Midnight Masquerade by Anya Summers

Author:Anya Summers [Summers, Anya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: S & G Books, LLC

16

As they dressed in his bedroom, Gabe handed Sophia one of his shirts and a pair of boxers since all she had with her was the dress. Before she slid the shirt on and covered up the scars on her back, he approached and said, “Hold on.”

Lightly, his fingers traced over the puckered indentations and raised skin on her back that were visibly hidden by the tattoo. It was a word that had been carved into her skin.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, rage suffusing him when he realized what the word was: whore. Someone had inscribed the word whore into her back, into her skin—and deeply, given how thick the scarring felt beneath his fingers. He wanted to break whoever had hurt her.

“My ex-husband,” she replied as if it were no big deal, at least until he shifted her around and glanced into her doe eyes. Pain filled their chocolate depths. Worry and shame marred her face.

“Where is he?” he bit out, fighting against the desire to pummel the man’s face into the ground. How could he have cut her this deeply and unsafely against her will? While Gabe wasn’t averse to a flogger or even the whip, this, what had been done to her, crossed the line into non-consent, which he considered abuse of power by a Dom. He couldn’t stand Doms like that—ones who violated a submissive’s trust. In truth, he didn’t consider them Doms at all, but abusive assholes.

“Serving fifteen to twenty in the New Hampshire Penitentiary, along with my sister,” Sophia said with a shrug, but Gabe caught the flash of pain.

“Your sister did this?” he asked, shocked by her admission. Her ex-husband and her blood relative had done this horrible thing to her?

“Uh huh, she and my ex. They’d been screwing each other behind my back for months, possibly longer, while they embezzled the business funds. Those scars happened the night I confronted them. I’d rather not go into the explicit details of that evening—I’ve already been to more therapy over it than you can imagine. But if it wasn’t for the neighbors, I’m not sure I would even be here. I have a feeling they meant to kill me.”

“Babe,” he murmured and tugged her into his arms, running his hands up and down her slim back in a comforting manner, trying to impart that he didn’t find her scars ugly. A coldness settled over him, and it wasn’t directed toward her, but toward the ones who had hurt her like this. It engaged his desire to protect her from all who would do her harm.

“How long ago did this happen?” he asked.

“Four years ago. It took another full year for the courts to do their job. Even though both parties were present at the scene, my ex-husband tried to have his attorney spin the argument like I had consented and asked for it. But the testimony of the neighbor—considering how thin the walls between our places were—confirmed my statement.”

“And your sister?” he asked.

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