Page 98 of Beautiful Scar

I’m utterly disgusted by his weakness.

“How many houses?” I ask him. “What part of the inner harbor? Give me addresses.”

“I don’t know,” he says, sobbing and shaking. “Please, I need a doctor. Just call me an ambulance.”

Fuck it. I hold the gun up and shoot Tim right in the forehead. His skull cracks like an egg.

Pathetic. Died crying like a child.

He’s obsessed with her.

Anger rings through my body. It makes me sick thinking that Seamus is talking about my wife. What’s worse is Oisin said something similar when I killed him. He said Seamus is sick for the girl—and he was talking about my Dasha.

That crazy fuck isn’t going to stop until I put him down.

I shove my gun into my holster and join Alexan. Lucky for us, the rain’s falling even harder now. “A real monsoon,” I shout over the downpour. Blood’s sloughing off our clothes, washed away.

We get back in the car.

“What’d you learn?” he asks as I check my phone. No messages, no calls. The cameras look fine. Relief hits me, sweeter than killing my enemies.

“Seamus has safe houses. More than one, it seems. He’s shuffling between them and probably doesn’t stay in the same place twice. I bet he’s got some random pattern worked out.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Alexan says, frowning deeply. “That’ll make it hard to catch him.”

“He’s in the inner harbor. So we’re neighbors for all I know.” I put the car into gear. Over on the sidewalk, three corpses are getting waterlogged.He’s obsessed with her. “Don’t worry, this is a good thing. Now we know where to keep looking. We’ll just have to get more creative.”

I leave the dead behind.

Only the living and the soon-to-be-born matter to me now.

Chapter 31

Dasha

It’s still strange cooking without Vito.

He’s been gone for a month, and it still feels like he’s going to come rushing in at any moment to take the wooden spoon from my hand and guide me back to a chair. That’s not going to happen, though. I watched them lower him into the ground. I stood beside Tigran while he stared grim-faced at his dead friend’s casket as dozens of crying women sobbed and prostrated themselves at the graveside.

Vito’s gone, and standing there at his funeral, I made a choice. It wasn’t an easy one, and there have been days when I couldn’t totally live up to it, but each day’s been better than the last.

“What is that wonderful smell, Mrs. Sarkissian?”

I smile to myself as one of Tigran’s guards pokes his head into the room. His name is Grigor, and he’s an older man with a scar down the side of his face similar to my own. Though he says he got his while fighting a lion, which I really doubt.

“Nothing special. I have a lemon and herb chicken roasting in the oven, and I’m putting together some mashed potatoes now.”

“Nothing special?” Grigor chuckles and rubs his belly. “If my wife caught me smelling your food right now, our marriage would end in divorce.”

“You’re not married,” I remind him, brandishing a spoon.

“Good point.” He breathes in deep and sighs. “Thank you for the reminder.”

I smile to myself as Grigor disappears back to his post. A little while later, I find Harry standing in the hallway, grimacing slightly to himself. He’s another one of the guards, younger than Grigor, but he got this duty after breaking his knee during a brawl a few months back.

“Ready for your pills?” I ask him, holding out the Advil and offering a glass of water.

Relief washes over him. “Seriously, Mrs. Sarkissian, you don’t have to do this. I was going to get them myself?—”

---