Chapter 18: Beautiful Scar: Chapter 18

There are too many rumors in Baltimore.

Those Irish twin fucks are like ghosts. I’ve heard plenty of stories from the Brotherhood soldiers about where the bastards might be hiding, but nothing concrete. Arsen and Sona both are on top of it while also trying to avoid a full-scale war, but even they know we can’t let the McGraths get away with a direct assault.

There will be reprisals. Only I want to make sure I’m the one holding the gun when they happen.

A few days slip past as I chase down every lead. There’s not enough time in the day, and I don’t get to see Dasha as much as I want. It drives me crazy not being at home with her. If I could, I’d never leave her side, or I’d at least drag her around with me.

Maybe put a collar on her. Pull her around on a golden leash. Make her suck my cock and tighten it when she’s not gagging enough.

I’m a sick man.

I’m headed toward Dasha’s room with some tools and a box of cameras when Vito flags me down. “A word?” he asks.

“What do you need?”

He frowns at the security equipment but wisely chooses not to comment. “I heard from my network,” he says, his voice going hard and low. “It seems the McGrath family has been moving more product on the east side. Some of the girls say they heard the twins have been hanging around St. Luke’s and the bodegas and strip clubs near there.”

The east side is deep in McGrath territory. That means they’re being smart about the drug score. But knowing an area to watch is a very big deal.

“I’ll follow that up,” I say and start to walk off.

“Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Whatever I do, the McGrath twins will deserve it.”

“Not that. Cut those scum fucks in half. I mean the cameras. That girl’s been through enough already.”

I glare and wave him off before hurrying to Dasha’s room.

I bang on her door and wait. It’s a calm Tuesday afternoon, and I know she’s in there. I always get strangely impatient when it comes to seeing my wife. I want her to appear immediately because I want to make sure she’s okay. Any little delay has me frustrated and worried there might be something wrong.

I’m aware that I’m getting a little obsessed.

She answers, looking slightly aggrieved. “Can you try just knocking like a normal person?”

I don’t wait for her to invite me in.

“And maybe try being patient for once?” she asks as I brush past her, carrying a box of tools and equipment. I dump it on the floor and frown around at the space. Blind spots, shadows, corners, and turns. I’ve got to cover it all.

“And what the heck is all that stuff?”

“Cameras,” I say, squinting at the back left corner. That’s probably the best angle for the living room. I’ll need another for the hall, another for her bedroom, and one for the bathroom⁠—

“Sorry, hold on, stop whatever you think is happening here.” She yanks the security box away and glares savagely at me. “Do you think you’re installing surveillance equipment in my room?”

“I don’t like that I can’t see you when I’m not here.” I give her a hard look. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

She laughs like I’ve lost my mind, but I feel clear and sane at the moment.

This is the only reasonable solution. If I can log into my system and see that she’s perfectly okay, it’ll make my life a lot easier.

Sure, it’s an invasion of her privacy, but that’s overrated anyway.

“You’re absolutely crazy,” she says, shaking her head.

I grab the box back and start gathering my tools. “It won’t take long.”

“Tigran! No way!” She wrestles a wrench from my hand.

I snarl at her. “Stop being difficult.”

She barks right back. “This is my space, asshole. You don’t get to charge in here and start making wild demands like this. You have to talk to me first.”

My jaw twitches, and I say nothing. That’s kind of a fair reaction. She’s right—I should have brought the whole cameras thing up earlier or at least given her a warning that this was going to happen.

From her perspective, I can see why she might feel a little blindsided.

But this is a solution to my problem.

My fucking Dasha problem.

“I need to know you’re okay all day, every day,” I say, my voice sounding hoarse for some reason. “It’s been fucking killing me.”

“This isn’t going to happen,” she says, nudging the box away with her foot. “Would you just talk to me first? You can’t just start screwing cameras into my walls.”

I grunt and start to pace. She doesn’t understand how precarious things are. The McGraths already planted one car bomb. Who’s to say they couldn’t get close to her again? My security is good, but nothing’s perfect.

I can’t risk it, not with Ciaran and Oisin still lurking around out there.

“Your safety is everything,” I say at last, forcing myself to articulate at least one small portion of the raging storm in my chest. I can’t tell her everything, or else it’ll scare the fuck out of her. Even Dasha would run screaming if she knew how pathetic I’ve become for her.

She’s on my mind constantly. Every day, all day long. The moment I wake up, I’m searching for her. If I didn’t fall asleep in her bed after a long night of fucking, I feel somehow empty and alone.

It’s not fucking right, this bizarre hold she has over me, and I need to do something about it.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, I really do, but come on. I can’t have spy cameras in my freaking living room.”

“Then how am I supposed to know you’re okay? How am I supposed to see you when I’m not here?” My hands turn to fists. My body tenses with frustration. “I have to be out there hunting down our enemies, even though all I want is to be in here with you.”

She comes to me and brushes her hands down my arms. “That’s oddly sweet. Maybe a little psycho stalker, but sweet.”

