Chapter 83

It was obvious where the patch of hair had come from, because he had a bloody bald spot the size of a silver dollar above his ear. One eye was entirely swollen shut. His cheeks were purple and black, his lips cracked and bleeding from bite marks. His chest, neck, and shoulders were covered in cuts—some of them deep and oozing, some of them no more than scrapes. There were a series of holes in his flesh—the culprit obviously the fork dropped at his feet—and fresh blood on his thighs. Bruises marred his legs, his hips, and no doubt, his back. All shapes and sizes.

His stomach was the worst. Marcus had stripped him raw with a whip. There might have been some skin left, but Emma couldn’t see it under all the blood. How could one person bleed so much and still be alive? Was he still alive? She had to touch him. She had to be sure.

Her touch seemed to rouse him, and she expected to see relief in his eyes. She didn’t expect the immediate terror, or the sobs of protest.