Love Scars Read online

  When I turned in a flurry, he was on his feet again, one shadowy hand raised to his mouth. “You got anything else to wear, or what?”

  I cocked my head, suddenly thankful for the darkness. There was no stopping my pleasure spilling out when he savaged me, but at least he couldn't see my tears.

  “Yeah, a little. I was in a rush when I packed and kept it light. I didn't expect to be here long...”

  He gave a quick nod. “Damn straight. Throw it on and I'll help you downstairs. I'm happy with my little taste and now we need to hit the fucking road. No use hanging out in this shithole any longer than necessary.”

  Okay, asshole, I thought. I glared through the darkness, not even acknowledging I heard him.

  I felt his eyes on me as I paced the room, searching for my bag.

  He cleared his throat. “Fuck, Anna. Don't be so damned shy. I can't see shit in the dark, same as you. But I felt enough with my hands and mouth to know you're a hot little piece, better than those desperate bitches at the casino...”

  He stopped, as if he'd said too much. It wasn't like I cared. Gambling was one vice low on the list when I knew my father owned plenty of darker things off the books in his enterprise.

  “Hurry up. I'll wait outside,” he growled, followed by his loud footsteps moving into the hallway.

  I slipped into the beat up walk-in closet while I changed. It took me a few more minutes, silently cursing myself each time I slipped up while trying to wriggle into my jeans and sweater. Thank God I hadn't worn any shoes that needed to be tied.

  When he heard my light footsteps behind him, he turned, reaching for my hand. “Car's outside. Get in and don't look back. I'll have one of my boys get your ass settled in. It'll be a little while before we meet again. Not too long, though.”

  I winced, trying to see his face, wondering if he was dragging that horrible tongue over his lips, the same one he'd used to defile me. It was strange and frightening that he'd done all this without even seeing him.

  I shouldn't have cared. What did it matter what he looked like?

  He hadn't given me anything so far, and this stupid darkness made it worse. He pulled on my hand. We were almost to the staircase when I opened my mouth. “You know my name. Isn't it fair I should know yours?”

  He paused. “David. You don't need to know more than that. Now, follow my lead carefully on these fucked up stairs.”

  I did. It took us about a minute to get down to the ground floor. I was amazed we didn't slip and break our necks.

  We moved toward the door. Halfway there, the small entryway to the kitchen held a new shadow. I screamed as a hand reached toward my head and caught my hair, almost yanking me out of David's grasp.

  “You thieving motherfuckers!” I didn't understand. The man's breath stank bad, cheap liquor and vomit rolling through rotten teeth. “Where's it at, bitch? You took it, didn't you? Where's my fucking glass you stupid little leather winged –“

  Snarling, David shot through the darkness. He was covering the man a second later, fists and feet blurring in the darkness as he pummeled the skinny shadow on the floor.

  “Ow! Ah, fuck, man! Stop! I didn't mean no harm, I didn't know you was a –“ Another blow crunched his skull.

  “Fucking junkie. You touch her again and you die, assuming you don't just bleed out here on this shitty floor. Not my fucking problem.”

  My heart was pounding in my throat. If there were any light filtering in through the dusty windows, I knew I would've seen blood all over David's huge fists as he rose.

  He wiped his hands on his pants for several seconds and then grabbed me again. This time, there was no stopping him, pushing me into the night.

  Finally, I could see more than faint outlines. It was still dark, but I made out the deep alleys and broken down houses across the street, clear as the sleek black sedan waiting for us. There was no sign of the two guards my father had posted for me.

  “Get her in the car,” David growled, giving me a gentle push toward a man who got out of the passenger's seat.

  “What's wrong? What the hell happened in there?” The new man's eyes were wide, like a worker who was about to catch hell from his boss. Obviously, he was.

  “You fucked up big time, Boris. You too, Nikolai. You told me the fuckin' house was clear.” He inhaled a sharp, thick breath, all fire. “What were you boys doing out here? Playing with your little pricks? Junkie asshole got his fucking hands on her before I stomped his skull!”

