With Love

Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Warning! You may see graphic content in this chapter**

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A cold hand trailed down my back early Friday morning, paying particular attention to the raised skin from my scars. I hummed, pressing my face further into the pillow my face rested on. It was strange how his hands were always cold, no matter what time of day or where he was. But I enjoyed the cold feeling since I always felt warm.

His hand splayed out on my back and I felt the bed shift followed by soft lips pressing against my back. The touch sent a zap of pleasure through my body.

We'd slept in the same bed every night since the club. My bed specifically since there was no way I would sleep in the little bedroom where all the staff slept too, that would only cause more gossip than already floating around. We didn't even talk about him sleeping in my room, he just let me drag him there every night. And when we weren't busy, we laid in bed and just talked, without mentioning my work or anything even remotely illegal and dangerous.

It turned out that he genuinely worried every time I stepped out of the compound.

There had been no mention of the extent of our relationship, something I much preferred than one of those dreadful 'what are we?' conversations. We just were, and that was perfect for us. We barely had time during our days to spend with each other since my work took preference, as did his. On top of that, Uncle George decided that he wanted to spend more time around the manor, something I had been suggesting for a while now since the loneliness must be unbearable for him without my Uncle Ron.

"You do know I'm awake, right?" I asked, smiling to myself as the kisses traced along my spine.

A brush of air hit my back. "I know," he murmured, leaning his head up next to mine, kissing the back of my head. I curled my arms around my pillow, burrowing into the soft silk pillowcase. "Where is this one from?" he asked softly, tracing a finger over the thin scar trailing from my ear to the back of my neck.

"I was sixteen," I replied, "it was from my first victim in The Courtyard." My words were empty. "He fought back."

Images flashed through my mind of when my father threw me in a room, locked the door, and expected me to gain intel on what the man had wanted from my family. I regretted everything I did until he managed to get hold of my knife due to my sloppiness. My memory blocked out the rest, but all I can remember is his blood splattered all over the room, and my father congratulating me on not being merciful. He was so proud of his little machine.

My father later informed me that it was my own fault I got hurt, while I sat in the infirmary with my uncle Ron, trying to stitch the back of my neck back together again.

Finn brushed a kiss over it. "This one?" His thumb grazed the scar on the back of my right arm.

I huffed a breath. "Remember when I told you about my father wanting us to know what a bullet wound felt like?" I asked rhetorically. "You're looking at it."

His fingers tightened around my arm slightly from my words. He hissed a foul word in regards to my father. "Your father deserves to burn in hell."

My chest warmed at his passionate words. I rolled over in his arms and loosely wrapped my arms around his neck, lazily smiling up at him.

"If I have to lie here and tell you about each scar, we'll be here all day," I whispered, leaning up and placing a soft kiss on his chest. His chest tensed at the touch causing me to kiss it again, knowing I affected him this way.

He brushed some of my curls out of his face and peered down at my face while I was wrapped in his arms. "What about this one? On your eyebrow? I've always noticed it but never had the guts to ask."