“With his resources, Douglas believed he was untouchable, but my father was relentless in his pursuit of avenging me. We never found Sarah’s body and Douglas never outed me as her killer. He wanted us broken and he’d accomplished his mission. No matter my parents’ attempts, no matter how much money they poured into shrinks, I was never the same after that horrific experience. I fought, I got into trouble, and I even got addicted to drugs. Pills mostly, and I was even dumb enough to snort coke.
“Today, I won’t touch anything, not even if I need it for surgery or stitches. It took eight plastic surgeries before my mother could look at me without cringing. Doctors did an exceptional job of piecing me back together physically, but nothing could reconnect the emotional pieces that had been ripped from me. My family’s money had landed me under that blade. One of the reasons I use money so fluidly today is because I believe I’ve earned the right to. I take care of my appearance because I know how it feels to be a monster, to look like a monster.”
“Damn, Dax,” I muttered before releasing a low whistle. “That explains a lot about you that I didn’t understand. My initial impression was that you were an arrogant prick that used your money to influence situations in your favor. I’m learning that the things I assumed about you were based on surface impressions when your depth goes deeper than anything I could have imagined.”
The impact of his story allowed me to see him more clearly, the real him. “You know pain personally. You know what rock bottom looks like.” My gaze locked with his and held. My newfound respect for him was present.
At this closer view I could see the faint traces of one of the scars on his face. It was so faint along his cheek I don’t believe I would have spotted it without knowing his story. His doctors had done one helluva job. The same money that had gotten him ripped apart had been used to put him back together. I reached up and traced my finger along the faded scar. He didn’t pull away and appeared relieved.
“You’ve experienced your own version of hell. You’ve stood in it and been burned down to ashes in the fiery pits, shaken hands with the devil, kissed the back of his withered, long-clawed hand—”
“Okay, Laura,” he stated, laughing at me. “I believe our pasts are what led to our connection. If you would embrace the connection we share—”
My finger atop his lips stopped him. I refused to entertain him advocating for us to have a relationship no matter how deep our connection went. He would end up giving me the one disease I never wanted to catch. He was spreading it like the plague. Dax was spreading feelings, and I feared I was already catching them.