  “Shit. Shit,” Boris repeated. “Real sorry about that, D. The rat must've been hiding. Rossini's guys said they cleared this gutter out before we came. But you know how these skinny little sticks are in the slums, they creep up out of nowhere and –“

  I watched the only man who'd ever had his hands and mouth all over me less than an hour ago throw his fist again. This time, only one punch. The blow left Boris reeling, collapsing with his arms out on the hood of the car. He sounded like he was slurping blood before he got up and looked at us.

  “Thank you, D.”

  “I told you no fuckin' apologies. You tell me you're sorry, it means somebody's fucked up instead of doing shit like I asked.” He glared, bowed up like a stern teacher chastising a schoolboy.

  I wondered where this was going. Jesus, I wondered how I was still standing after everything that had happened in the last hour.

  A loud police siren cut through the night, closer than the ones I'd heard out my window. David clapped his hands once.

  “Come on. No more fucking around. We got what we came for.”

  Just like that, Boris helped me into the back and slid in next to me. Up front, David sat next to another man, probably the one called Nikolai.

  The car wasn't a limit, but it had a pane of dark glass between the front and rear seats. By now, I should've been used to shadows.

  I wouldn't have felt so horrid if I'd managed to see his face just once.

  II: Grudge (David)

  Soon as I heard she was sleeping in the master suite upstairs, I went downstairs for a well deserved drink.

  Fuck. I expected to feel a lotta shit storming in my skull soon as I got my hands on old man Rossini's daughter. Just never expected my cock to keep straining in my jeans three hours later, savage as the blue balls I used to get when I was a kid and the classy girls wouldn't put out because I wasn't legal yet.

  I knew I'd enjoy Anna's little cunt, her mouth, just as much as I'd love humiliating that sonofabitch by fucking the living hell outta his precious daughter. But I thought it'd be easier to take her right there in the dark, rough and careless, shoving my dick down her throat and not giving two shits whether she came up for air.

  Problem was, I wanted to take it slow. I hadn't even seen the chick yet – I mean really seen her in the flesh without so many shadows hanging all over the place. I'd seen her photos, yeah, but pictures never did anybody justice.

  I stared at my Great Uncle Ignatiev's portrait while I poured my vodka. Premium import shit in a crystal glass, the only thing he'd ever allow in any house owned by a Strelkov.

  “Za Vas.” I raised my glass, muttered a toast, and downed it.

  For you¸ Uncle. One of the few complete phrases I knew in the old language.

  The last full blooded Strelkov who could speak it fluently died with the patriarch staring out the frame, right into my soul. My brother, Victor, killed in the same attack.

  The vodka ripped down my throat and exploded like a bomb in my guts. I slammed the glass down on the bar and paced near the fireplace, trying to make my cock stop twitching. If it kept that shit up, I wouldn't be able to wait 'til morning to show her what was coming.

  I'd be running up there like a fucking vampire, shoving the contract in her face and sucking at her delicious body. Plus there was the thrill I'd get when she finally saw me.

  I smiled. That took the edge off bad memories.

  The girl was gonna feast on every rock hard tattooed inch of me when I claimed her. Every piercing, every fucki
ng scar, every finger, everything before I made her wrap those sweetass legs around me and take it deep. The Rossini assholes kept to tradition even tighter than we did.

  Her papa never would've let her date anything like me, much less fuck. I remembered the way that fuckhead squirmed with my knife at his throat when I told him what I wanted to spare his shitty life, forcing him to sign the agreement.

  I pushed my hands together and cracked my knuckles. They remembered the feel of that junkie fuck's bones cracking underneath them earlier tonight. Yeah, I gave Boris some shit about it – what kinda boss would I be if I didn't? – but I was glad the asshole was there.

  He gave me some way to blow off steam before I got back to managing the business in the morning. Mostly, I needed some distraction, some way to relieve the primal urges throbbing in my veins like a fucking animal's the instant I smashed my lips on hers.

