Chapter 7

Bruises. Wrist to elbow, layered in yellows and greens and fresh, wet purples. Something raw and weeping at her hairline. Her collarbone stood out like a coat hook. The most beautiful woman I'd ever hated had been reduced to something you'd find in a shelter. She slid slippers onto my feet, and her hands were shaking so hard she dropped one. I looked up at Damian. He met my eyes, perfectly calm. "She hurt you," he said. "This is a fraction of what she owes. If it isn't enough, she's yours....