Behind These Scars Read online

  “What did you just say?”

  He can hardly believe what I just said, and neither can I. It’s so unlike me. Libby the pushover. Libby the frail, sick girl. Libby the poor girl who never so much as thought about cursing.

  That ends tonight.

  I let his question roll off me as I focus on gathering what little I have in my locker: a purse, a change of clothes, and a picture. I trace my fingertip across the photograph.

  It's a picture of my dad and me. We're on the beach. I'm hanging around his neck as he laughs, trying hard not to topple on top of me. It's one of the few memories of him I have left. It's the only photograph I have left. All of the corners are bent, and there's a tear on the left side, but it's one of my most cherished possessions.

  All I can think about at this moment is how much I miss him. I wish he was still here, and that I was a better daughter to him. A daughter who didn’t have so many issues. A part of me begins to crumble as I think how disappointed he’d be with me right now. His daughter, a strip club waitress.

  Not anymore. I’m out of here.

  I stuff everything into my purse and turn to face John. I square myself up with him; there’s barely an inch of space between us. My heart pounds, but the calm I felt earlier still courses through me.

  “I think I was pretty clear, but let me clarify it for you. Fuck you and your stupid fucking shit.”

  Holy crap. Did I just say that?

  I hardly recognize my voice as the words flow from me like water through a broken dam. Where had this side of me been hiding?

  I pull off my cowboy hat and thrust it into his chest. His mouth hangs open, but I’m not about to hang around and wait for a response. I march right by him, toward the exit and my freedom.

  “You walk out now, and you're done.”

  Did he actually think I didn’t know that already?

  Without skipping a beat, I raise my middle finger to the sky and continue out the door and into the main room. A drunk reaches out to snag my wrist, but I shake him off and keep moving.

  I thank Mark and Greg for what they did for me as I leave. The brisk air feels amazing against my flushed skin. My body thrums with energy as tingling sensations cover me like an afterglow. I haven’t felt this good in years.

  Unfortunately, my celebration is short-lived.

  The key to my beater of a car jams in the lock and refuses to budge no matter how hard I twist and turn. The more I twist, the more frustrated I get.

  I slam my hand against the door. Tears begin to well in my eyes, not only from the pain that radiates from my wrist but also from the harsh reality of the choice I just made.

  How the hell was I going to get enough money to leave this town? Why couldn’t I hold out just a bit longer?

  Resisting the tears is pointless. They’re going to fall whether I want them to or not. I let them come, collapsing against my car as I bawl my eyes out into the crook of my arm.

  I’d just walked away from my only ticket out of here.

  My mind boomerangs between negative thoughts. And just when I think things can’t possibly get any worse, Wade’s voice cuts through the air like a knife.

  “Well, looky here,” Wade snarls. “Looks to me like the little whore ran off and got herself lost.”

  He makes a wet, nasal, snorting sound, and then a few seconds later a dark patch of saliva appears on the ground next to me. Its foul odor fills my nostrils.

  “Ain’t no one gonna come and save your sweet little ass now, Princess,” Wade growls as he clutches a handful of my hair and drags me across the ground.

  4

  Libby

  “Please,” I beg.

  Loose rocks on the asphalt surface dig into my hands and knees as Wade drags me across the parking lot. It’s dark. I can hardly see more than a few inches in front of my face, and with Wade’s tight grip on my hair, I’m at his mercy.

  I let out a cry as he wrenches me off my hands and knees and onto my feet, forcing me against the hood of a car. His face is no more than an inch from mine. I turn my head to the side, sucking in harsh breaths as I try not to breathe his foul odor: a mix of alcohol, chewing tobacco, and dried sweat.

  I peer at him from the corner of my eye.

  Blood drips from his nose, some of it already crusting around his nostrils. His lower lip’s split open, and his shirt’s ripped and covered in muck. Mark and Greg must’ve done a number on him. Judging by the wild glint in his eyes, he was about to take it out on me.

