A Guest

Melanie stood in front of the mirror, grimacing at the marks scattered across her skin. Damn it. She had never realized just how easily she bruised. The fading smudges on her arms from that old man, Grif, had taken their time to disappear, and now Spencer had done his best to leave his own imprint on her.

Her fingers ghosted over the faint fingerprints on her forearms, reminders of his unrelenting grip. But it was the darkening mark on her neck that made her stomach twist. She leaned in, tilting her head slightly to examine it under the light, and winced. He really had tried to kill her.

A shudder ran down her spine. Another few seconds and she might have blacked out. It was in that moment, she knew she was totally alone in this place. No one would step forward to help her unless they had something to gain.