Page 51 of Scarred Souls

I couldn’t conceive the agony he’d endured receiving those injuries. How long had his ordeal lasted? Was this what Daphne had been referring to when she’d said, He’s been through stuff? Clearly, she could’ve been more forthcoming.

I forced my gaze away from Vaughn’s scars to stare into his stricken eyes. It was hard to look at his injuries, but it hurt more to see the defeated expression on his face.

My brows pulled together. “Who did this to you?” Who had hurt this beautifully imperfect man so severely that he couldn’t stand the touch of a woman? And then a truly repulsive thought turned my stomach to lead. Had the man my father had intended for me to marry done this? “Oh my God. Was it Jorge?”

Vaughn gave a sharp shake of his head and said, “Get out.” He hauled me toward the door.

“Wait. Vaughn, stop! You’re hurting me.” But only because I struggled against his hold.

Before I could get another word in, he shoved me outside, threw the cum-stained towel at my chest, and slammed the door in my face.

17

VAUGHN

“Ifucked up.” The phone in my hand creaked from how hard I clenched it.

“In the twenty minutes since we last spoke?” Sage asked.

I sat on the floor with my back to the wall since the rusty fold-out bed looked like it would collapse under my weight. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

I’d done some messed-up things in my time, but what had just happened in the bathroom with Hope surprised even me.

It never should have gone that far. I hadn’t planned to cage her against the wall, pretend my hand was her warm, tight pussy, and come all over her smooth skin. She was supposed to have left. No. She was supposed to have run. I’d given her plenty of opportunity. Why hadn’t she? Maybe she was as broken as me.

When Hope had turned and faced the wall, being a good fucking girl for once, my dick had grown impossibly harder, and all logical thought had flown from my mind.

Then she’d caught me off guard and seen them. The scars I tried to hide from the world.

When I was forced to be around new people, it was easier if I stayed covered up to conceal them. And if that didn’t work, my dysfunctional personality usually prevented unwanted questions. Unless someone had a death wish, they chose not to probe the tattooed psycho about why he looked like he’d survived a date with Jack the Ripper.

The combination of clothes, tattoos, and bad attitude meant most people kept their distance. But not Hope. And when she’d reached out to touch me, I’d completely unraveled. After throwing her out of the casita, it’d taken ten minutes of deep-breathing exercises before I’d been able to pick up the phone and call Sage.

I raked my fingers through my hair. “You need to send a replacement. I’m not cut out for this.”

And by this, I meant the uncomfortable conversation headed my way when Hope plucked up enough courage to ask about my scars again. She obviously wasn’t the type to back down.

The last time I’d felt compelled to explain my scars had been when Brandon had introduced me to Sage. She’d defused the situation by showing me the wicked bullet wound on her thigh and had never brought it up again. I suspected Brandon had filled her in on my situation.

But Brandon wasn’t here, which meant I’d have to answer Hope’s questions. I didn’t want to talk about my capture. Whenever I did, anxiety crippled me. It was why I’d given up on therapy. Working with a shrink hadn’t helped one bit. No. It was safer to shelve that shit.

I’d already resigned myself to never being able to maintain a relationship. Something most people took for granted would never be a possibility for me. Who wanted to be with someone they couldn’t touch? Worse than that, who wanted to be with someone who might hurt them if they accidentally made contact with their bare scars?

My capture had hardened me in ways I wasn’t proud of. It’d turned me into the cynical prick I was today. But what better way to fortify myself against anyone getting close? Vinegar caught no flies, right? And that was exactly the way I needed my life to be. If no one wanted me, then I wasn’t missing out.

“Are you for real right now?” Sage grumbled. “All we’re asking is that you watch over one woman and try to get some intel out of her, which you said was going well. What’s the problem?” When I remained silent, Sage added, “If you pissed her off, just say you’re sorry. Oh. I forgot,” she said sarcastically. “You don’t do that. You know what, Decker? Now might be a good time to start.”

I groaned and thumped the back of my head against the wall. “Somehow, I don’t think an apology will smooth things over.”

Not when I’d used her sweet little body to fuel my dirtiest fantasies, blown my load all over her, and thrown her out on her ass. There was no coming back from that. My assholism had officially reached a new low.

And what would I say, anyway? Hey, really sorry I treated you like a cheap whore then manhandled you out of my room without an explanation for why I’m such a monumental fuckup.

Sage sighed. “What’s going on, Vaughn? You’ve offended plenty of people before. It’s never bothered you like this.”

I groaned and dragged my hand over my face because Sage had put her finger on the problem. Aside from the few people close to me, I couldn’t give a shit if anyone thought I was a grade A asshole.

But I cared what Hope thought, and that unsettled me.