  Even with a split lip, he's found a way to cram a mouthful of chewing tobacco under his gum-line, forcing his bottom lip to jut out. His eyes scan my face, and after a few seconds, he spits a dirty, brown stream of saliva at me. It barely misses my face as it strikes the windshield behind me and begins sliding slowly down the glass.

  “A little late to repent, don’t you think? Don’t matter much though. God don’t take too kindly to whores like yourself.”

  His lips curl into a crooked smile, yellow and slimy.

  I glance at the front doors of Buck Wild. They’re so far away. Too far away. I know I wouldn’t be able to outrun Wade in these cowboy boots.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he says as though he can read my thoughts. He guides my face back to his with a greasy hand.

  He leans in, trying to force his lips on mine, but I let out a deep, guttural screech that catches him off guard. It buys me enough time to slide around him, but before I have a chance to make a break for the doors, I feel his hand on the side of my face, wrapping around my mouth moments later. A second hand latches onto my arm and wrenches me backward, forcing me against his body.

  “You’ll shut that pretty little mouth of yours if you know what’s good for you,” Wade snarls.

  I try to break free, wriggle out of his grasp, but it’s no use. Even though Wade’s hardly much bigger than me, he was still stronger.

  “That’s it. You know how Wade likes ‘em. Feisty.”

  He twirls me around, pushes me forward, and pins me against another car. His right hand forces my face against the window as the other slides across my body, searching. My breath fogs the glass as the weight of him holds me in place. No amount of struggling seems to deter him. In fact, the more I struggle, the more he seems to enjoy himself.

  I feel his fingertips touch the scar on my forearm.

  “So it is true,” he says. “You goddamn crazy bitch.”

  His finger, blackened with grease and grime, traces the raised edge of the scar as my heart hammers out of control. I can hardly breathe let alone muster the strength to scream again.

  “I bet you like it rough.”

  Wade tears me away from the car and pushes me to the ground. My hands and knees scrape hard against the asphalt. My skin, raw and battered, burns as pain spreads throughout my body. I can hear him unbuckling his belt, but I can't move. I'm frozen in place, unable to turn my head.

  “I’m gonna enjoy—”

  His voice cuts out, and I hear another pair of feet shuffle against the asphalt. Wade sputters and gags as another voice slices through the night.

  “You done here, pal?”

  The man’s tone is confident, commanding, and it tugs on something inside me. Something about it sounds so familiar.

  I turn my head to glance at his face, but it’s blocked by Wade’s head, which was beginning to turn bright purple in the man’s chokehold. Although I can’t see the stranger’s face, I can see his arms. They bulge and flex as he holds Wade in place, veins snaking across them, disappearing under his shirt.

  “Pfft fuhhph.” Wade sputters harsh breaths as he tries to brute-force his way out of the hold.

  “You have five seconds to calm down, friend. Got it?”

  His rough voice rattles in my chest.

  Wade lifts his knee, bringing his boot down hard against the man’s foot a half-second later.

  That has to hurt. It’s enough for me to cringe, but it doesn’t seem to phase the man.

  Without skipping a beat
, he says, “Sweet dreams, buddy.”

  Wade’s eyes bulge as his face purples. A few more seconds of sputtering and his eyelids fall, along with the rest of his body.

  He’s out cold.

  “That’s it,” the man says, hooking his arms around Wade as he drags him away. Wade’s head falls to the side, and for a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of the stranger’s face.

  It can’t be.

  My breath hitches in my chest as I come face to face with the one person I thought I’d never see again.

  “You okay, Libby?” Luke says, kneeling down in front of me.

  Dark stubble peppers his cheeks and the hard edges of his jawline. Dear Lord, you could grate cheese with that thing. His dark hair is clean-cut and styled. Old feelings flutter and swirl in my chest as his pale blue eyes peer down at me under thick, dark eyebrows.

