Page 71 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

As if he could read me, he slowly walked over to me and crouched onto the floor. He wore a dark suit, and even crouched, he loomed like a dark cloud over me. But to protect me. Everything about that man made me feel cherished and safe.

He glanced at the drawings on the floor for a fleeting second but his eyes immediately came back to me.

I wondered if he was disgusted.

“Can I see them?” His question was gentle, as if he worried I’d break. But truthfully, I’d broken long ago.

I slowly nodded, my eyes never wavering from him as he lifted a drawing bringing it closer to him. I watched for any hint of emotions on his face but there was none. Except for his jaw. Its muscles pressed slightly tighter, the movement so insignificant it was easily missed.

The drawing he picked portrayed a naked woman blindfolded with her hands tied behind her back, her thighs covered in bloody cuts as another was being pressed against her flesh, fresh blood seeping from the wound.

Then he picked the next one portraying a woman being choked with a scarf around her neck while the man held a lighter inches from her naked nipples. He picked up the next and next, till he had them all neatly in a stack.

When his eyes came back to me, I expected to see disgust there but instead I found curiosity there.

“Do you want to keep the drawings?” he asked.

I shook my head. I wanted to burn all those images, forget them forever. He stood up and walked over to the fireplace, throwing them all in. I stared as each paper burned and turned into ashes, the fire crackling with the new addition. All my agony, shame, and pain swirled in the silence of the room, reminding me of my torturing sessions with Malcome. I didn’t want to remain silenced.

Slowly, I stood up, my calm movements graceful. So opposite of the hurricane wreaking havoc inside of me. Raising my head, I met Nikolai’s blue eyes, drilling into me, willing me to talk… or maybe to fight. No idea what he wanted from me but I knew what I needed. It was time to take back me. That was what infuriated Malcome the most, I refused to cave in.

“I screamed.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. But I refused to lower my eyes. No more beating myself up, punishing myself for something I didn’t cause. “Even when I fought against the pain and willed myself to take the agony in silence, he still managed a way to have me screaming. I hated not being strong enough to-” I tried to find the words to explain what I felt, “to fight the screams.”

Nikolai strode to me, his hand took my chin firmly between his fingers. His grip was strong, possessive, but I wasn’t scared. He wasn’t hurting me.

“When I kill him,” he murmured against my lips, “it will be slow and painful. He’ll be the one screaming. Your father will pay too.” A promise Nikolai intended to keep; I was sure of it. His voice was dead serious; his blue eyes turned arctic blue.

This was the side of Nikolai my instincts were warning me about. This was the cold and fearsome man I saw on my first encounter. This was who he truly was. But I wasn’t scared. He made me feel safe.

The bloodthirsty vengeful side of me wanted Malcome to suffer greatly, wanted to see him slowly bleed to death as he choked on his own blood. I wanted to see my own father experience the pain he so graciously bestowed upon me and my mother, even on my brother till he got too strong. There would be no sorrow or regret in my heart for him.

Contrary to his tense body and fury in those cold eyes, when he lowered his lips on mine, they were warm and soft. My fingers fisted his crisp, white shirt, my desire slowly seeping through my veins, erasing the past. Nikolai for all his rough edges was my sanity and my comfort.

“Want to sleep here or in my room?” His question surprised me but it was another confirmation of his character. For all his rough edges, he was honorable.

“Wherever you are sleeping,” I answered.

“That was the answer I was hoping for.”

He lifted me up and my arms wrapped around his neck to hold on. My head leaned against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that in a matter of two days had become so important to me.

“Anastasia called,” I told him.

“I figured she would,” his lips nibbled my earlobe. “Dimitry mentioned she kept nagging him to call you.”

I chuckled softly.

“We don’t nag, Nikolai,” I objected, gently biting his chin.

His laughter rumbled through his chest and it was music to my ears.

“I know you don’t, malysh.”

As soon as we got to his floor, his lips found mine. The sensation he was bringing me was bringing me back to the light. I returned the kiss, needing him… all of him. I poured it all into that kiss, opening for him and his tongue pushed in, accepting the invitation.

I pressed myself hard against him; the throbbing ache a familiar, welcomed feeling around him.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he groaned softly against my lips.

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