Page 105 of Beautiful Scar

“If Dad doesn’t come through, I will.”

“Evan, come on?—”

“I know men, little sister. Dad’s not the only one with a voice in the Bratva these days. You’ll get what you need.”

I smile, excitement running through my core. “Thank you.”

“Anything for family.” He gives me another hug. “Now, your husband’s waiting.”

I leave my old house. As I head down the stoop, I’m fairly sure it’s for the very last time.

I don’t plan on ever coming back here.

“How did it go?” Tigran asks. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

“I stood up to him,” I say as all my rage slowly melts away and I fade back into myself. Just regular old Dasha. Except a little flame’s still burning away, and the last of my old armor has turned to ashes.

Leaving only me and nothing else to hide behind.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, kissing my ear.

“How fast do you think Alexan can drive?”

“Not fast enough.”

I heft my bag on my shoulder. “Should we get a hotel?”

“I’m going to leave you a moaning, sweating, incoherent mess,” he whispers, squeezing my hand tightly.

“You’d better.”

Chapter 33

Dasha

Tigran snaps the handcuff closed as he brushes his lips against my throat. “Too tight?” he whispers softly, one hand patting my ass.

“Maybe a little,” I complain.

“Too fucking bad.” He spanks me roughly, ruthlessly. Which makes me moan and grin, since that’s what I was going for.

It’s been a week since my visit back home.

In that time, I left my suite every day, cooked dinner for my ravenous husband every evening, went to the grocery store once surrounded by half a dozen scary men who would gladly die for me, and had wild, carefree sex before bed each night, also with my ravenous husband.

Confronting my father has been extremely good for my self-esteem.

“Now, baby, lift your hips,” Tigran commands. He stands beside the bed looking at me with burning eyes. He’s naked, his body covered only in intricate ink.

“What if I refuse?” I ask petulantly.

“Then I will be forced to punish you. Is that what you want tonight?”

“First of all, it’s three in the afternoon?—”

Thwack. His palm comes down hard on my butt. “Don’t correct me,” he rumbles.

I whine, flexing my legs. “Andsecondof all, I’m the one handcuffed to the bed here. What I want doesn’t really come into it, right?”

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