed I still had the protective wrapping over the tattoo I got the other night.

I had completely forgotten about the tattoo. And when Neon allowed me a shower earlier, there was no time for me to take note of anything, as I was only allowed thirty seconds in the shower.

Gently, I placed my fingertips on the wrapping. Thinking about the tattoo hidden beneath, permanently inked on my skin, made my stomach turn. God, I was such a naïveballerina girlwho had been living in her own damn bubble for years.

With a tug, I ripped the wrapping off. There was already so much pain inside me, burning, stinging flesh was the last thing I worried about.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at the tattoo. If only I knew then what I did now, I probably would have opted for an innocent butterfly, or something delicate, cute, and pink. Some conventional picture fitting for a ballerina who had rebel tendencies every now and then.

Without looking at it, I straightened, moving my legs together so my inner thigh wasn’t visible in the mirror. I was nothing but a five-foot-two sack of bones. The bruises that marred my body didn’t help make the picture prettier. They really roughed me up good the other night while carrying me from my car to theirs.

I carefully touched a bluish mark across my rib and flinched as the sudden sharp pain shot through every nerve. Maybe if I had a little more flesh on my body, I wouldn’t have bruised so easily.

A tear slipped down my cheek, followed by another. I was hurt. I was alone. I was confused and scared. I felt…lost.

“Son of a bitch.”

I jolted at the sound of his voice, grabbing the nearest towel from the rail. “Oh, my God, Granite.” Trying to cover my body with a tiny hand towel proved to be tricky…and awkward.

He shut the door behind him without taking his eyes off me. “I knew they hurt you. Your face.”

“Get out.”

“Jesus, Alyx. I didn’t know they hurt you that bad.” He pointed at my body, his gaze dropping to where I held the towel. “If I did, I wouldn’t have been so merciful by killing him so quickly.”

“What?” I almost choked, my heart instantly lodged in my throat.

He moved toward me, but he seemed to lack the confidence he always had. His footsteps were slow, hesitant, rather than assured and determined.

“After I saw what they did to your face, I sliced my blade through the fucker’s skull.”

A gasp slipped from my mouth, shock sending a shudder of chills down my body. “What? Why…why would you—”

“I told you. You’re mine. No man has the right to touch you.”

“So you killed a man? That’s insane.” I placed my palm on my forehead, feeling faint while my mind reeled.

---