Page 44 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“What?” I demand. I feel a little silly, a nervous wreck falling to pieces right in front of the coldest man I’ve ever met.

“We’ll do whatever it takes to keep them safe,” he says. Tomas lays a hand on my shoulder and eases me down onto his sofa.

His touch, his voice—it does something to my anxieties. Cools them. Takes the edge off.

“I’m going to go to your folks’ house and get you your clothes.”

I open my mouth to tell him I can do it myself, but when he swipes his tongue across his lower lip, it reminds me of the boy I once loved and I snap my mouth shut. For that boy, I would have moved heaven and earth. I had so much faith in him back then, I knew he would do the same for me.

“I’ll arrange their vacation while I’m gone.” He crouches in front of me. “I need to know you’ll be okay here.”

I nod, but he continues. “You saw what happened when we tried to leave while ago?”

I nod again because the memory is fresh and because of the memory, I can’t find words.

There’s also the fact that this calm, laser-focused, utterly confident Tomas is a very sexy version of him. The Tomas looking at me right now is capable of handling anyone and anything under the sun.

Or maybe it’s my adrenaline rush ebbing into yearning.

Either way, I want him. I just don’t want him to know that pesky little fact.

He’s still relaying instructions. “You have to stay in the house. Don’t go outside. Don’t call anyone on your cell in case they’ve found a way to track it.”

When I don’t answer, he tilts his head and stares as if I might need special handling. I’d roll my eyes, but maybe this vulnerability will help. “Do you understand, Corrie?”

I want to scream,No, I don’t understand! Not because his instruction were unclear—don’t do anything, go anywhere, or dare to think a single thought; just sit on the couch and play elevator music in your head; okay, roger that—but because it’s like my whole world has been revealed as a lie, and a dangerous one at that. I can’t just sit idly by while everything I know and love crumbles to pieces.

There’s so much I need to figure out: how to keep my parents safe, what the hell is going on with Flash Bomb, how can I get my name off an Italian hit list, is Alvin going to identify me to the police… The list goes on and on.

To Tomas, I say, “Okay. It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

He smiles. “Alright. I’ll have one of my men outside to watch you.”

I’m not sure if it’s to babysit or protect me, but I nod anyways. And because I have his rapt attention, I smile softly—the same smile that used to get my way with him when we were young.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.” His voice is low, quiet.

“Why’d you pay my tuition?”

He flinches, but doesn’t answer. He stands instead and walks to the door.

At the door, he reaches for the knob, but doesn’t turn it. “Because I’ve always believed in you, and I want you to always have your dreams. Even if I couldn’t be a part of them.”

And then, as if he hasn’t said words that would reduce me to a puddle of girl goo, he walks out.

I can only stare after him. The man who gave me the money to make my dream come true is the same one I saw kill two people, the same guy who doesn’t know a bit from a byte, the boy who kissed me like under an apple tree I was the only girl who ever mattered to him—the reason I still can’t smell apple blossoms without touching my fingers to my lips.

Tomas Dubrovsky is a walking contradiction. My past and present rolled into one complex puzzle of gorgeous enigma. And fuck if I know what to do about it. We can never go backward. But how can we go forward, either? We aren’t the same people. He kills for a living. I’m not awestruck enough to forgive him. Not strong enough to leave him either. I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping with him.

I could go for a round two to calm my nerves. Or should I call it round nine? How’s that kind of thing determined? Who keeps count?

My head is doing crazy things right now. I shake off the lust—not because I don’t enjoy sitting in a room that smells like him while fantasizing about him, because I do. Very much. It just won’t do me any good. I can’t sleep with him again until I know how to feel about him, beyond the hero worship pumping in my blood right now for a guy who saved my life and is making sure my parents and I are safe.

Eventually, I look out the window. There’s a less flashy black car sitting where Tomas was parked earlier. My protection. Which makes it easier to ignore rule number one: no phones. Or was it number two?

To be fair, I’m not ignoring the rule so much as I am assuming his house phone is safe. Besides, I saw him talking on it earlier in his office while I was working. He must’ve had the line protected.

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