Page 76 of Scarred Souls

God, he was dreamy when he smiled. I almost slapped myself for momentarily falling under his spell.

Stay focused.

“Are you ready for more?” I asked.

“No, but let’s try anyway.”

His brutal honesty brought me back down to earth. Despite us messing around a second ago, Vaughn remained terrified of what was yet to come.

My palms drifted below his pecs and along the bumps and grooves of his abs. Those muscles tensed as I moved lower. I’d have taken the time to appreciate them if I weren’t so consumed by the task at hand and the brutality of the scars my fingertips traced. Everything about this made my chest ache.

“Don’t do that, Gatita,” came Vaughn’s deep voice.

I glanced up to meet his gaze. “Do what?”

“Your hands are trembling, and your eyes are glassy. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me, remember?”

“It’s not that.” I pressed my lips together. “I’m so angry that someone did this to you. What kind of humans could do that?”

“Dead humans. That’s what kind.”

“You killed them?”

“Brandon and the team. I was barely conscious when they found me.”

“I’m glad they’re dead,” I replied, surprised by the malice in my tone. “You’re doing really well. We’re making progress.” Although his stiff spine indicated how anxious he remained.

“I’m having…conflicting symptoms.”

I returned my eyes to Vaughn’s abs and moved my fingers over a large scar that looked painfully familiar. A burn. The shape confused me. It was long. Maybe six inches, almost like a— Oh, God. Had his torturer heated the flat side of a blade and held it against his skin, branding him with the same weapon used to carve into his flesh? I felt sick.

“Stop!” He snatched my wrists. “That’s enough.” Terror flared in his eyes, and his breaths came rapidly again. Vaughn was gone, and in his place was the tortured, broken man his teammates had found clinging to life.

“Okay.” I tried to step back, but his grip remained painfully tight. I worried he’d leave bruises, which would only upset him and hinder what we’d achieved. “Please let go of me.” I used a calm voice, trying not to show how much his hold burned. When that failed, I used a stern tone to say, “Vaughn. Let go.”

Clarity returned to his eyes, and he released me.

Hands shaking, I rubbed my stinging wrists.

“No,” he growled, and clutched his hair, tugging on the inky strands. He winced when he caught sight of my reddened wrists. “I hurt you. Hope, I’m sorry.”

He came toward me but froze when I took a step back.

I wished I hadn’t reacted so harshly, but it’d been an involuntary response. “I’m fine.” I lowered my hands into the water so he couldn’t see them. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. Nothing about this is okay. I fucked up just like I knew I would. I can’t”—he dragged his hands over his face—“I can’t do this.” Then he paced through the water, returning to shore.

“Vaughn, wait!”

He didn’t look back.

27

VAUGHN

When I reached the shore, I ran to the nearest bushes and vomited the contents of my gut. It didn’t lessen my nausea. I still felt sick over what I’d done to Hope.

I’d gripped her wrists so aggressively she’d have bruises. Any tighter and I would’ve snapped bones. The thought made me retch again.