Sloane’s POV
The first thing I do when Xavier closes the bedroom door is head to the bathroom for the mirror. I needed to see the damage for myself, only getting a glimpse of my eyes in the SUV’s rearview mirror on the way back here to the packhouse.
What my reflection shows makes my stomach turn. Zia whines.
Not only is my hair a tangled mess- the bun I painstakingly twisted into place this morning hanging crookedly from the back of my head- dirt streaks my cheek. My cotton sweater is rumpled, and the skin around my throat is mottled with angry red marks, each one a reminder of how close Judy's fingers came to crushing my windpipe.
Trembling, one of my hands goes to the bruises. Pain flashes through me, sharp enough to make me jerk my hand away, and for a moment, I can't breathe.
Zia
