Chapter 10: Beautiful Scar: Chapter 10

My ears are still ringing an hour later.

Men swarm the house. I hear them talking and stomping around. Over the chatter is Tigran’s rage-filled voice giving orders and cursing in Armenian. Vito comes to my room once to make sure I’m still okay and ask if I need anything.

Otherwise, I keep my door locked.

I can feel the shockwave of the explosion on my skin. I hear Tigran’s labored breathing as he protects me with his own body. His blood is still staining the dress. I had to strip it off, hands shaking and lips quivering, and I barely managed to pull on a sweatshirt and sweatpants before collapsing back on the couch.

This is my worst nightmare.

Maybe not the car bomb. But the death raining down around me. Like I’m a cursed totem or something. It happened once before, and now I’m terrified it’s going to happen again.

Damian’s gone. No way he survived that bomb. I didn’t know the driver very well, but he was nice to me. He had a good smile. And I could tell that Tigran cared about him.

Now he’s dead, and it’s my fault.

Different city, new reasons, but the same outcome. More blood in the streets. Corpses on the sidewalk. And all because of me.

I’m too stunned to cry.

I’m not sure how much time passes. Eventually, the noise in the house dies down. It’s late by the time I finally force myself up off the couch and shuffle down the hall. I think I’m going to bed, but I stop outside the door that leads into Tigran’s rooms.

His body on top of mine. His hands pinning my wrists above my head. His warm breath, the desperation and rage in his eyes.

Without thinking too much about it, I rap my knuckles lightly and wait.

I’m not sure what I’m doing. Maybe some dumb part of me is looking for comfort, even though I know there’s no comfort to be found in a man like Tigran.

I hear footsteps, then a loud click as the lock opens. I step back, regretting this the instant the door opens.

Tigran’s standing on the other side.

His hallway is a mirror of my own. Most of the lights are off in his suite. He’s wearing the same suit, the same shirt, dappled with blood. There’s a sutured cut on his forehead from the falling glass.

He looks at me with cold, dead eyes, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Neither of us speaks. I’m shaking, terrified. I want to find words to express how I’m feeling, but I don’t think I can.

Without a word, he turns and walks toward his living room, flipping a light on behind him.

The invitation is clear.

I can follow if I want. The door is standing wide open. Or I can go back to my couch, curl up in a ball, and cry myself to sleep.

I touch the scar on my cheek and straighten my back. This isn’t proper. A good girl would crawl into bed alone tonight.

I walk stiffly into his space.

There are paintings on the walls. I catch glimpses of idyllic landscapes, like the ones on my side, except some of them are dark. Old ships burning outside a golden city. A battle obscured by a cloud of gunpowder smoke. Figures twisted and suffering behind heavy bars. They’re disturbing but also beautiful.

“Have a drink,” he says when I reach the living room. His couch is deep brown leather, and everything’s darker over here. It’s somewhat cluttered with books and magazines. A gun is lying on a table a few feet away from me. I wonder if it’s loaded.

There’s a bar cart to my left. My hands are shaking so much I spill a little wine on the floor and curse as I stoop to clean it. When I stand, he’s there, and his calm hands steady my own.

“Let me,” he says, moving me toward the couch.

I curl up at the far end, hugging myself and looking around the room. I didn’t expect this much personality. Tigran doesn’t seem like the kind of guy interested in decorating his personal space, but I notice strange splashes of idiosyncratic taste: a signed soccer ball in a case, vinyl records, and big wood-paneled speakers.

Everything’s deeply masculine but beautiful in a way.

He gives me wine and sits at the other end of the couch. Neither of us says anything. I take a long drink and stare at my hands, my heart hammering in my chest. I don’t even know why I’m so scared right now. Because I’m alone with a strange man for the first time?

Or because someone tried to kill me?

“Thanks for what you did earlier,” I say very quietly.

“You don’t need to thank me for that.” He’s studying me as he swirls a glass of something brown.

“I feel like I do, though. You saved my life.”

“I made sure you didn’t get sliced up like I did. But I think your reclusive nature saved you.”

I smile a little. “I always knew it’s safer to stay inside.”

He doesn’t return the smile. His face remains hard and concerned, his square jaw working. “I don’t know how that happened. My cars are swept for explosives constantly. Damian’s normally careful, and there’s no way the McGraths should’ve known my movements, much less been able to get close to my personal vehicle.”

This feels way beyond me. I only have a dim idea of who the McGraths are, much less a normal protocol for a mobster taking a car ride across town. “It isn’t your fault.”

“Actually, it’s entirely my fault,” he says, sounding hollow. “I wasn’t vigilant enough. My enemies got close to my wife.” His eyes lock on mine. They strangely bristle with repressed emotion. “That will never happen again. I promise you.”

I finish my wine, a shiver running down my spine. “Thanks for this.” I put the glass down on the coffee table. “That’s all I wanted to say. And also, I’m sorry about Damian.”

“He was a good man.” Tigran glances away. “I’m going to kill the men responsible.”

