Page 218 of Broken by my Bully

It’s not the first time I’ve seen injuries on him. I assume he’s on the hockey or football team.

But this?

Whoever bit him wanted to leave their mark on his smooth, tanned flesh. Claiming him? Or warning him?

An image of Haven’s bruised throat flashes into my mind, but I force it away.

Another replaces it instantly, nails dragging through skin.

He knows I know. I can see it in his eyes. But when have I ever seen a bruise and not pressed it?

“Was it Haven Lee?”

Poor baby. He triessohard not to let me in. But his face gives him away instantly. The flash of surprise, then the anger.

He stares at me with wide eyes, jaw ticking, nostrils flaring.

She marked him as I marked her. We’re both claiming the same territory.

Maybe that’s not a problem.

Maybe that’s the solution.

“She put up quite a fight,” I say in a thick voice. “Did she win?”

Kai seems complacent with silence, but I’m not. I press down on that wound so hard that he jerks his arm out of my grip.

“No,” he grates out, his arm curling against his chest. “Idid.”

I smile at him. “That’s what she wants you to think.”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, then drops his gaze like he’s fighting the urge to apologize.

“I can help with that, you know.” I reach for him, but he backs up so quickly he almost stumbles.

“The fuck you on about?”

“Getting inside her head.”

He scoffs. “What, already sick of getting in her pants?”

I make sure nothing on my face changes. “Can help you with that too.”

The flare of rage on his face is so fucking satisfying, my dick twitches.

“I don’t need your fucking help,” he says. “Not with her. Not with anything.”

He stomps away, sending a glare over his shoulder as he flicks his hair out of his face.

Christ.

The boy’s fucking smitten.

With Haven. With the idea of Haven. Maybe even with me, though he’d rather die than admit it. The way he backed up when I reached for him? Not just anger. Fear.

The kind that comes from wanting something you shouldn’t.

I was going to do a line, but I don’t need it anymore. Nothing beats the rush of pushing someone closer and closer to the edge.