Page 2 of Beautiful Scar

That’s not me, though. Instead of taking the news like a regular human, my brain’s doing backflips and screaming through a thousand different worst-case scenarios.

Like what if there’s an earthquake and the building collapses? Or there’s a fire and I’m trapped in a stairwell? Or maybe the car flips twice on the way over and I have to crawl over broken glass to save my stupid grinning dickhead brother’s life?

I’d seriously consider letting him perish.

“That’s it,” I announce, shoving to my feet again. Anxiety makes me twitchy. “I’m not going.”

Evan groans and drinks. “Come on, Dash.”

“Nope, I can’t do it. Just can’t do it. Dad will just have to accept my decision.”

“He won’t. You know that. How many times has he asked you to do anything in the last decade?”

I frown at him. “Never, but?—”

“And how many women in your position get to basically live the life they want to with no responsibilities to the family?”

“I mean, none, but?—”

“Then why can’t you just trust that Dad has your back?” He’s giving me this smug look, and it makes me want to claw his stupid eyes out.

I hate it when he has a point.

I’m a blood relative to thepakhanof the Zeitsev Bratva. It’s a distant relation, but still. Most women in the family are either married off or actively working for one of the organization’sbusinesses by the time they’re twenty-five. I could’ve been a doctor or a lawyer or maybe a cute PR girl with super high heels and really good hair.

Instead, I decided to be a creepy loser.

And I only get away with it because Dad’s been sheltering me.

“Fine,” I say through my teeth. “But if the earth opens up and swallows you, I’m not going to rappel down to save your life.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he says. “Besides, I’ve seen you trip over your own feet walking down the hall. Pretty sure you’re not rappelling anywhere.”

I make a rude gesture and collapse back onto the couch.

The thing is, I want to go tonight. I want to wear cute dresses, mingle at fun parties, have a drink or two, and enjoy myself.

But the chattering anxiety screaming in the back of my head won’t let me.

I straighten my spine. I sit on the edge of the cushion at my full height—an imposing five-foot-three—and tilt up my chin.

This is my armor. All my life, I’ve been a good girl. I’ve been more than good—I’ve been stinkingproper. It’s all I know these days, and if I have to leave the house for the first time in a very long time, I’m going to go into the world wearing the only protection I’ve got.

“Tell Father that I’m ready.”

“Whatever you say, weirdo.”

Evan leansacross me and frowns out the window. “Why are we at a church?” he asks.

I swat him away, glaring. Dad turns from the passenger seat, and the look on his face makes my stomach lurch. He looks almost angry, and our father can be a real stubborn ass when he wants to be.

“I want you two to behave yourselves,” he says, staring right at Evan. Then he glances at me. “I know you’ll be good,Dashenka. You always are. But your brother?—”

“I’m a paragon of wit and poise,” he says airily.

“You’re a borderline embarrassment. Keep your mouth shut for once.”

Evan mimes locking his lips and winks at me, grinning.

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