Page 9 of Beautiful Scar

The kiss wrecks me. I feel shaky and trembling all over. His lips linger, nipping at me gently, and then there’s clapping. The men watching finally wake up, and Tigran’s lips are gone, leaving me barren.

Holy mother of god.

That wasincredible.

If that was just for show, then what would the real thing be like?

I’m dragged down from the altar. Tigran leads the way along the aisle, pausing to accept congratulations. I nod to some of the men I recognize from the Bratva. Evan’s stony glare lurks off in the pews, but he doesn’t approach. I’m betting he’s as pissed as I should be.

“Now it’s done,” Tigran says once we’re in the front entry hall. Valentin and Arsen come out next, followed by my dad. He’s lingering off to the side like he’s not even a part of this anymore.

I want to go to him. I want him to make me understand. Why me? Why now? What’s going to happen to me? I’ve barely left his house in over a decade, and suddenly I’m being torn out of my life and thrown into something new.

Something worse.

“Congratulations on your new wife,” Valentin says and turns to me. “I trust you’ll make the Bratva proud?”

“I’ll try,” I murmur, even though I’d rather kick and scream and spit. This is how I make it through. Keep quiet. Keep my head down.

“Good. When will you be leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Tigran looks at me. His hand still grips mine. “I’ll let her pack and say her goodbyes first.”

“Goodbye?” I look up, heart racing all over again. “What do you mean, leaving?”

“You’re moving into my house in Baltimore.” Tigran’s jaw works. “You really should have been told.”

With that, my life is truly over.

Tigran drags me from the church, bundles me into a car, and drives me away.

Chapter 3

Tigran

That was poorly done.

The whole wedding was a fiasco. From the moment the girl walked into the church, it was obvious she had no clue what was going on. Bad enough to be shoved into an arranged marriage—but even worse for it to be a surprise.

No wonder she fainted.

God, she was like a little kitten in my arms. So small, blonde, and pretty. Her thick, golden hair was pulled back in a simple braid that made her look so sexy. She was tiny, maybe five-foot-four at most, with a petite frame. The sort of woman I could throw around. Good lips, nice figure. Conservative dress though, like she was on her way to teach kindergarten or something.

And that scar. An ugly wound, and I know about those. Someone sliced her from cheek to chin. She did a good job covering it with makeup, but there’s no hiding a scar like that up close.

Little kitten has been through something.

She reminded me so much of Natalia. But where my friend Nat was a firebrand, Dasha seemed so soft and trembling. It was that position, her shoulders on my thighs, her body under my hands, her eyes meeting mine. Her body pulled against mine as I cradled her. Just like the last time I ever saw poor Natalia.

Only with much less blood.

If I were a better man, I would’ve asked questions before taking her as my wife. Arsen gave me opportunities, but I just kept telling him it didn’t matter. What did it matter, honestly? I was willing to walk down the aisle for the sake of this alliance.

Bringing together the Brotherhood and the Zeitsev Bratva is going to completely change the power dynamics on the East Coast.

So why the hell would I need to know anything about some girl?

Now though, my heart burns with curiosity.

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