Page 28 of Beautiful Scar

But it’s still there, lurking, waiting, and if I applyjustthe right pressure…

I might make her explode.

And by all that’s fucking sinful and unholy, I want her to shatter all over me.

“Decorate the place however you want,” I say, tearing my gaze from her eyes. I shove my gun back into my belt and step oversome ruined pottery. “Tell Vito what you need, and he’ll make sure you have the budget.”

“Wait, what? Budget?”

“You’re going to need money. You know, to buy new stuff?” I gesture all around. “Unless you want to live like this?”

“No, I just—” She shrinks back slightly. “I thought you’d be angry.”

I stare at her. I’m not remotely surprised. I come off like a piece of shit because the majority of the time, that’s what I am. A killer, a beast, a monster.

For most people in my life, I’ve got just about zero patience.

I’m known to go from smiling to stabbing faster than most men can light a cigarette.

Except for some reason, this girl itches at me. It’s like I want to make sure she’s happy, and if I can’t make that happen, at least I can make her comfortable.

“This is your home now,” I tell her with total sincerity, which is very rare for me. “Do what you want with it.”

That seems to stun her. For a second, her mouth hangs open, before she finally nods. Her voice breaks slightly. “Thank you.”

“I don’t care how much money you need. Rearrange this place however you want. Furniture, paintings, color the walls, it doesn’t matter. This is your space.”

“My dad never really let me change anything,” she says, staring down at the floor. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“I recommend starting with a broom.” I grin slightly at the embarrassed look she throws at me. “But you’ll figure it out. Now, I need something from you.”

She gathers herself. The touched, vulnerable girl dissipates, leaving the straight-backed prim Lady Asshole in her place. There are three sides to this girl, and she uses each one with precision. “Here I was thinking you were being altruistic.”

I was, but she can think whatever she wants.

“Nothing’s free,” I tell her and move closer. “There’s a meeting of the Brotherhood leaders. You have to come with me.”

Her eyes widen. Just a little hint of fear. “I can’t do that.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“But I only just got here. I don’t know anything about Baltimore. I barely have any clothes. I just can’t.”

I walk toward her. She backs away, chin up but with simmering panic in her eyes. She bumps into the wall, and I stop inches in front of her, looming over her like a beast. Let her see the mobster. Let her think I’m a demon and a brutal savage. What does it even matter? Everyone else looks at me and they know what I am.

Bloodthirsty fucking killer.

In my world, the line between sinner and saint is a blurry mess.

Dasha might as well get used to it.

“This is not optional,” I say, my tone dripping with malice. “After the meeting, if you want to hole up and hide away again, that’s your business. But I have to show you off. Let the other headsof the family know you’re just a girl and not some scary Russian viper. Do you understand?”

She nods meekly. Fuck, I want her to fight. Where’s that goddamn passion? I wish she’d try to knee me in the crotch or scratch out my eyes. I know that’s in her—but whenever I nudge just the slightest bit, she crumbles.

“I understand,” she whispers.

“And you’re not going to do anything about it?” I say between my teeth, almost desperate for her to push back.

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