Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(34)

have therapy, he exercises for at least an hour afterward. The man was seriously obsessed.

“Sure.” He shrugs and starts pouring juice into the glasses. “What do you want to do? Treadmill?”

“I was thinking weightlifting.”

His hand stills in the middle of pouring the juice, and he looks down at me with an incredulous look on the face, focusing on my nonexistent arm muscles. “Weightlifting?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” He bursts out laughing, and while I school my features to look offended, I’m smiling inside. His laughter is much better than his scowling face.

“What? It’s popular. My Instagram feed is full of chicks with gym selfies. They say it does

wonders for the butt muscles. Maybe I could take some pictures or even videos and upload them as well. I like those stretchy neon outfits and—”

In the next moment, I find myself sitting on the counter in front of Roman, who is holding my chin between his fingers and staring daggers at me. “No selfies in stretchy clothes.”

“Oh, don’t be such a grump. Everyone is posting those.”

“My wife is not everyone.”

Damn. It melts my insides every time he calls me that. And I secretly love his jealous streak. It’s so cute. I lean in and straighten the collar of his shirt, then run my fingers through his still slightly wet hair.

“You are one disturbingly sexy man, Roman.”

He breaks eye contact, looking down into his glass of juice. “Even with the crutches?”

Yup, that therapy session definitely didn’t go well.

“Even with the crutches, Roman.” I kiss him, and make sure to bite his lower lip, just a little.

“What did Warren say?”

“That I’m doing fucking great.” Based on the way he’s gritting his teeth, and that the knuckles on his hands are white from how hard he grips the crutches, their opinions defer quite a bit. “I have to go. I’ll be back by dinner.” He places a kiss on my forehead and leaves.

He’s hurting. And it makes my chest hurt as well.

I sit on the counter for a long time after he’s gone, looking down at the floor.

“Perfect,” I mumble to myself. “Just perfect.”

The head of the Russian criminal syndicate. A drug dealer. A killer. And I managed to fall in love with him. Someone please just lock me up in a mental institution, because that’s apparently where I belong.





Chapter 11


I look around the abandoned factory we sometimes use when setting up the deals, and curse. Three dead bodies lay sprawled on the floor, each one sporting a big red dot in the center of the forehead.

“What the fuck, Sergei?” I bark.

“They brought spoiled goods. What did you expect me to do?”

“To send them away, not kill them all. Damn it.” I turn to Dimitri and Pavel who are checking the crates on the floor. “Get their car inside. Burn everything.”

“The product as well?”

“Everything.” I roll over to one of the dead guys and have a look at his face. “Mendoza’s?” I ask and look at Sergei.

“No. Rivera’s but working on their own. Probably stealing the product from Rivera, mixing it, and offering under the table.”

“We don’t work with rogues, you know that.”

“I was curious what they had to offer. The price was good.” He shrugs his shoulders and lights a cigarette.

“Well, I’m glad you had your fun.” I sneer. “Don’t you dare pull shit like this again, you hear me, Sergei?”

“Yes, Pakhan.”

“One more stunt like this, and you’re done. The disadvantages of having you on the crew are

running extremely close to exceeding the benefits. You get your shit together, fast. Find a bloody hobby or something.”

I turn my wheelchair and leave, with Pavel following after me. This mess is not what I needed today. If he wasn’t my half-brother, I would have gotten rid of Sergei long ago.

“Send him a hooker,” I say to Pavel when we get into the car. “He needs to let off some steam.”

“I already tried. He sent all of them away.”

“How many?”

“Six.”

“Try sending a male one.” I am pretty sure Sergei isn’t gay, but I couldn’t be certain with someone as unhinged as him.

“Yeah, that didn’t go well, either.” Pavel clears his throat. “He threw him out, then came to the club and broke my nose.”

“Jesus, what am I going to do with him?”

“Counseling might help. Maybe the doc knows a shrink who’d want extra money.”

“The shrink would end up requiring counseling after talking to him, Pavel. I don’t think anyone can help Sergei. He’s a lost cause,” I sigh and look through the window.





The bed dips next to me, and then I feel Roman’s arm coming around my waist and his body

spooning mine. I love when he does that.

“You missed dinner,” I mumble into the pillow.

“I’m sorry, we had a situation. It’s late, go back to sleep.”

“Wake me up in the morning?”