The Raven Four Books 1-3 - Jessica Sorensen Page 0,85
going to hurt you.”
“I’m not worried about you hurting me,” I lie coolly. I kind of am, but I’m not going to freak out. It’s not my style. No, I’m going to remain calm until I need to fight.
Once tree branches and shade surround Hunter and me, he comes to a stop and faces me. He parts his lips, but then he startles as birds scatter from the trees, leaving feathers floating in the air.
Flap…
Flap…
Flap…
I blink as shadows of memories start to tug at my mind. What the hell was that?
I glance at Hunter and he blinks too, then looks at me with this brows puckered.
“Okay…” He seems distracted. “I think this should be good enough.”
I feel as equally as distracted. Why did I feel like I was about to fly away with those birds? Talk about crazy. “Good enough for what?”
“For it to just be you and me.” He threads his fingers through mine again and smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know it’s hard to trust people. Trust me; I get that—we all do. But we’re never going to even get a chance to earn your trust if you won’t trust us even a little. In order to gain trust, you have to give trust a little bit, if that makes any sense.”
“Yeah, it does, but that doesn’t mean I can just give it.” I give a half-shrug. “It’s almost instinctive for me to not trust people.” For a lot of reasons.
In fact, I don’t even trust myself, which is a little weird, but seriously, how can I when my mind has literally erased itself a handful of times. I’m like a computer that likes to occasionally crash.
“And again, I understand that, so I’m gonna attempt to put a little fracture in your instinct by trusting you enough to show you something that no one except for Zay, Jax, and the person who did this to me knows about.” He opens and flexes his free hand and takes an uneven breath.
He’s nervous.
Why’s he nervous?
When he lifts up the hem of his shirt, I have my answer.
Long, thin, but deep scars cover his sides, chest, and waist.
“What happened?” I ask, glancing up to meet his gaze.
He lowers his shirt, then a breath trembles from his lips. “My dad had this mistress … She was bad … even worse than my real mom …” His hand starts to tremble in mine, so he pulls away and crosses his arms, tucking his hands underneath his armpits. “But anyway, she’s a bitch who gets off on using her power on people who are weaker than her. And when I was younger, I was a lot weaker than her … And, well, she used to do things to me a lot … And she would scratch me a lot while she did those things to me.”
He doesn’t specify what the things are, but with the way he’s trembling, I get a pretty good idea.
I’m not really certain what to say to him. I’ve never had anyone confide in me with something so personal. It makes me feel uncomfortable; enough that I just want to get back in the car. But he’s also standing here in front of me, shivering from what I’m fairly sure isn’t the cold, and the sight of it tugs at a memory of me trembling in a bed while my uncle leaned over me and carved the word freak into my side. It was the first time he did it, and I was freakin’ terrified. But I learned quickly to numb myself.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say. Then, before I can back out, I reach for the hem of my own shirt and lift it up, putting all my scars and the fresh wounds on display for him.
As soon as the chilly air hits my skin, a shiver courses through my body. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Deep down, though, I know the cold air isn’t what has my body quivering.
Fear. There it is again. And I really don’t like it.
I start to tug my shirt back down when he captures my hand.
“Jesus,” he whispers, reaching out and tentatively touching my skin. He starts at the top, tracing each letter marking my flesh with his fingertips, slowly working his way to the bottom. When he reaches the fresh wound, he pauses, his gaze traveling up to mine. “He did this to you last night?” he asks, his gaze searing into mine.