  The scar on my forearm burns and pulses. Without even thinking, I reach for the rubber band, but before I have the chance to snap it against my skin, Luke grabs my arm just above my elbow and pulls me to my feet. My knees wobble and shake, too weak to carry me, but Luke pulls me into him, steadying my body as my mind reels.

  “Are you okay?” he repeats.

  No. Yes. I don’t know.

  This night has been a nightmare brought to life. Just when I think it’s over, it strikes again with even more force than before. I’m not sure how much more I’ll be able to take.

  His rough hands cup my face. They’re large enough that I can feel his fingertips on the back of my neck. They radiate strength and power, and I can imagine them sliding over my bare skin, across my legs, and along the swell of my breasts. Warmth spreads from them, pooling in between my thighs.

  No. What are you thinking? What are you doing?

  I shouldn’t let him off this easy. I shouldn’t let him swoop in and be the hero, saving the damsel in distress. He has another thing coming if he thinks I need or even want his help. He’s the one who put me in this mess in the first place. The scar on my arm is a constant, nagging reminder of both his betrayal and all of my faults. It’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life.

  I break away from him, anger spiking in my veins.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Luke?”

  He smirks. “I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘Thank you, Luke,’ ”

  Asshole.

  I keep my lips pressed into a thin line. I’m not going to allow him the pleasure of getting more of a rise out of me than he already has.

  “No hug? No thanks? Nothing for saving you from Captain Creepy over there?”

  He nods to Wade who’s slowly regaining consciousness on the ground a few feet away. He rolls over and tries to push himself onto his feet, but his arms buckle, and he falls back on the ground.

  “Easy, Captain,” Luke rasps as he watches Wade struggle. “I think you might need to take ten.”

  While Luke is distracted, I turn around and march toward my car. I don’t care why Luke’s here, and I’m not about to stick around to find out. I’ve had just about enough of this night. It was time to go home and go to bed. If I’m lucky, Margaret will already be asleep.

  Judging by the way this night’s going, though, I’m sure she’ll be up and in one of her moods again: combative, catty, and judgmental.

  “Oh come on, Libby,” Luke calls out to me.

  Heat rises in my neck and chest as I pause.

  It’s not worth it. Just keep walking.

  I start walking again, and I’m nearly to my car when he says, “You’re not still mad are you?”

  There goes my plan of ignoring him.

  I spin around on my heels and cross the gap between us in a matter of seconds.

  “Mad?” I push his chest, but he hardly budges. “Mad doesn’t even skim the surface of what I’m feeling right now.”

  He stands there looking at me with amusement. A smile crosses his lips. The same smile that made me melt when we were younger. From the way my body responds, it hasn’t lost any of its power over me.

  I let out an annoyed groan.

  I hated picking fights with Luke. He always had the upper hand over me, always three steps ahead, even when we were younger. Nothing ever seemed to affect him. I hated him for it. I hated how strong and confident he was because they were qualities I lacked.

  I leave him and walk back to my car. I’m going to open that door one way or another, even if it means that I might have to break a window.

  I can feel Luke’s gaze drag across my skin as I fumble with the lock. The fine hairs on my neck stand on end. I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady my trembling hand, but it does nothing. It still trembles; I still can’t open this stupid door.

  I want to scream but hold back. A few seconds later, I feel Luke’s hand drag across my skin. It slides over my forearm and wraps around my hand. My breath hitches as he whispers in my ear.

  “Gentle.”

  The warmth of his breath tickles the back of my neck. His voice is gravelly and has a calming effect on my nerves. It wraps itself around my senses, enveloping me in its rich timbre.

  He turns the key, his hand still covering mine, and the lock clicks open.

  Seriously? How could he always make things seem so easy?

  I scoot sideways and pull the door open, hopping inside and closing it behind me without another glance at Luke. I didn’t want to see the smug look that would inevitably be on his face.

  After fumbling for a few seconds, which feels more like minutes with Luke watching me, I finally shove the key in the ignition. I twist it and hear nothing. No response at all.

