Page 93 of Savage Hearts

I’d never told anyone. There wasn’t anyone to tell, and the people who knew were the ones who had been present for the whipping—that first time—and had gotten some sort of sadistic pleasure out of it.

Maverick didn’t respond. Not vocally, but he moved his hands down my body, settling them on my waist and pulling me a little closer to him.

I took in his scent, letting that and his warmth surround me. I should not feel safe with this man. Obviously, my instincts were out of whack.

“It was an example. And a reminder that I meant nothing to him. He treated me like he would his club members.” I shook my head. “Sometimes worse, because at least those members chose the club life. I was born into it. And the moment I took my very first breath on this Earth, I ceased to belong to myself. Daniel had believed that first breath and every other breath that followed were his.”

Much the same way the Tiernan brothers were treating me, I supposed.

I knew whateverthiswas with them was messed up. And I felt all kinds of stupid that I wasn’t fighting them more than I should.

The outcome wouldn’t change. They would still covet me for their own, all the same. Left with no choice, and no future.

“And the other times?” he asked softly.

He cupped the back of my head and brought it to his chest. I closed my eyes and focused on the beating heart that lay beneath such warm skin.

It was very hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that he was a human man with a beating heart. He should be a monster with a black hole. Consuming anything and everything in his path.

“What weren’t the punishments for? He was always a hair trigger away from exploding. I learned quickly enough to stay out of his way. And when he was drunk or high, and horny, he tended to leave me alone. Sometimes, it was because of the clothes I wore that distracted his men.”

A rumbling came from his chest, and when I pulled back, Maverick’s lips were curled in a sneer.

“I should have prolonged his death,” he finally said. “He got off too easily.”

I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t the first time I was told they were the ones to kill my dad, but this was the first time he’d admitted to any torture.

I hadn’t really thought about what had happened that night at the club. It was better that I didn’t, and not because I had felt any remorse or sadness over the destruction of the one place that had been my literal hell my entire life.

I just didn’t want to think about the violence.

I wondered what that said about me, not caring about how many lives were lost that night.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” I said.

“It would make me feel a hell of a lot better now than I do.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why do you care?”

Why did he care that my dad had abused me growing up? Why was he holding me like this? Like I was?—

Like I could be someone he cherished?

“Would it be better if I didn’t care?” he answered gruffly.

I shrugged. Perhaps so.

It would have made it easier for me to hate him.

I didn’t answer him.

I kissed his jawline, reveling in the feel of his rough stubble against my sensitive lips.

He pulled away, surprise evident in his eyes.

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