Tragic Beauty (Beauty & The Darkness #1)(58)

I keep my eyes down when he turns me around and runs his fingers along my throat and over my collar bone. “They say it’s important to have romance in the relationship, so figured Romance perfume was a good place to start.” His voice is so soft, so tender, like how a normal husband might talk to his adoring wife. He takes the pendant gently in his hand and runs his thumb over it. “And buying jewelry for your woman is supposed to be good too. But I didn’t just buy this for you, Ava, I had it made for you, a long time ago. I handpicked all these sapphires—sapphires to match your eyes of course—to make the rose, and showed them my tattoo so they could use the design to make the thorns and barbed wire out of the diamonds that hold it around your neck. I know it doesn’t really go with the dress, but I really wanted to see you in it. And it looks so nice on you. What do you think, do you like it?”

I nod and my lower lip quivers.

“Oh, Ava.”

His soft kiss burns my temple, then he takes my hand and turns me around like a ballerina. “Look at this, Red,” he says, whistling while he does it. “Isn’t she just the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen? Her hair’s up in a ponytail and tied off with a bow, and she’s wearing a pretty dress. But not just any dress, right Ava? Not exactly the same, I know, but it was as close as I could find, and it looks so hot on your tight little body. And those legs. Wow, not sure I’ve ever seen you in heels before. Makes my dick hard just looking at you, especially knowing you dressed up just for me this time.

“What do you think, Red? She’s lost a little weight, I know. We both have. But we’re both still adjusting to married life, going through a bit of a rough patch, aren’t we sweetheart? But we’re working things out. She still looks good though, doesn’t she? Prettiest girl in the whole damn world.”

“You look real nice, Ava,” Red says, sounding sincere, and uncomfortable too. I see him from the corner of my eye, standing off to the side, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his freckled skin looking pale against the olive button-up shirt he’s wearing. His hair looks actually combed for once, but it’s still nothing but a red mop of curls.

“What about me, Ava?” Shayne asks, still holding my hand, but taking a step back. “How do I look?”

I skim warily over the shiny black cowboy boots, the black jeans, the shiny belt buckle, and the silky, black, dress shirt. And that’s as far as I go. I know better than to look at his face. But then he says, “Go on. It’s okay this time.”

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to.

But he squeezes my hand to the point of pain, so I look up.

His black hair is slicked back, hanging down behind his ears, and he’s clean shaven, making his sunken cheekbone more noticeable, especially now that he’s lost weight. His left eye droops, not near as much as it used to, but it’s still there, set back under heavy brows. And his nose is like I remember last, flatter and crooked. It’s his mouth that’s perhaps still the most shocking. The scar on his upper lip gives him that snarl that sends a shiver barreling down my spine. But it’s those eyes. Those black eyes that burn, fueled on by alcohol and filled with something—something I don’t want to see. Pain.

He smiles, pulling back those lips over his teeth. “Now I know I’m not as pretty as I used to be, but it’s not that bad is it?”

When my eyes begin to fill, I shake my head and look away.

He laughs. “Oh, Ava, you suck at lying, you know that? But what about Red, over there. He looks pretty sharp, doesn’t he?”

I nod, staring at the floor.

“Funny,” Shayne chuckles. “You used to be the ugly one, Red. Now it’s me. Fancy that.”

Shayne gives my hand one final squeeze, so hard I swallow down a scream, then he lets me go and says, “Let’s eat!”

I’m cradling my left hand, trying not to cry or throw up, when Shayne gets to the table and stops. “We won’t need three settings. Clear this one off, Ava.”

I don’t understand, but move to the setting, my left hand against my stomach, and with my right hand, pile the napkin, silverware and placemat onto the plate and carry it to the counter.

“Red, you sit over there,” Shayne says, pointing to the setting at the far end. And I’ll sit here.” He jerks the chair out and sits down. “Can’t believe how good this all smells. Bet it tastes good too. Serve us up, Ava.”

I walk to the table, panicking over how I’m going to cut the chicken. My hand shakes when I pick up Shayne’s plate and move to where the platter sits. I’m able to pick up the knife with my good hand—my right hand—but when I try to pick up the fork with my left, it falls to the table with a loud clang and I whimper.

“What’s wrong, Ava?” Shayne asks. “Oh damn, baby. Look at your hand. It’s all swollen. Did I do that? Fuck, sorry about that. Here. Let me serve that up. You go get the Jim Beam.”

I hear Red shifting his chair. “Maybe I should get her some ice?”

“Nah, she’s tough. She’s got quite the pain threshold now, don’t you, baby?”

Even though he’s piling up his plate, I know he’s looking, so I nod, walking back with eyes down and the bottle in my good hand. I set it on the table.

“Oh, and don’t forget the glasses,” he says, moving on to serve Red. “Only need two.”