Page 74 of Beautiful Scar

“You just got shot and stabbed. You’re not going anywhere.”

“They’ve been stalking myfucking wife,” he says, his tone cold and filled with savage rage.

“We can’t do anything about it right now.” I keep my hands on his chest, holding him against the bed. Fear and revulsion skitter down my spine like the legs of hungry roaches.

The idea of people taking pictures of me through the stinking windows is horrifying.

My room is supposed to be a safe space. But nothing’s safe anymore.

“She’s right,” Vito says softly as he gathers up the photos. “I’ve already increased security. Alexan says he’ll personally make sure nobody’s nearby. He thinks he knows where they’ve been watching from, based on the angles.” Vito smiles slightly and raps the photos against one knee. “The young man has a very good eye.”

Tigran blows out and grimaces as he looks at the ceiling. It’s obvious he hates this. I bet if I weren’t here, he’d already be out of bed storming around the house, barking orders and ripping all his stitches.

“We’ll have to give him a promotion,” Tigran says at last. “He saved my life.”

“I suspect you’re right, but that can wait. For now, listen to your wife and stay in bed.” Vito hesitates at the door. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” I say before he can answer. “My husband and I are going to bed now. Thank you, Vito.”

“The doctor left some antibiotics, pain medication, and a sleep aid. It’s all on the dresser.” Vito nods at me and disappears, lightly shutting the door behind him.

I busy myself taking stock of his pill regimen. That’s better than thinking about some creepy Irish killer photographing me through the windows.

My world’s an upside-down mess. It’s not supposed to be like this. I blink back tears, fighting to stay in control. Home should be safe. My room should be my sanctuary.

They shouldn’t get to me here.

Except they’re trying anyway.

“Pisik, listen to me,” Tigran says, his voice raspy and tired.

I talk over him. “You need to take these three now. Then the antibiotic is four times a day for ten days. I’ll set alarms to remind you. The pain pills can be taken every six hours?—”

“Dasha,” he says, sharper now.

I don’t look at him. I keep my chin up and my back straight. Act prim, act correct. I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.

“Baby.” His tone softens. “Listen to me.”

“Please, just take your pills.”

“I want you to sleep with me tonight. Will you do that for me?”

My shoulders tense. I can’t look at him. Tears fill my eyes again, but I shove them back. A good girl doesn’t cry. A proper lady keeps it together.

But I’m not proper. I’m not good. I’m a fucking wreck and barely holding on.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“Please, baby. I need you tonight.” He reaches out a hand.

I put the pills in his palm, blinking away my tears and swallowing against them. “Only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself.”

“Just for tonight,” he says, taking his medication without any water. “Now, please, baby, come into bed with me.”

I finally let go. I crawl in beside him, slipping under the covers, and curl up at his side. He grunts as he reaches over to the light switch beside the headboard and snaps it off.

The room plunges into darkness.

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