Red, angry marks marred her skin. Finger-shaped bruises. Proof that he had dared to lay his hands on her.

I could barely think past the white-hot rage curling my gut.

I took her hands, turning them over gently.

The way my body vibrated with a need for destruction was almost unbearable. My thumb skimmed over the bruising, as if the touch alone could erase the damage.

Mason. That pathetic excuse for a human being.

Her body was something that should’ve been cherished, not manhandled by a degenerate.

I fought to keep my expression blank, but inside, my rage burned and burned and burned. I wanted to find him. I wanted to see the light drain from his eyes as he realized he had made the worst mistake of his miserable existence. I wanted to dismantle him, piece by piece, and leave him with nothing but regret. Hell, I wanted his head severed, rolling at my feet.

Instead, I swallowed all of it down, caging the beast inside.

I rubbed her wrists softly, careful, reverent even. “Come on,” I said, coaxing her, “let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

My throat tightened as my eyes caught sight of her dress—clinging to her like a second skin, soaked, nearly see-through.

My jaw tensed at the realization of how exposed she was to those brain-dead animals at the party. Had I known, I would have been there in a second. Would have dragged her out before anyone had the chance to lay eyes on her. Not because she couldn’t wear it—she had every right to—but because someone should have been there to watch out for her.

My fingers shot to the collar of her dress, and her eyes widened as I ran them down the front, frowning. “It’s torn here.”

She looked down, touching the rip that traveled from the collar to her chest. Her pink bra peeked through, and she blushed, instinctively covering herself. “I didn’t know he did that too…” she replied, her voice small.

My vision blurred at the edges. I didn’t trust myself to speak. What could be said that wouldn’t be laced with venom?

I exhaled slowly, forcing my hands to unclench. Then I took her hand, her cold fingers entwining tightly with mine, and led her to her bed. I rummaged through her dresser drawers, pulling out one of my shirts. I wasn’t surprised that she had it; she was always stealing my clothes. This one was a black band tee, oversized, and I tossed it her way, knowing she’d want to be in something baggy. Then I grabbed some shorts and threw them on her bed too.

“Can you unzip me?” she asked, turning her back to me. “I-I can’t reach it.”