Page 30 of Rake

Again with her brother.

“What did you want to tell me?” she asks, closing her eyes and grimacing.

I can feel where her bone was broken. There’s a hard, calcified bump where the injury healed.

“Your brother,” I say.

“Why are you trying to tell me about my brother, Finn? You met him once.”

“I know, and he wears his heart on his sleeve. Am I wrong?”

She doesn’t say anything. I gently probe around her injury and work on the surrounding muscles.

“He’s angry. He’s angry at your father for hurting you.”

Her eyes flash open. “What?”

Her leg is slender and delicate in my hands. I can’t waste time thinking about the past, about what happened. Hopefully she’ll hear what I’m saying and take the deal.

Otherwise I won’t be able to protect her from my father, even if I wanted to.

“I like your brother,” I continue. “He’s brave. But being brave can also make you stupid.” I give her a pointed look. “Your father said some nasty things about you to him while I was there.”

Her hands flutter up from her lap, and she clenches them into fists before digging them into her thighs.

“What did he say?” She emphasizes each word, like she has to force them out.

I leave out the comments on her virginity. Pretty sure she’ll figure that out on her own, given what I’d said to her earlier.

“That he only hits you when Benjamin isn’t there.”

She’s looking at my scar.

No, my father didn’t give that to me. Not directly anyway.

“Has he always done that?”

Her eyes are shiny. She blinks away tears, and I see her grow cold, distant.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says blandly. “But I didn’t want Benjamin to know.”

“Let your brother know how he can help you, too. It’ll mean a lot to him.” I stroke my fingers up her leg. She relaxes on the couch and closes her eyes again.

I want to tell her she deserves better than what her life is right now, but it seems hypocritical when I’m trying to control her in a different way. Though I hope she takes the better options I’m offering.

My hand trails up her thigh. Dangerous ground. I stop and then stand up, moving behind her. She jerks up, on alert.

“Ssh,” I say. “I know you’re upset. I know this situation is unfair.” I start rubbing her shoulders through that ugly sweater. Her muscles are rock-hard with tension. It takes her a few minutes, but she starts to relax again. As I press the base of my thumb into the back of her neck, she yelps.

The bruising.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

It’s too late, though. Her walls are up again; I have only myself to blame. I put one hand on her shoulder and stroke another through her hair. She shivers. Has a man ever touched her gently? Affectionately?

Don’t overthink this, Finn. You have work to do.

I cook dinner again. Sasha must be starving—I know I am. It’s just a simple pesto pasta this time with a breaded chicken. She watches me cook and I like how she looks at me when I do.

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