Page 21 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“Where are you taking me?”

“My apartment.”

“I don’t want to go to your apartment.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want.”

She rolls her eyes. “I got that message ten years ago when you left.” She pauses, and I don’t react because that’s what she wants. “Loud and clear.”

Another pause. Another non-reaction.

“Take me home.” Her voice is clear now. Angry. Strong.

I continue driving to my building. I don’t know—don’t care—where she lives. She isn’t going back there until the danger’s passed.

After a few blissfully quiet minutes, she shifts and her jeans scratch across the leather seat. “So, you’re a killer now?”

“This killer just saved your life.”

She scoffs and I shake my head. Of course, she won’t be grateful. She doesn’t understand the danger. She probably still thinks the cops are going to help her.

“Let’s just say it’s complicated, okay?”

But it isn’t. Killing is what I do. What I’m trained to do. And I do it better than anyone else or I’d already be dead.

“Well, by all means, that makes it okay. Hey, tell you what—there was a bellboy who gave me a nasty look back at the hotel. You still got that gun? Maybe we can go back, and I’ll point him out; you can take care of him for me.”

I smile because I know it’ll piss her off. “Okay. Was he the tall one pushing the gold cart?” There was a blond with a lazy smile and a limp. And a scraggly high school boy with red hair and a bad case of acne. I noticed them all because that’s how I stay alive.

“You’re joking about it? I just watched you kill two men.” She doesn’t mention her fiancé. Interesting. “What happened to you?”

Losing Mom, leaving Corrie—those things happened. But I’m not saying it to her. I’m not sayinganythingto her, as a matter of fact.

“People change, Corrie. This is who I am now.”

She shakes her head and crosses her arms. “That’s a shame. You used to be a good person.”

If she’s trying to hurt me, she missed the bullseye. I don’t care anymore about being good. I am what I was born to be. “I found my dad, and he has … businesses that need someone to handle things.”

“You mean murder.”

“I mean things.” I shrug. I don’t hide what I am from the people I care about. Not that there are any of those. But she damn sure isn’t one—not anymore—so I have no idea why I’m telling her anything.

“And you think I might be in danger?” Her voice is softer. It’s the tone of misinterpretation. Not wanting her to end up as a prize in one of my father’s auctions or dead in a ditch isn’t the same as giving a shit about her. As soon as I make sure the Italians aren’t interested in her, she’s out. Cut loose.

I don’t get close to people.

Especially not people from my former life.

Especiallynot Corinne.

“Maybe.” The last thing I need is hysterics before I figure out what to do with her.

“Then take me to the cops. I don’t want your help.”

I laugh. My first honest-to-goodness chuckle in a long time. So long I can’t remember the last one.

“The cops? Jesus.”

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