“Say my name,” he panted in her ear. “My real name.”

“Darling!”

He thrust harder and deeper while she punctuated each stroke with her voice. She came an instant later with a cry of pleasure so loud, it echoed in the room and his ears.

Smiling in triumph as he watched the ecstasy on her face, Darling waited until she was completely finished before he let himself go.

Oh yeah… that was what he’d needed. Thank the gods, he didn’t have any of the pain Syn had feared would come with an orgasm. At least the most important part of his body still worked the way it was supposed to.

Spent, weak, and finally sated after all these months, Darling lay himself down on top of her while she ran her hands under his shirt, over his scarred back. Her touch felt like heaven.

But as his senses returned, he realized where they were.

Not in her house.

They were in his office…

And he was a soulless, hideous monster. One who hated her.

He lifted himself up to look down at her as his anger renewed itself.

Her eyes smiled at him as she reached for his mask. “You told me that the next time we were together, you’d let me see all of you.”

Yes, but things had been different then. As ugly as he’d thought himself before, it was nothing compared to what he was now. They had utterly destroyed what little he’d had, and left him completely disfigured and foul.

Bracing himself for the horror and rejection he’d see in her amber eyes, he didn’t move as she released the strap on the mask and pulled it free.

She didn’t disappoint him in the least. He saw just what he’d expected. She was as repulsed by his looks as he was.

Who could blame her? He looked like a total hideous freak. How could anyone ever love someone so ugly?

Zarya gasped at what they’d done to him. Even with the thick auburn beard that covered most of his face, she could see the deep, awful scars all over it. From the depth and number, it was obvious that each one had been intentional. Done for no other reason than to ruin his looks and make him suffer. There was a scar along the length of his left nostril where someone had sliced it open. The one on his right was even longer. Two more jagged scars ran from the corner of his right eye, causing it to droop. Another thick one ran over his upper lip, causing it to arch up at a peculiar angle. Both corners of his mouth held definitive scars from the muzzle they’d forced on him.

And there, in his right cheek, through the beard, she saw where Pip had carved his name in giant letters.

How could they have done this to him?

She wanted to cry over the cold brutality that had disfigured his face. Damn them all for it!