Page 43 of Burn Like An Angel

“Stop.”

I’m spun on the spot, forcing me to look up at Xander as the blade presses deep into my throat.

“Don’t go,” he croaks.

“You’re threatening me to get me to stay?”

The pressure slicing into me is a silent bid for control. I don’t think Xander knows how to communicate without threatening death in one way or another.

“I… I can’t… I don’t know how to do… this,” he mutters awkwardly. “Talk.”

When I try to pull away, his grip intensifies, holding me prone. He’s clothed in nothing but form-fitting black boxers, his hair wild and eyes darting around like he’s hoping to pluck the right words from thin air.

This Xander isn’t in control.

“I was dreaming about your voice,” he blurts abruptly. “Telling me I’m safe. No one told me that when I was a kid. No one… cared.”

Holding still so he doesn’t cut me, I carefully lay my hand over his. “Safe from what?”

Inhale. Frown. Exhale. Blink.

“Let me in, Xan.”

“I… don’t know when it started.”

“Did someone hurt you?” I coax.

He licks his lips, avoiding my gaze. “You could call it that. I was too young to understand, I suppose. The memories are blurred, but the dreams about him are vivid.”

Blood trickles down my neck, leaking from the shallow nick I can feel he’s inflicted. If he needs to do this to feel in control, I’ll take the punishment. A scar is a small price to pay for Xander’s bared soul.

“So you were dreaming about… him?”

Watching his reaction, I’m unsurprised by his terse nod.

“Who was he?”

I’ve been able to deduce some of Xander’s past from my conversation with Lennox. When he revealed the truth about his sister’s suicide, he made it clear that he believes Xander was a victim of sexual abuse too.

“He was my stepfather,” Xander grits out.

My stomach rolls. “Fuck.”

“I never knew my real father. Mother spent my childhood at the bottom of a bottle. She almost died from liver failure when I was six. He was my only real parental figure.”

My hand tightens on his, more blood sliding down my neck. Xander blows out a long breath and lifts his gaze to mine.

“He came most nights. I suppose Mother was too inebriated to hear or notice anything. We never spoke about the… the assaults. He just snuck in, left before dawn and always returned the next night. Every day for as long as I can remember.”

His throat moves with a hard swallow.

“I was eight when the police came. I didn’t say anything, the damage was done. He was actually arrested for assaulting a young boy in a park, nothing to do with me.”

“That’s so incredibly messed up.”

“I guess he couldn’t help himself.” Xander eases the knife slightly, keeping it held at my throat. “The authorities took one look at Mother and sent her to rehab. I was taken into foster care. That’s it.”

Processing, I try to make sense of his words. “You never told anyone?”

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