“If you wanted a normal man, you should’ve married someone else.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice, remember? I was never going to marry normal anyway. At least I got stuck with you.” She smiles slightly, gets on her toes, and kisses me.

That simple gesture quiets the blazing fire in my chest.

Fuck, she calms me down.

I don’t know how she manages it, but some of the tension in my shoulders slowly eases away and my hands relax.

“Let me place them outside at least,” I say, stroking my fingers down her back. I like the way she shivers under my touch.

Her eyebrows raise. “Where, exactly?”

“In the hall at your door. Also outside of the house by your windows. If I can’t see in here, at least I can be sure nobody’s trying to break in.”

She sighs and rubs her forehead, but she reluctantly nods. “That seems reasonable, but nowhere that can see inside.”

“Plus motion sensors. Multiple floodlights. A siren⁠—”

“Tigran, please don’t go overboard.”

“Safety, little kitten, your fucking safety above all else.” I give her ass a swat and kiss her. “I’d better get to work.”

“My husband is a madman,” she says with a dramatic sigh.

But she fucking likes that, and we both know it.

I flip to the video feed right outside her bedroom window. The trees are quiet and the leaves shimmer as the wind blows through. A woman is pushing a stroller down the sidewalk—I can just barely see her in the top corner. The garden’s quiet.

I desperately wish I could see in there right now, but this is the best I can get without pissing her off and making her feel violated. Her safety is important, but she also has to feel safe.

What good is all the security in the world if you don’t feel comfortable in your own home?

I want that for my wife. I understand that her whole world is her suite of rooms, and placing cameras throughout would only make it feel like every inch of her existence has been violated.

Still… I can imagine Dasha inside that room. Cuddling with blankets and reading one of those novels she loves. Her lips parted as she talks softly to herself. Or maybe pacing around and straightening up.

Normal things. Average, regular shit everyone does. And I wish I could be there for all of it.

Instead, I’m parked on a street corner deep in McGrath territory, watching some lowlife Irish fucks sell drugs.

They’re not even good at it. That pisses me off the most. Their security is terrible. I’ve been here for two hours, and they haven’t even noticed me. I’m in a normal beat-up sedan and I’m wearing a hat with sunglasses, but still. Any competent street-level thug should know enough to realize when someone’s staking them out.

These guys are just awful.

All their sales happen in plain sight too. There are three of them: two guards and a salesman. If any cops are watching, they’re gathering enough evidence to put these idiots behind bars forever. Money passing hands, product right there in the guy’s goddamn pocket.

It’s honestly shameful.

And worse, those are my drugs they’re profiting on.

Fucking bastards. I switch to the camera in the hallway outside her door. There’s no motion at all. One of the guards is standing nearby, swiping at his phone. I’m about to call him and tell him he can either stay alert or I’ll cut his throat when I get a message.

Dasha: I’ve been thinking about the camera thing some more.

My heart rate increases with surprise. Why the hell am I reacting like some petty little schoolboy or some shit?

Tigran: And what are you thinking?

Dasha: Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you could see more of me.

Dasha: Please don’t say anything, okay? I’m taking a risk here…

I tilt my head, not sure what she’s talking about, but a video call request comes through a second later. When I accept, the image shows her bathroom, the camera pointing right at her shower.

“Can you hear me?” she asks, her voice echoing off the tile.

“I can hear you, pisik. But even I wasn’t going to put anything in your bathroom.” Not that I didn’t want to…

“No more talking now, please.” She clears her throat, and her voice is trembling slightly. “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate the way you’ve treated me. And I thought, since you like watching, you might like this.”

Then she steps into frame.

My wife is wearing only a towel. Her hair’s pulled up. I stare at her long neck and the graceful lines of her body as she walks to the shower and turns it on.

Holy fuck.

I sit up straight and nearly slam my knee into the goddamn horn.

She glances back at the camera, and it’s the most beautiful look I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s clearly mortified and awkward, but she’s also determined.

Like even though this is well outside her comfort zone, she wants to do it anyway.

I’m rock hard the second her towel drops.

Dasha has such a beautiful body. She’s a small girl, but she’s got a gorgeous figure. Smallish breasts that fit in my palms, a perky little ass ripe for smacking, and that long blonde hair. Her legs are lean and firm, and I go fucking wild for the long curve of her back.

She’s everything I could want.

Fuck the stakeout. I can’t look away from my phone as my wife steps into the shower. She lets the water spray over her body, totally visible through the tall glass walls, and then she looks right over at me.

Face crimson as her hand teases over one breast and moves down between her legs.

Oh, fuck me.

She touches herself. Tentatively and slowly at first, like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. My heart’s racing and my cock is raging hard. I’m transfixed, unable to look away, as she strokes her fingers up and down her slit, her back pressed against the wall, the water spraying in front of her.

Droplets fall down her pale skin like crystals. I want to lick them off. I want to drop to my knees and devour her pussy like a sacrament.

It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Not only because a beautiful woman is touching herself for me—my beautiful woman—but because I know how hard this must be for her.

Dasha’s shy. She doesn’t have confidence like this. And yet there she is, breasts heaving as her breathing picks up, looking like sex and bliss and everything I’ve ever needed.

