Page 92 of If You Were Mine

“Who. Hurt. You?”

She met my gaze in the mirror, her eyes widening. Her face went deathly pale, before her jaw tensed, and that familiar snarl covered her face. She whirled, sliding down her top.

“Get out!” she yelled, as she scrambled for her shirt.

I moved forward, hands at my sides. I was a good foot taller than her, and could scare the shit out of her, but it wasn’t like I could look any smaller than I was. But I’d be damned if she didn’t tell me what the hell happened.

“I repeat. Who hurt you?”

She quickly buttoned up her blouse, her hands shaking.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Because it was a damn lie. “I went skiing and hurt myself. I was just checking the bruises.”

I leaned forward and reached out to grip her chin. My breath caught as the bruise on the side of her jaw had only just now revealed itself to me when she turned.

And she flinched. Fucking flinched.

I let my hand drop, and I told myself to breathe. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“And maybe you should just get over yourself. I don’t owe you any answers. Get out. You may own this place, but you don’t own me. Get out, get out, get out, get out.”

She repeated the words over and over again, before her knees went weak, and tears slid down her face.

I had never once seen Scarlett Blair crack. Not in all the times that we’d yelled at each other, fought, or poked at each other just because we knew we could handle it.

And that scared me more than anything.

I reached out and caught her before she hit the ground and held her to my chest.

Because I knew exactly who had done this.

And I tried not to let the memories slam into me. Because this was all too familiar, and I had failed the first time.

I would kill him. I didn’t tell her that, I just let her break down in my arms. But I vowed to myself right then and there, I would kill him.

Just like before.