Page 67 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

“I had looked up your work,” I told her. I didn’t tell her I’ve been trying to procure it for myself. “It is very good.”

“Thanks.” Her voice was flat and her eyes remained glued to the canvas. As if she was already grieving the loss of her talent.

“If different images plague your mind, maybe you just need to get them on the paper and get rid of them.”

She tilted her head, considering my words.

“Maybe,” was all she answered in her soft voice.

“You shouldn’t be scared,” I hoped my words wouldn’t push her away. Some people talk to feel better, some people write to feel better, and some people just paint their pain. “Don’t dismiss any opportunity to get it off your chest.”

Her eyes came back to me, inviting me to drown in her. I cupped her face and brought it closer to me.

“You can do it, Olivia. Get it all out,” I quietly urged her.

“I don’t want to see it but it’s stuck in my head,” she murmured. “On repeat… over and over again.”

The pain in her voice caused the worst gut-wrenching feeling. Outside threats I could handle, I’d kill anyone that even thought about hurting her. Anyone that got close to her. But her mind was an entirely different story. Only she could extinguish the demons in her mind. I could help but she had to lead the way.

Her hand reached up, her finger reaching for my scar but at the last minute she stopped herself.

“Go ahead,” I encouraged her.

She hesitated a second but then lightly traced it, starting at my eye then lightly down to the side of my lip. She was the first woman, first human to have ever touched this scar since it happened.

“How did this happen?” Her voice was a soft caress that I lacked all my life. I relished in it. She was a soft comfort to my hardness.

“When I was about twenty, Boris’ mafia shit often went awry. He often had moments of uncontrollable anger. I refused to bring in a man to Boris that did nothing wrong short of refusing to steal information for him. I helped him escape.” It seemed so long ago, and my scar had become part of me. I detested it. Aware that it was proof, clear across my face, that I was a thug, a criminal. With each year that passed, I became hardened and began to use it to scare and intimidate people. “So he gave me the punishment he had intended for the man.”

And now it turned out that the sick bastard was Anastasia's biological father. Life was just fucked up all the way around.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her lips against the side of my lip where the scar ended. She brushed her lips against it, and although that specific area has been numb for over a decade, I felt a light sensation. “The scar is a reminder you are a good man then.”

That was not how others viewed it but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to me was how Olivia viewed it. She didn’t seem to mind it.

“Some scars are visible, Olivia. Some are not. But both have to be healed.” I hoped she understood what I was trying to convey.

She nodded her head in agreement. The haunted look in her eyes made my chest tight.

“The day I came to get Oliver at your casino,” she spoke softly as if carefully choosing her words. “It was the first time I saw Malcome after six months. I was so nervous and refused to go but my father,” she swallowed hard, “he made me. It was either I go or my mother goes. So, I caved. I always caved. When we got to his house, I threw up on Malcolm at the entrance as the whole world watched.”

I remembered seeing a picture of it in the papers but didn’t pay any attention. I also noted she said it was six months ago since she’d last seen him, and it was six months ago that she stopped painting. It wasn’t hard to draw conclusions and connections.

“Was that the reason why he hit you?” I was careful to hide the anger in my voice. It wasn’t directed at her.

“No, it was my father.” Her reply surprised me. But then I remembered when I asked her who did that, she never answered. Her brother answered in her stead and she let him assume. “My father took me into the bathroom and lost his temper. When he realized what he’d done, he told me to sneak out of there. Malcome was careful not to leave visible marks, Father not so much.”

I clenched my fists in fury realizing she was physically abused by her father while also enduring mental and who knew what kind of physical abuse from Malcome. Her father would pay for it. I would make sure of it.

“But it worked out,” she continued with a shaky smile. “I didn’t have to stay and endure either one of their company.”

Turning her gaze to the blank canvas again, she murmured. “It would be a shame to waste a canvas. Maybe I’ll just draw it on the blank paper.”

That’s my brave girl.I couldn’t be prouder of her.

Tasha burst through the door at that moment, and Olivia’s face immediately lit up with a smile. No wonder those two got along so great, they were good for each other.

“Did you show him? Did you?” My eager niece kept asking.

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