Her tongue traced over my shoulder. “I love your tattoos. Someday you’ll have to tell me what they all mean.”
I agreed with “someday”, because I had far too many to go into that explanation today. “Same,” I replied, my hand drifting up from her ass to her lower back.
Caroline lifted her head from my shoulder. “What do you mean?”
I walked us into our bedroom, closing the door with my foot. “What do you mean, what do I mean? Your tattoo, someday you’ll need to tell me what it means too.”
I would have kept going to the bed, except her expression stopped me in my tracks. She’d gone pale. Well, paler than usual. Almost looking sick to her stomach like she’d been on a boat too long.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Show me.” Her voice was a croak, very unlike Caroline.
I lowered her feet to the carpet. “Are you being serious right now? You didn’t know you had a tattoo?”
If I didn’t know the extent of her circumstances over the past eight years, I would question how someone had a tattoo theydidn’t know about. Even drunks generally found it the next morning. I had one of those on my thigh.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and I knew in that instant that this was no joke. Caroline honestly had no idea that there was a tattoo on her lower back. Taking her hand, I brought her over to the closet and the full length mirror there.
I turned her so her back was to the mirror, and then touched my other hand to her lower back so she knew where to look. It took her a moment to work up the nerve, squeezing my fingers with a strength I didn’t even know she had.
Hesitantly, she twisted her upper body so we both could look into the mirror and see the lettering at the small of her back.
???
Tears streamed down her cheeks as her chin started to tremble. I honestly had no idea what to say or do. Her reaction terrified me, because I knew without her having to say it who had given her that tattoo.
The more she stared at it, the harder she started to shake. But when I went to pull her into my arms, she moved away from me. Releasing my hand, she nearly backed herself into the closet to get away from me.
“Don’t touch me!”
I froze, not moving closer but also not stepping away. “What is it? Talk to me, Caroline. How can I help you?”
She kept herself facing me, like she was trying to hide the tattoo. I did not point out that I could still see it in the reflection of the mirror on the closet door.
“I can’t…” Her tears were like slices to my soul. “I can’t…” She shook her head. “I didn’t know that was there… He marked the others, but not me.”
Jones put that tattoo on the other women too? On Nishi? I didn’t know what the symbols specifically meant, but I could guess they were nothing good. It was on the small of her back, and given the conditions she’d been forced to live under, it was understandable that she didn’t know about it. Without a mirror, I certainly couldn’t see that area on myself. Had her doctor not seen it when I brought her and Samantha for their checkup? Maybe they had and thought nothing of it, not understanding the significance of it. It didn’t look new, nor did it look infected, so the doctor likely had no reason to question its presence.
Caroline had only ever worn one-piece swimsuits. She did not wear bikini tops or anything overly revealing. Most days, she wore sundresses.
Falling to her knees, Caroline’s hands covered her face as she let out a pitiful wail. My heart broke for her, and I had no idea what to do or how to help. I rushed over to my dresser and pulled on a pair of shorts. I didn’t think in her state that she would appreciate my nudity right now. Then I hurried over to the bed and pulled off the thin blanket.
Careful not to touch her, I draped the blanket over her shoulders. Her hands traveled from her face to her arms to catch the ends, pulling it further around herself.
I sat on my ass, bracing my back against the wall. I had no idea what to do or what to say. I was so fucking helpless that I even contemplated calling Lu to come help.
When she spoke, I almost didn’t register her attempt, but I still couldn’t make out the word. “What did you say?”
Her head snapped up, and though tears still streamed heavily down her cheeks, it wasn’t pain or sadness on her face. It was anger. “Whore!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “You want to know what it means so badly? It means ‘whore’!”
I sat there frozen in shock as she scrambled to her feet, nearlytripping over the blanket. Whore. My heart pounded in my chest, the word like acid to my skin. Caroline had the word “whore” tattooed at the small of her back, and she had no idea untilIhad pointed it out to her.
Reality came crashing down on me. The same reality I’d pushed away at the beach. Caroline was a seventeen-year-old sex trafficking victim. Our feelings for each other did not change that.Icould not change that. I had been about to take a seventeen-year-old woman—girl—to my bed. No matter what the law said the age of consent was, I had no business touching her.
Shame came crashing over me like a tidal wave. I was no better than Weatherby Dalton-Jones IV. I was sick, perverted. Add in the blood on my hands, and she deserved someone so much better than me. I didn’t even know how to comfort her at this shocking revelation.
Caroline let out a low, pitiful moan. “I tried to warn you… I tried to tell you what I am…”