Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(47)

He relaxed. I didn’t, because I finally understood why he’d never taken his shirt off around me before.

His back—his strong, beautiful back—was covered with scars. They crisscrossed his skin in angry, near-white slashes, peppered with a few round marks I was positive were cigarette burn scars.

Judging by the way Rhys’s shoulders tensed, he must’ve realized his mistake, but he didn’t hide them again. There was no point. I’d already seen them, and we both knew it.

“What happened?” I whispered.

There was a long silence before he responded. “My mother liked her belt,” he said flatly.

I sucked in a breath, and my stomach lurched with nausea. His mother did that to him?

“No one said or did anything? Teachers, neighbors?” I couldn’t imagine abuse of that level going unnoticed.

Rhys shrugged. “There were plenty of kids in bad home situations where I came from. Some of them had it a lot worse than me. One kid getting ‘disciplined’ wasn’t going to raise any eyebrows.”

I wanted to cry at the thought of young Rhys so alone he was nothing more than a statistic to those who should’ve looked out for him.

I didn’t hate a lot of people, but I suddenly hated everyone who knew or suspected what he’d been going through and didn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Why would she do this?” I brushed my fingers over his back, my touch so light it was barely a touch. His muscles bunched beneath my fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

“Let me tell you a story,” he said. “It’s about a beautiful young girl who grew up in a small, shitty town she’d always dreamed of escaping. One day, she met a man who was in town for a few months for business. He was handsome. Charming. He promised he’d take her with him when he left, and she believed him. She fell in love, and they had a passionate affair. But then, she got pregnant. And when she told this man who’d claimed to love her, he grew angry and accused her of trying to trap him. The next day, he was gone. Just like that. No trace of where he went, and it turned out even the name he gave her was fake. She was alone, pregnant, and broke. No friends and parents to help her out. She kept the baby, perhaps out of hope the man would return for them one day, but he never did. She turned to drugs and alcohol for comfort, and she became a different person. Meaner. Harder. She blamed the kid for ruining her chance at happiness, and she took out her anger and frustration on him. Usually with a belt.”

As he spoke, his voice so low I could barely hear him, the pieces fell into place one by one. Why Rhys refused to drink, why he rarely talked about his family and childhood, his C-PTSD…perhaps it was the result of his childhood as much as it had been his military service.

A small part of me empathized with his mother and the pain she must’ve gone through, but no amount of pain justified taking it out on an innocent child.

“It wasn’t the boy’s fault,” I said. A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. “I hope he knows that.”

“He knows,” Rhys said. He rubbed my tear away with his thumb. “Don’t cry for him, princess. He’s all right.”

For some reason, that made me cry harder. It was the first time I’d cried in front of anyone since my dad died, and I would’ve been embarrassed had I not been so heartbroken.

“Shhh.” He wiped away another tear, his brows drawn into a deep frown. “I shouldn’t have told you. It’s not the best way to end a vacation.”

“No. I’m glad you did.” I reached up and covered his hand with mine before he could pull away. “Thank you for sharing it with me. It means a lot.”

It was the most Rhys had opened up to me since we met, and I wasn’t taking it for granted.

“It’s just a story.” But his eyes were stormy with emotion.

“There’s no such thing as just a story. Every story is important. Including yours.” Especially yours.

I released his hand and swam around to his back, where I brushed my fingers over his skin again before pressing the smallest, gentlest of kisses on one of the scars. “Is this okay?” I whispered.

His muscles bunched further, so tense they trembled beneath my touch, but he responded with a tight nod.

I kissed another scar. Then another.

Everything was silent except for Rhys’s ragged breaths and the faint roar of the ocean in the distance.

I’d stopped crying, but my heart still ached for him. For us. For everything we could never be because we lived in the world we lived in.

But right now, the rest of the world didn’t exist, and tomorrow hadn’t come yet.

Last chance.

“Kiss me,” I said softly.

A shudder rolled through him. “Princess…” The nickname came out low and rough. Pained. “We can’t. You’re my client.”

“Not here.” I wrapped my arms around him and placed one hand on his chest, where his heart pumped fast and hard beneath my touch. “Here, I’m just me, and you’re just you. Bucket list number four, Mr. Larsen. Remember?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“Yes, I do. I’m not drunk like I was the night after Borgia. I know exactly what I’m doing.” I held my breath. “The question is, do you?”

I couldn’t see his face, but I could practically see the war raging inside him.