God damn it. Why the fuck am I here right now? Watching some street-level shitheads?

I could be back at home with my wife, fucking a baby into her belly.

“Tigran,” she whimpers, stroking herself faster, body trembling.

That fucking does it.

“I’m coming home,” I roar, unable to help myself.

She looks surprised, like she forgot I was there. “You’re coming to me?” she asks, mouth hanging open.

Still touching herself.

“Don’t you fucking move,” I snarl at my phone. “Do you hear me? I’ll be home soon.”

I toss my phone onto the seat next to me and kick open my door. Fuck, my dick’s hard, and I have to adjust it as I storm across the street and down the block to where those Irish cocksuckers are working.

One of the guards perks up as I approach. He’s got a deep scowl and an ugly crooked nose. The fucking dick’s barely on his feet when I draw my gun and shoot him in the face.

His skull blasts out the back of his head, and he crumples.

The other guard fumbles at his jacket, cursing as he staggers backward. I put two in his chest. He falls in a spray of blood and makes these weak mewling noises as he squirms on the sidewalk before going still.

The salesman tries to run. I shoot him in the back of the thigh and catch him. He turns, one hand on the wound and the other in the air, fear in his eyes. I’d guess he’s early twenties at most. Dumb asshole barely has to shave.

“Please,” he says, gasping in pain.

“You’re selling my fucking drugs.” I shoot him in the head. His neck snaps sideways and he goes still as his blood mingles with the sidewalk dirt. “Fucking prick.”

I probably should’ve questioned him, but I’ve got other things on my mind.

“Tigran?” she says, still in the shower, looking flushed and wild once I’m back in the car and speeding toward her.

“Had to take care of something.”

“What was that noise I heard?”

“Gunshots. Don’t worry, they were mine.”

She lets out a little gasp as her fingers move faster. “Did you hurt someone?”

“Yes, I did, and when I get home, I’m going to hurt you too.”

She moans, back arching, water rolling down between her breasts. “Hurry,” she says.

I hit the gas and speed. Her moans and whines drive me crazy as I break every conceivable law to get to her as fast as possible. I leave the car running in front of my house and run inside, barking at the nearest guard to take care of it.

I slam my way into her room, storm toward her bedroom, and kick into the bathroom.

She’s still there, waiting. But in person, she’s even better.

“Tigran,” she says, breathing hard.

I snap her laptop closed.

“Don’t stop,” I tell her. My heart’s racing like crazy, and sweat’s rolling down my spine.

Slowly, I start to undress.

“Oh, shit,” she whimpers, stroking herself faster now. “You didn’t have to come home.”

“You think I was going to stay away after seeing you like this?”

She chews on her lip. “Is that blood on your shirt?”

“Not mine.” I throw it onto the floor and kick off my pants. “Keep touching yourself, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s good,” she says, wriggling her hips. “I’ve never done this before.”

“You look so perfect.” I stalk to the shower door, finally naked. She’s stroking faster and moaning. “God, look at you, like a little slut, touching yourself for your husband. You really are a greedy girl, aren’t you? Taking my big dick isn’t enough.”

“I need more,” she says, eyes rolling back. “Oh my god, Tigran.”

I step into the shower. She’s staring at me with pure lust in her expression, dancing right on the edge of orgasm. I drop to my knees, shove her hand aside, and bury her pussy with my mouth, licking her up like a beast.

It’s everything I’ve wanted. She tastes so damn good. I lick and suck her clit, and her moans get faster and louder as she grabs my hair. I reach up and tease one breast as I devour her completely, pausing only to meet her gaze for one second.

“You are such a messy fucking slut,” I whisper, licking my lips. “Now come on my mouth, you dirty girl.”

That finally breaks her. She shatters on my tongue, and it’s the most glorious orgasm I’ve ever witnessed. This must’ve been so hard for her, so risky and difficult, and now I’m taking all that anxiety and shame and worry, and releasing it all onto my tongue.

I have to support her as the orgasm finishes. I keep her from falling and hold her in my arms. She’s a small thing, so pretty after coming. Her cheeks are flushed, and her smile is loopy and adorable.

“You really didn’t have to come home just for that,” she says, her face leaning against my chest. “But I’m not complaining.”

“I didn’t come home only for that,” I say, kissing her softly as my hands explore her body. I almost can’t help myself. It’s like whenever she’s around, I keep touching her. “You had your fun. Now I’ll get my fill.”

Her eyes widen. Part of me is afraid I’m going to push her away again with how badly I want her. If she understood the constant pulsing ache in my core, it would only terrify her.

I’m a monster. A creature of darkness. I’m a killer and a torturer. There’s nothing good in me, not like her.

Dasha’s all sweetness. She’s the light I crave but will eventually corrupt. I hate myself, but I can’t stop any more than I could make the sun disappear.

She’s all I want now.

Instead of running away like she should, her moment of fear turns into a smile.

“I’m glad you came home,” she says, and my heart skips in my chest.

I bury her lips with a hungry kiss.