“Don’t get yourself hurt.” I’m not sure why I said that. Maybe some misplaced sense of connection? But I can’t forget that we’re just a business arrangement. I’m a uterus with legs to him. A pair of tits, a few fertile eggs, not much more. Just a Russian girl.

“You care about your husband now?” He almost smiles. It’s there, that teasing grin, just lurking under the surface.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” I should get up and leave, but I don’t. I feel strangely comfortable right now. Like I’m safe.

Even though being with Tigran is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.

“I’ve been lucky for a while now,” he says, that hint of a smile disappearing. “I have a lot of enemies in this city, but I’ve managed to stay ahead of them for a while. Now they’ve caught up, and there’s going to be a reckoning.”

“The McGraths are an Irish family, right?”

“Small arms, mostly. They buy and sell illegal guns with some drugs on the side. We’ve been in competition for years, and they’re not happy that our families are making an alliance.”

“So they tried to kill us.”

“It looks that way from what I can piece together.”

“Will it be bad? The fighting?”

“It’s never good. Killing is necessary. Violence keeps my family safe from their enemies. But it’s never good.”

“That’s a rough way of looking at the world.”

“The world’s got no way at all. There’s no meaning to any of this. We’re born, we bleed, we suffer, and then it’s back to the dirt. Some of us get more time than others.” He glances away again. Thinking about Damian? “In the end, it’s all ash and blood.” He takes a long drink from his whiskey, the ice clattering against the glass.

“I don’t believe that,” I say softly, pulling into myself. I hug my knees to my chest and avoid his eyes. What a grim, sad worldview. I can’t imagine waking up every day and seeing nothing but suffering and pain ahead of me.

“Then why do you hide in your room?”

I straighten like he punched me. I don’t know why, but the way he says that itches at my spine. Like he’s mocking me or something.

“Just because I’m more comfortable away from all that doesn’t mean I think life is just meaningless and bleak. There’s good stuff too.”

“Like what, little doll?” He leans toward me. Brutal sadness leaks off him in thick waves. It’s almost choking, his dark rage.

“The way you saved me, for one,” I say, meeting those cold eyes. I should cower away. I should shrink into a little, meek ball, like a mouse playing dead in front of a hungry cat. “That was something good.”

“It was selfish.”

“No, it wasn’t. You didn’t need to, but you did anyway.”

“If I lose you, I also lose the alliance.”

My jaw works. Anger glitters in my stomach. “Is that really why you did it? That’s why you dragged me inside to safety instead of going straight to Damian?”

He grimaces like I punched him in the face. Then he nods. “That’s right.”

I kick my legs out and get to my feet. He stares at me as I step away from the couch, trying not to let him see how much that upset me. “I still refuse to believe the world is meaningless and everything’s just evil. I’ve seen lots of good. I’ve had terrible things happen to me, but I’m still an optimist.”

He licks his lips. “Like how you got that scar?”

My fingers lift up and touch it. “If anyone’s got a right to become a hateful nihilist, it’s me, but I refuse to give up like that. And you shouldn’t either.”

He seems surprised as he finishes his drink and grips the glass in one hand. That smile is back, bigger now. “I knew there was a little fire in you after all.”

I roll my eyes at him, frustrated and annoyed. “And you care more than you let on.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He stands firm. I step back, heart racing suddenly. I keep forgetting how big and powerful he is. This man could take my head in his hands and crack my skull to pieces if he wanted. I’m nothing in front of him.

Just a little doll.

“You’ve got this big, bad monster act going on, but you still dove on top of me when you didn’t have to. You’re not evil.”

“If you knew half the terrible things I’ve done, you’d run screaming from this room.” He steps closer. I move back. Like we’re doing a dance, except it’s not fun. Just really terrifying. “I think life’s a rotten fucking mess because that’s all I’ve ever seen. I think I’m evil to my core because that’s all I’ve ever been. I protected you because we cut a deal, and that’s it.”

My voice shakes. I try to keep my spine straight and chin up, but I’m so angry and afraid that it’s difficult. “You’re such a liar.”

“And you’re stuck with me, little doll.”

“What if I change my mind? What if I decide I don’t want to get pregnant by a monster like you?”

He grimaces, and guilt hits me. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t even think he’s a monster—that’s his word, not mine, and I shouldn’t have thrown it in his face.

“I’m not going to fuck you against your will,” he says, voice soft and angry.

“Because you’re not as bad as you pretend to be.” I turn away. My cheeks are burning pink, and I’m positive this was an enormous mistake. I never should’ve come in here right now when I’m so emotional and he’s clearly still mourning the death of his friend.

“Tomorrow night,” he says as I walk away. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. If you still want the deal, all you have to do is open it, and I’ll come to you.”

I get the hell out of his room. Once on my side, I slam the door closed, then retreat into my bed. I curl up under the covers, dizzy and confused.

But I know that nothing’s changed.

I’ll give him a baby, and then I’ll get the hell out of Baltimore before anyone else can die because of me.