Broken Wings
Then added, mock-sweet, “Unless you want me to stop.”
Raven said nothing. Just turned and walked away, jaw tight, fists clenched at her sides.
Heading to the empty dressing room. She slipped in quietly, head down, arms wrapped around her torso. She made her way to the back corner where her bag was shoved high on the top shelf.
She reached up.
Her shirt lifted with the motion, rising just enough to reveal the ugly bloom of bruises along her ribs—dark and raw against her pale skin.
Red had been leaning near the door, arms crossed, pretending not to watch. But his eyes caught the shift. The flash of skin. The marks.
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