  I try it again and again, but nothing changes; each time I'm met with silence. Not even a crank of the engine. Complete and utter silence.

  Fantastic…

  I can feel Luke’s smirk as he raps on the window with his knuckles. Reluctantly, I crank down the window. Yeah, my car is so old that the windows have to be rolled down manually.

  Okay, let’s hear it Captain Amazing.

  “Looks like your battery might be dead.”

  “Really?” I snap. “Thanks for bringing it to my attention. I had no idea.”

  Luke snorts.

  “I’d give you a jump, but I don’t have any cables.”

  Neither do I.

  “How about I give you a ride, instead?”

  On the list of things I want right now, that just so happens to be dead last.

  “No, thanks,” I say, rolling the window back up.

  “Going to wish yourself home? Maybe tap your feet a few times like Dorothy?”

  There it was: that smirk again. Asshole.

  “No. I’m walking,” I say, opening the door.

  He steps aside as the door swings open. He folds his arms across his chest, an amused expression on his face. Even though I’m pissed, I can’t ignore how jaw-droppingly handsome he is. Not even the most basic outfit can mask his gorgeous features.

  Focus. You’re angry at him, remember? Don’t let those delicious, mouth-watering… STOP!

  This was going to be a long walk, but anything was preferable to spending another minute with Luke.

  I force my eyes to the ground and start walking. As I pass by Luke, he reaches out and snatches my wrist, pulling me into him.

  “Don’t walk away from me, Libby.”

  A heady mixture of scents—cologne and scotch and spice—leaves me in a daze, pliable to his every whim. A scent this good should be outlawed. It takes a few moments to steady my nerves and gather myself again. But when I do, I wrench my hand away from his.

  “You’re the one who walked away.”

  He steps into me. He reaches out as though to touch me but stops himself, his hands hovering over me before he pulls back.

  “Libby…” he rasps. “That’s not fair. I had to leave. You should know that I had no other choice.”

  A mix of emotions bubble in my throat.

  “No choice? You always have a choice. You could’ve stayed!”r />
  Tears stream down my cheeks in tiny, meandering rivulets, warm and salty. Painful memories that I’ve tried to bury flash in my mind. They fade in and out, blurred and hazy in one moment, sharp and painful in the next.

  Luke reaches out to me, his warm, rough hand once again covering my cheek. Every breath I take is filled with his scent, and I can feel my resolve faltering under his touch.

  “I know you don’t believe me, and that’s alright. I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

  I let out harsh laugh because I actually believe him, that there’s another part of this story that I’ve somehow missed. I hate that after all these years he can reel me back in with such ease.

  “Come on,” Luke says, placing his hand on the small of my back, guiding me away from my car.

  I try to ignore the mixed feelings swirling in my gut as we walk side by side.

  “Where are we going?”

  Luke keeps his eyes forward, answering my question with silence.

  5

  Libby

  Luke scans my body as we come to a stop. “Some of those cuts look bad.”

  I hardly notice the scratches. They’re mostly superficial, but some of them are deep and weeping blood. The only thing I notice at this moment is Luke. The way his hard gaze makes my skin erupt in flames. How it makes me feel naked and completely vulnerable.

  His jaw tightens as he finally pulls his gaze away from my body, allowing me to breathe again. He turns around and opens the door to the most beautiful car I’ve ever seen: a matte black Mercedes-Benz G-Class.

  I'm not a car expert by any means, but I know this car. It's the car that Luke had dreamed of buying one day. He had a picture of it in his room. I thought it was a silly fantasy, something all boys dreamed about but had no chance of achieving. But somehow he did it.

  I shouldn’t be surprised; he’s always had an incredible ability to make things happen. Some people called it luck, but not Luke. Luke never believed in luck. He told me it cheapened all the hours of hard work he put in.

  Luke points to the passenger seat. “Sit.”

  The leather squeaks and moans as I obey Luke’s command. My eyes survey the beautiful, sleek interior as my hands glide across the seat.