"Second thoughts?" he asked, watching me stare.
"No." I pushed myself up on my elbows. "Just wondering how you're still alive."
"Stubbornness. And very good doctors." His hands went to his belt. "Does it bother you?"
"The scars?" I shook my head. "I've got my own."
Something flickered in his expression. "Show me."
"That wasn't part of the contract."
"Neither was you coming early nor wearing that dress." He stripped off his belt in one smooth motion. "Show me, Katrina."
I hesitated. The scars Marcus had left were faded now—three years of healing had turned angry red marks into pale lines. But they were still there. Still visible reminders of everything I'd survived.
Slowly, I turned onto my side and lifted my arm. The scar ran from my shoulder blade down to my lower back—eight inches of raised tissue where Marcus had taken a broken bottle to me.
Then Olek was on the bed, his fingers tracing the line with devastating gentleness. "He did this."
It wasn't a question.
"Among other things."
"I'm going to kill him."
The words were said so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that it took a moment for them to register.
"You can't?—"
"I can. I will." He pressed a kiss to the top of the scar. "After our ninety days, when you disappear, he won't be a problem anymore."
"You can’t?—"
"This isn't up for discussion." Another kiss, lower. "No one hurts what's mine and lives to talk about it."
"I'm not yours."
"You are for ninety days." His mouth moved down the scar, kiss after kiss, like he was trying to erase it with his lips. "And that's long enough for me to make sure you're safe."
I should argue. Should tell him I didn't need his protection, didn't need him playing vigilante on my behalf.
But God, when was the last time someone had tried to protect me instead of hurt me?
"Turn over," he said softly.
I did, and he was there above me, still in his pants but close enough that I could feel the heat of him.
"Any other scars I should know about?"
"A few." I touched my ribs where Marcus had cracked two of them. "Nothing as dramatic as yours."
"Every single one is dramatic." He kissed my ribs, then my sternum, then the curve of my breast. "Every single one is a reason I'm going to enjoy watching him bleed."
"You're kind of bloodthirsty."
"I'm Bratva." He pulled down my bra cup and closed his mouth around my nipple. "It comes with the territory."
I arched into him, my hands sliding into his hair. He was so warm, so solid, and the way his tongue worked my nipple made coherent thought impossible.
