Page 219 of Anger

Those were the worst secrets. The violations.

Damon doesn’t have any scars on his skin from the few times he experienced sexual violence, yet those are the scars that cut the deepest.

His voice shook when he told me the full story, tears streaming from his eyes when he described the horror of two brothers unable to help each other before being forced to almost kill each other in a fight.

Both tried to refuse.

And both had to give in because what was done to them if they didn’t beat each other was far worse than the bruises and broken bones that occurred when they fought.

They fought for their lives on those weekends.

Brother against brother.

And they gave in to hurting each other because they loved their brother so much they couldn’t bear the laughter of the men and the screams that occurred when one was dragged to that office.

I’ll never tell anybody what he confessed to me.

Not even if they held me down and tortured me just the same.

I took Damon’s nightmares and made them mine.

They are whispered secrets that will only be spoken when Damon and I are together … when we’re safe … and when we’re home.

Knowing that about him, who am I to refuse to face my past by finally accepting what happened to my mother, and what happened to Kane and me as a result?

“Stop lying, Blue. You haven’t made peace with anything. That’s why I’m driving you back.”

Sinking lower in my seat, I place my feet on the dash.

“You told me what she said to you. Isn’t that enough?”

“I told you because she wanted me to tell you. And because she wanted you to know that her job protecting you is done now that I’m in your life. I made her a promise that I would watch over you—“

“So that’s why you bought Myth?”

The corner of his lips curl.

“Mostly.”

My brow furrows when I turn to look at Damon. “Why not just fire Granger and get it over with?”

He laughs. “That’s too easy.”

I shake my head and continue staring at him as he drives. I’ve spent the past couple months looking at Damon and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.

The scars somehow add to the beauty of his face and body—those white lines that are the truth of his past.

I trace my gaze along the strong line of his jaw, curling my fingers into my palms to keep from stroking my hands through his soft, dark-brown hair that hangs down in a disheveled mess to his cheekbone.

And, God, the hours I’ve spent worshiping a body that is cut in all the right places. My mouth waters at what it feels like to grip my hands down onto his broad shoulders when he lifts me up, his chest wide and his torso narrowing into a tight waist.

I’ve licked every dip and shadow in the muscles of his abs and struggled to wrap my hands over his strong thighs when I ride him and lean back.

He’s perfection, especially with the scars, but he doesn’t seem to know it.

Damon doesn’t act like it anyway, except for in moments when he corners me, that smirk of his coming out to play when he knows I’ll submit.

When he kisses me, I lose it every time and melt within the feeling of knowing he’s the only man I trust.

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