  Because if I didn't have something, I was gonna lose my fucking mind when tomorrow came, when I made Anna understand exactly why she was here forever.

  III: Impossible Duties (Anna)

  In my dreams, I remember the last time I saw my father at the family estate, right before he told me to pack and I was whisked away to a part of the city where no Rossini belonged.

  “What is it, Dad? What's happened to you?” I was scared the instant I saw him at his desk.

  Our butler, Rocco, had brought me up, telling me my father asked for me. He rarely saw me so early in the evening, but I expected to find him there at his desk, his laptop closed, carefully concealing the world he'd tried to keep hidden like always.

  Now, I was looking right at it. Dad's face looked sick, and he had a ruddy line on one lip that looked like someone had split it open. Later, I noticed the discolored swelling around his jaw and the thin faded impression on his neck.

  “I need your help, Anna. So does my enterprise.” He stood up shakily, limping over to me. I reached out and tried to take his hands, but he refused.

  “God! What's going on here, Dad? You look terrible. You're scaring me...”

  “I've made a...grave miscalculation. A certain business campaign didn't go the way I anticipated, and now the entire thing is in trouble. Everything this family's worked for is on the line.” He hung his head, and then looked up, jaw clenched hard for composure.

  “Is it the police? Dad, are you going to jail?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “If only it were as simple as that. No, the law knows nothing. Listen, my Annaliza, I need your help. It pains me to ask, and you know I wouldn't if I had another choice.”

  My heart jumped. He was involving me in the business? What the hell was going on?

  I reached out again. At last, he let me take his hands, and I squeezed them tight as he crossed the room to sit with me on the small leather couch in his office.

  “Tonight, I need you to pack some clothes and go with the driver. You need to go away for awhile, Anna, all I can do to keep you safe.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up one palm. “Don't argue with me, girl. This is non-negotiable. I'm only asking because I want you to give me your full cooperation.”

  “Of course,” I said after several seconds.

  “Good girl. This is to keep you safe, to clear the air so I can work on correcting this mistake I've made. When thing are sorted out, you'll be home again. You'll understand more later. Just take my love, my gratitude. Keep it right here, and go. I won't let it end this way, I swear...”

  He grabbed one hand with both of his and squeezed tight, pushing them back toward my heart like he always did. I tried not to tear up or bury him in the million questions buzzing in my head.

  I nodded glumly, wondering what he meant. Won't let what end this way?

  Standing, he helped me up, and gave me the tightest embrace ever. When he pulled back, his eyes were cold, determined, as if he were doing business instead of hugging his own daughter.

  Was he shaking a little as I held on? One kiss on the forehead and I was gone, off to my room, and then down to the waiting car with the few outfits I could scrounge up in my bag.

  I was so rattled I'd done a shitty job of packing. I couldn't believe Dad was sending me away like this, but I really couldn't believe how he was acting. It was like he never expected to see me again, no matter what he said. The guilt in his dark eyes whispered constant apologies, regrets for sending me off to the devil himself.

  I woke up to tea and a tray of fruit with toast and several colorful jams, all laid out on a neat silver tray. Well, whatever else was screwed up about this situation, at least the accommodations were decent. Anything was an improvement after that awful house.

  I dove in and ate, quickly realizing how hungry I was after the insanity of the last twenty-four hours. Truthfully, it sucked accepting anything from David the Mysterious, but a girl had to eat.

  Last night, I found a full wardrobe in my closet. A wide variety of dresses, jeans, shirts, and sweaters, ranging from passable to things I wouldn't be caught dead in. Some outfits were a size too big, but whoever stocked them came close to getting my size just right.

  I wrinkled my nose, shifting through the unwanted stuff illuminated by the skylight in the ceiling. Yes, the closet was so big it had two, putting even my old room at Dad's house to shame.

  At last, I settled on something comfy, a long sleeved sweater with zebra stripes and jeans. All the clothes were made to draw attention, but I'd be damned if I was donning one of the short skirts or cleavage-happy things laid out in the front to tempt me.

