Page 102 of Beautiful Scar

“You’re always so convincing,” I say with a sigh, crawling back to him.

He starts to undress me, his other fist buried in my hair. “That’s because you don’t take much.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re my dirty little slut, that’s why.” His smile is everything, and his touch is even more, and yeah, okay, he’s right, I am, but so what?

I like it.

Chapter 32

Dasha

Ibang hard on the old, familiar door, and I wait. In the car behind me, Grigor, Alexan, and Tigran are all glaring at my back. My husband, in particular, took more than a little convincing to make this trip possible, and even more arguing to get him to agree to let me handle it all by myself.

Now that I’m actually here, standing on the stoop at ten in the morning on a blustery Philadelphia day, I’m starting to think that maybe I made the wrong choice.

Maybe it’d be better if Tigran were by my side.

But no, I can do this. I’m not the weak, terrified girl I was when I first married him. I’ve been through enough already, was nearly killed, had a man die in my arms, got pregnant, redecorated a house, fought with a mafia killer, befriended a bunch of criminals, cooked some good chickens. I’m more than my trauma. I don’t have to let it define me anymore.

The door opens and my brother stares at me.

“Dasha?” he says with genuine shock in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Evan.” I hesitate, then launch myself and give him a big hug.

He laughs, hugging me back. We were never a super affectionate family, and I bet it’s a real surprise to see me out in the world, much less hugging him, but this is good.

“It’s great to see you,” he says, pulling back. His eyes stray past me and to the street. “Is that your husband and two scary guards?”

“Ignore the big men with the guns and invite me in.”

“This is your house,” he says, stepping aside. “But shouldn’t we ask them to come too? I mean, at least Tigran, right?” He waves, but I pull him away.

“I’m here for myself.” I walk with him to the kitchen. “Now, tell me what you’ve been doing since I left.”

“Basically, the same old stuff. I’m way more interested in you. How’s Tigran? How’s life? How’s—” He glances at my belly.

“Happy. Healthy. Surprisingly good.” I fill him in on the major events while he makes tea. It feels so weird being back in my old house again.

Everything’s the same, but it’s also completely different. The chairs feel smaller, the clutter bothers me more, and the dishes in the sink are annoying. And I know that really, nothing’s changed at all, except for me.

I’ve changed so much that I don’t fit in here anymore.

“Dad was pretty messed up when he got back from his visit.” Evan sits across from me, shaking his head. His shouldersslump. “I swear to God, Dash, I didn’t know. About the wedding, about that fucking Irish diseased dicksmear, about any of it.”

“I know you didn’t.” I remember how surprised and angry he was the night of the wedding. Evan’s clever, but he couldn’t have faked that. “I don’t blame you even a little bit. How have things been here with me gone?”

“Tense,” he admits. “I flipped out when I heard what happened. He tried to hide it, but you know, he came back—” He gestures at his face, meaning,beat to hell. “And when he told me the truth, I lost it.”

“Where is he now?”

“Doing his rounds.”

“I want to talk to him. Think you could call and tell him I’m here?”

Evan shrugs, looking uncertain. “You sure about that? I mean, I feel like it might be better if you visited without the old prick ruining it.”

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