Jasper Battle Scars Novels & Stories

I might have nothing but I will still stand like a pillar. I still don't understand one thing. Why couldn't he kill me that day? He said something is holding him back. Is that even possible? A tattoo on the leader's chest. I don't have tattoos. I have scars. Tears blurred my eyes as I put my hand on my chest. My scars define how strong I am. They might not allure anyone. I might be ugly in the world's eye but I know how these scars have made me strong. If they are powerful so do I am.

Hope knows I am not a morning person, and I need to be coaxed. I flop over on my back, kick off my blanket, "I'll be right down. Leave me some coffee, or someone might die." I hear a laugh, "No worries, we already know." I hear Hope's footsteps heading down the hall. I pull myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Time to get the day started. I turn on the shower and undress. I catch a glimpse of my mate mark in the mirror. Looking at myself naked makes me cringe because that damn mark is staring back at me. It has been about a month since "The Fight," as it's called now. I have healed completely and have minimal scarring, considering the extent of my injuries. It was primarily cuts and brui

When Jasmine looked and saw she had stopped dead in her tracks she went to grab her wrist and pull her towards the store and Valerie resisted. "What's wrong? I thought you wanted to go to the mall." Valerie looked at the store and wrapped her arms around her waist. "Jasmin, I have too many scars to wear lingerie. I barely wear the few that Lucas and Leam already have at home. When I try them on I want to change immediately." "Val, You got to make your scars a good thing. You got to make them look sexy. You are a warrior you survived beyond anything people could imagine. You have scars, turn them into courage, besides the boys love you, scars and all." Valerie looked at the sign and sighed.

The kind that happens when something enters a room that nobody was prepared for. I go still. I don’t look at anyone. I stare at the wall directly in front of me and I breathe, slowly, through my nose, and I feel the air on my back and I know exactly what they can see and I don’t move a single muscle. The scars don’t lie. They never have. They’re not the clean, faded kind that can be explained away as childhood accidents or a medical procedure. They’re the kind that have a story, and the story is ugly, and every woman in this room is currently reading it whether they want to or not.

I was Gavin Whitestone’s treasure for ten years. Then he abandoned me for another woman three times, and I finally saw the truth. I didn't love him anymore. I have three scars. Each one is named Gavin Whitestone. The first is just below my ribs, from a shootout two years ago. Sofia Bianchi ran out of a corner and took a bullet for Gavin. It hit her arm. Gavin sent every doctor in the city to her side, while I was left in a dark corner, pressing my hand to my stomach to keep myself from bleeding out from a piece of shrapnel.

Not with the pieces of my heart scattered at my feet. Jake Lawson has taken away everything: my child, my dignity, and my hope, and cast away like trash.

"Take it." One of the other men was already rifling through my jacket, pulling out my phone, my wallet. "Nice phone," he commented, scrolling through it. "Password?" "Go to hell." He shrugged and smashed it against my car's hood. The screen shattered, pieces of glass and metal scattering across the concrete. "Like I said," Scarface repeated, pocketing my watch. "Nothing personal. But stay away from things that don't belong to you." They climbed back into their sedan and drove off, leaving me standing in my driveway, bleeding from a dozen small cuts from the broken glass.

Still hers. She trailed her fingertips his arm, as the morning light danced over the bruises and healing wounds as if trying to make sense of the pain etched into his skin. Battle scars. Every one of them earned in the fight to get Sophie back. The war might have been over, but peace hadn't yet settled down in her heart. Grayson stirred beside her. "You ever going to stop watching me sleep like a serial killer?" She smiled faintly. "Probably not." He cracked one eye open. "Creepy and sexy. That's very on-brand for you."

"What, is Mom not as important as some junk locket? You know what happens if her condition worsens." "I know." I cut him off, my voice cracking as I crouched on the floor. "No one knows better than me when she loses it." My old scars burned as I recalled it. Like a volatile child, she'd speak kindly one moment, and the next, brand me with a hot poker. The smell of scorched flesh haunted my nightmares. Andre fell silent, knowing how diligently I had cared for Evelyn, but a moment later, he hardened again. "I got it, you don't want her to get better."

One cruel message from Jace lit up the screen: “We’re done. I can’t be with you when you’re like this anymore.” His words cut deeper than the cold. My fingers shook as I gazed at the illuminated text. The girl I’d been — the one who laughed, who believed — felt buried under layers of shame and doubt. The rain blurred the surroundings, but I could feel the needles that stung my flesh with each sharp raindrop.