Page 84 of Sinful Scars

I don’t risk looking over my shoulder as I turn left at the end of Elle’s street. I just have to hope that there aren’t any other’s waiting to ambush me as I head in the opposite direction to my own Manhattan apartment.

The last thing I need is Mikhail and Anton turning up on my doorstep.

“You can’t fucking run all night!” Mikhail roars.

From the way my lungs burn and my eyes water, he’s right. I’m sleep deprived and have lived off nothing but coffee for the last thirty-six hours. If anyone is going to give out first, it will be me.

But I can’t let that happen.

I have to keep going.

Gritting my teeth, I quicken my pace and dart left.

Their footsteps are growing fainter, so I turn right and then immediately go down a tiny side alley, which is home to numerousoverflowing garbage cans.

The stench makes me gag, but I don’t have long until they catch up to me. Pinching my nose, I slide in between two of the cans and hold my breath as the sound of their pounding footsteps approach.

I watch as their shadows pass by the entrance to the alley.

My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for the sound of gunfire.

But it never comes.

Instead, the shadows move out of sight, and I finally release the breath I’ve been holding.

“Stay the fuck away from Elle, or I’ll kill you!” Mikhail yells into the night as his and Anton’s footsteps fade to nothing.

“Maybe you should,” I mutter as I climb to my feet and start the long walk back to my car.

22

ELLE

I’ve spent somany nights lying awake and conjuring up an image of what I thought Lev would look like. From what I’ve felt beneath my fingertips when I’ve touched him, I knew he would have a sharp jaw, no doubt covered in stubble, and messy hair that fell into his eyes.

Those eyes…

They were more haunted than I imagined. They were the deepest shade of brown, so dark that in certain lights I’m sure they would look almost black. And the dark purple bruise beneath them told a story of someone weighed down by the weight of their past.

I know because I’ve seen those exact same bruises under my own eyes at one point in my life.

But that didn’t make him any less beautiful.

I know he is ashamed of the scars that cover his neck and hands, but to me, they only represent his strength. I couldn’t stop touching them. I wanted him to know that nothing about him repulses me, even after everything I’ve learned.

Which is why I was so surprised when he left in such a hurry.

I thought that perhaps he wouldwantto stay.

I can’t deny there’s nothing I wanted more than to take him to bed and climb on top of him if only to experience the look of pleasure on his face as he spilled inside me.

Instead, it’s been almost a month, and there’s been no sign of him.

Every time I leave the hospital, I linger outside the entrance wondering if he’ll somehow make himself known. Even when I get ready for bed, I’ve been standing in my robe at the window, hoping to entice him inside once more through the promise of sex.

But nothing works.

I want to believe that he’s stayed true to his promise, that he's still out there somewhere, watching me. But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

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