  It wouldn't work. I wasn't going out of my way to please my captor. The way my body reacted to him last night was still fucking with my head, leaving it spinning in a way I was afraid to understand.

  A quick shower and a change helped sanitize my body and brain.

  Maybe I could survive here, if only he didn't force himself on me again. I was starting to get it: this was a hostage situation, a war between rival enterprises my family had stumbled into. Whatever Dad did, I hoped it hurt the man who owned this house and his stupid cartel, mafia, whatever the hell he was running.

  I never wanted any part of this. I never wanted to be stolen away from everything I'd known, dragged into a dungeon. And make no mistake, this house was a prison.

  They never tell you crystal chandeliers and stucco can bind just the same as shackles.

  Prisoner or not, I was going to do my damnedest to make do here.

  You're a Rossini girl, dammit. Nobody pushes us around. I don't care who this man thinks he is or how much he wants to swing his fists and his dick.

  He won't break me. Never.

  I walked to the door, refreshed and determined. I was half-expecting it to be locked when I turned the knob, but that wasn't the case. I easily stepped out into the long elegant hall, heading for the staircase leading to the main floor.

  “Good morning, pet.”

  I jumped when I was almost to the master kitchen. I hadn't even seen him in the huge room with the fireplace I'd just walked through. Spinning, I saw him at last, sitting like a lion in a huge leather chair in the corner.

  David's hands were folded, accented by bright silver cufflinks, all attached to a fine gray suit. The metal bullets on his sleeves were as slick and sharp as his eyes.

  I gasped when I saw him. Finally.

  He was as handsome as I'd feared, but there was so much more than that. Several dark stripes curled up his neck from his collar, ebony swirls like black cobras protecting him. Every part of him was sculpted stone, and a noticeable three line scar marred one cheek, as if he'd been slashed across the face by a tiger.

  What was a proper greeting for a man who twisted contrasts like putty, lust and fear and revulsion in one painful lump?

  “Come here. Sit down over there.” He pointed to the empty chair across from him, identical to his. “There's something I need to show you.”

  He reached into the seat next to him while I sulked over, easing into the seat. It was just the right fit for a big man like him.
I wasn't the skinniest girl or the shortest, but I still felt like a midget in the cold leather.

  David reached out, pushing a slim marble folder toward me. When I didn't take it right away, he jerked his hands, causing it to flap loudly in the air.

  “Take a moment to look it over carefully, babe. There's no going back after this. Your old man's signed it.”

  It was a long contract. I started to read the first few words, something about a marriage endorsed by the state of New York. There was something about a daughter who wasn't fully of sound mind too. At the bottom was a notary's stamp next to three signature lines.

  One was David's, huge and imposing as the rest of him. Next to it was my father's familiar curly signature. The blood was already throbbing hot in my temples when I got to the third signature. When I saw the bad imitation of my own writing, I nearly fainted.

  “Cost an arm and a fucking leg to pay off the asshole who got that thing ready for us. Good thing me and your old man are rich. State officials are greedy motherfuckers when it comes to risking their necks to endorse fake marriages.” He paused, crinkling his lip in dissatisfaction. “No, that's not quite right, is it? There's nothing fake about this shit. The whole damned state recognizes you're my fucking bride, babe, and so does your old man. Last one to find out is you.”

  My vision contracted. The room blurred until I couldn't see anything except his large, devilish shadow sitting there. My spine gave out at the same time as my legs.

  I hit the floor and barely caught myself. He was on me in an instant, pulling my limp body up by the shoulders, cradling me to his chest.

  “You...you didn't!” My voice cracked, hoarse and terrified. “We can't be...”

  “Married? Fuck yeah we can, Anna. And we are. Get used to it.”

  All my energy came surging back. I bucked in his arms, tried to elbow him, screaming. But he was too strong, too fast, easily thwarting my efforts the same way a grown man slaps away a child's feeble punches.