Inked Babies (Inked Brotherhood 6)

“That sucks,” he says, and the others nod.

Does it? Again I wish I knew what Ken did to them.

“The things he did to me… I’d have fucking died if someone saw,” I admit, and see Rafe’s eyes narrow. “I was very young.”

“Ah yeah,” Nico says, more quietly this time, and the other kids hang their heads, looking at the floor.

This cinches it. I really need to talk to the police about this. Need to know the goddamn details.

“Did he beat you?” Quint asks, lifting his chin at me, as if in challenge. “He used his belt on me until the buckle broke.”

Shit. I’m glad Ash isn’t here. His dad used to give him the belt and his scars are pretty bad.

“He burned me with cigarettes,” I tell Quint, holding his gaze. “And cut me with a fucking knife.”

There’s a tiny flinch. “Where?”

“My back.”

“And those scars on your arms? Did he cause them, too?”

I freeze, involuntarily glancing down at the thin scars on the inside of my arms. “No,” I whisper. “He didn’t.”

I made those. Cutting myself when I was younger to let out some of the rage and sadness and hollow frustration.

“He cut your back?” a new voice asks, and I look up, searching for its source.

Jericho. These are the first words he has spoken.

“Wanna see?” I hear myself say, and when the boys nod enthusiastically, I release Dakota’s hand and stand up, lifting my T-shirt.

I expect gasps. I expect comments. I expect some damn sound to let me know their reaction. The silence is odd, and as I turn my head to look, I feel hands on my back.

Cursing, I step away, then make myself stop.

Damn, these kids are tall. Soon they’ll be as tall as I am. I hear them shuffle behind me, but they don’t touch me again.

Just as well. Not a good time for a real flashback, one of those that send me plodding through the memories for hours, where I’m lost with no way out.

“These are bad,” Quint finally says, awe in his voice.

As I turn, pulling my T-shirt down, I take in their faces. “You know, my friend Asher who was with us that night when we found you in the basement, he has lots of scars on his back. And you know what that fucker always says?” They shake their heads, and I go

on, hoping I’m telling them the right things. “He says that scars are beautiful because they mean you survived.”

They scoff at that, and I agree with them. Never bought into Asher’s mantra, but then again I mostly ignored my scars. Ignored my past.

No wonder I have flashbacks and nightmares. The therapist told me it’s because I never accepted what happened to me. So I let it haunt me like a malevolent ghost.

“Pretty or not, the fucking scars are there,” I tell Quint, and the other boys. “It doesn’t matter if they’re ugly. The point is...” I try to gather my thoughts, find the best words, but I’ve never been good at this shit, so fuck it. “You made it out alive, and I fucking swear to you that me and my friends, we’ll do everything we can to keep you safe.”

***

“That was good, what you did for those kids.” Rafe thumps my back as we step outside. “They opened up to you.”

“But they have no clue where Kenneth might have gone to,” I grumble.

I went and asked outright. That was part of the purpose of our visit. But he never told them anything about his whereabouts. Why would he?