Page 115 of Beneath Her Skin

I roll my eyes. Ever the drama queen. Like, yes, the class was hard, but she’s not dying because of it. We both needed to move our bodies. It was just a little more than we anticipated. Or at least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of.

I struggle to roll my yoga pants down, the fabric catching on itself and sticking to my damp skin. Once I finally wrestle the material to my ankles, I’m able to step out, freeing myself from a sweaty prison.

“Okay, well you have fun rotting on that filthy bench. I’m going to the sauna so I can loosen up my back. It’s more sore now after that class.”

I grab a towel from inside the locker to wrap around myself. I’m not leaving until I use the sauna and take a shower. This facility is way too nice to not take advantage of all the amenities, especially after that class.

“What is that?” Brooke asks, giving no context to what she means.

“What is what?” I reply, turning to face her.

Brooke is no longer sprawled out on the bench. She’s sitting up right, a crease forming between her sculpted brows, her confusion made more apparent by the wayward angle of her lips. Like she just heard the most appealing joke in the world.

I laugh, unable to hide my amusement. “What?”

Brooke stands slowly, reaching out towards me with an open hand.

“Babes, turn around.”

I do as I’m told, confusion blooming inside.

Turning to face the lockers, I drop my towel to only cover my ass, allowing Brooke to examine my back. Her cool fingers are a tender touch against my sweaty skin.

“You going to use your words any time soon?” My tone comes off more irritated than I would like it to.

Confusion turns to festering concern. She traces the same area on my back three times. I twist around, trying to see what she sees, but it’s too far down to see without a mirror.

I shove Brooke out of the way and rush to the full-length mirror at the end of the locker bay. Twisting like a contortionist, I angle my body so I can see the section she’s concerned with. And there, just above my tailbone, covering the width of my backside, lays three red lines. Thick, angry welts rise from my body like a brand. The surrounding skin is marbled blue and purple.

“What the fuck?” I breathe, unable to comprehend what exactly I’m looking at.

I reach around, barely able to trace the lines with my fingertips.

Brooke comes up behind me, her face a complete reflection of my own worry.

“Mary, I need to ask you something and you need to be one hundred percent honest with me.”

I meet her gaze in the mirror. Fire rages behind her hazel eyes.

“Are you safe at home?”

I startle.

That was not the question I thought she was going to ask. Gone is my wildflower full of kinky innuendos. This Brooke is brimming with fury, ready to snap into action depending on how I answer her.

Her lips thin, her gaze not wavering.

I frown. “Brooke?—”

“No. Answer the damned question, Mary.Are you safe?”

Her tone is firm as she enunciates the last three words.

Wrapping the towel back around myself and hooking it under my armpit, I turn to face her fully.

Am I safe?

I chew on the question, tasting the validity of that accusation. She’s insinuating that Miles did this. That Miles hurt me. And, after all these years, I want to say no. Miles is my protector, my rock. He works so hard to ensure we have everything we need. He’s attentive to my needs, most of the time, and very rarely lashes out. Sure, his moods can switch quickly when he’s stressed out, but I can’t blame him for that.

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