Painted Scars (Perfectly Imperfect, #1)(50)

“Is that the man who hurt you, milaya?”



She looks into my eyes without blinking, her lips pressed into a hard line.

“It’s him, isn’t it. He’ll pay, malysh. He’ll pay dearly. I’ll make sure of it,” I whisper and turn to take my crutches.

Nina grabs my arm. “No. You promised you wouldn’t kill anyone because of me.”

I never promised such a thing, but her voice is so small and upset, I don’t want to distress her further. I’ll deal with the bastard later.

“Ivan!” I bark and wait for him to approach. “See that motherfucker? There, below the exit sign.

Blond, beard, tall. I want him thrown out of my club, and make sure the bouncers know he’s never to be let inside again.”

“Yes, Pakhan,” he says, and I feel Nina’s body relax slightly next to me.

“Good.” I put my arm around her back, turn to Ivan, and add in Russian, “Bag him and wait for my call.”

Ivan looks at me, and I let him see what I left unsaid written on my face. He nods, turns, and heads down to the dance floor.

I hold Nina next to me while Ivan and one of the bouncers manhandle the bastard. When I’m sure they are gone, I lead her out of the club. She’s silent for the whole trip home, and when we arrive, she heads straight to bed.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I whisper in her ear when I join her in bed.

She doesn’t answer, just curls into my side, and buries her face in the crook of my neck. After an hour, I finally feel her relax and her breathing evens out. I wait for half an hour more, until I’m sure she’s sleeping deeply, then get up and leave the room.

“Where is he?” I ask as soon as Ivan takes the call.

“Pavel has him in his trunk.”

“Take him to the basement.” I put the phone on the dining room table and leave the suite.

Maneuvering the narrow stairs down to the basement on crutches is a bitch, but I manage, and cross the short hallway that leads into the back room. Inside, the bastard is tied to a chair above the drain, his mouth gagged.

“Remove his shirt,” I say to Ivan who’s waiting in the corner, and turn toward the table by the wall to inspect the assortment of knives and other tools.

“Pakhan? Do you want me to call Mikhail?”

“Nope.” I take one of Mikhail’s knives and smile. “This one is mine.”




The street in front of me is dark, but I keep running. The sound of my footfalls echoes off the cobblestones lining the ground. Even though I push myself with all my strength, I feel like I’m treading through mud, my legs heavy and slow. A figure of a man comes around the corner, grabs me around my neck, and starts choking me.

I wake with the start and sit up in bed, panting heavily. The lamp in the corner is on, and I find the bed next to me empty. I reach for the phone on the nightstand and check the time. Half past four.

“Roman?” I call out. Nothing but silence answers me.

A sick kind of dread settles in my stomach. I jump out of the bed and run, hoping to find Roman in the kitchen. He isn’t there, and I stand in the middle of the room. Did he have some kind of business emergency? But then, my eyes fall on his phone lying on the corner of the dining room table. There is no way he’d leave his phone behind.

I pad down the long hallway on bare feet, and open the door to the gym. The lights are out, so I head downstairs to check Roman’s office. He is not there, and the whole house is silent. I close his office door, and head toward the main kitchen when my eyes come to the door that leads into the basement. I’ve never seen anyone going inside, but something urges me to reach for the handle.

The light above the stairs is on, and I hear Roman’s voice in the distance below, mixed with some strange sounds of scraping wood. The door must have been soundproofed because I didn’t hear

anything from the outside. Slowly, I descend the stairs and find myself in a bare room with metal shelves lining the walls. The sounds are louder here. Roman’s voice is coming from the direction of the door on the other side that’s been left slightly ajar, but I can’t decipher what is being said because it’s in Russian.

I don’t want to see what’s happening behind that door, because deep down I know what I’ll find inside. But my feet keep leading me forward. I put my palm on the wooden surface and push.

Brian is sitting on a chair in the middle of the tiled floor, his feet and wrists tied to it. On the floor next to his feet, several severed fingers lay scattered in a huge puddle of blood. Roman is standing in front of him, leaning on one crutch with his left hand, and his right is holding a knife that’s lodged into Brian’s stomach to the hilt. He barks something at him, and starts rotating the knife. I stare in horror at the blood pouring from the wound.

A strange, choked sound leaves my lips, and I clutch the doorway next to me as my vision starts to blur. Roman turns abruptly, his eyes going wide. He takes a step toward me, and I start retreating, staring at his blood-covered hands. When Roman takes another step in my direction, I turn and run. I don’t remember leaving the basement or going up the great stairwell. When I reach the suite, I stumble through my room to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I take a few shaking breaths, then lunge for the toilet and vomit.

I’m still clutching the sides of the toilet when I hear the knock on the door.