Jane Anthony, author
She was meant to be a warning. A dead mouse dropped at my door by a sadistic cat who finished with his plaything. It was her. The little girl I knew a lifetime ago. Now a woman used and discarded at my feet. She thinks of me as her savior. If only she knew how deep the scars run. Not only across her sweet skin, but through the center of my heart. We’re connected in a seamless circle that binds us together. When she bleeds, I bleed. But the price I pay for loving her is higher than I bargained for.