Sighing, he nodded, scooped up all the documents, and with a chin lift exited the apartment, leaving me to enjoy this beautiful morning alone.
I padded softly to my sunroom, grabbing a brush in the process. My hands itched to color the blank canvas. Opening the window so the breeze would dry my painting more naturally, I dipped the brush in water then yellow paint, and recreated the image of New York in the twenties. I loved the vintage era, the great fucking Gatsby.
Art was the one beautiful, exceptional thing that could calm me down in this world of chaos. The sounds of brushes or pencils touching the canvases, the smell of dry paints, and aching muscles from all the hours of hard work soothed me as nothing else could.
And finally, moments free of anything but the feeling of creating something beautiful.
But then another image in my head assaulted me. Long, silky, dusky hair spread on black satin sheets as her eyes widened when my cock entered her tight heat.
Rosa, my Rosalinda.
After four hours, my exhausted body fell onto the mattress as I closed my eyes anticipating tonight. I would have an opportunity to display my woman to an entire world and stake my claim.
Sleep during the day didn't have nightmares after all.
No vile voices of Richard or Alfred.
No feeling like a piece of trash with no rules to live.
Nothing.
Man with the dragon tattoo
So the pakhan wanted hissovietnikback in Russia, so he could inflict revenge on the people who wronged him.
A sinister smile spread across my mouth as I picked up the phone to call one of my men in the Texas prison.
Radmir Abdulabekov wouldn't survive another dawn.
And I would make sure all traces lead to Cosa Nostra.
My head rested on the pillow as my eyes scanned the room until Quinn would show up from his afternoon stroll in the woods.
I appeared to be in a wood cabin with a few chairs, some blankets, and a wooden table. The smell of chamomile and mint filled the air. A vase stood on the table with a couple red roses about to bloom. The soft petals still hadn't open up.
My back ached from being in the same position. But lying that way, I didn't feel pain in my ribs or arms. My face throbbed, despite the healing cream Quinn and Dorothy applied on my wounds daily, and I didn't miss their flinch any time their eyes landed on them.
I was yet to see it all.
A huge mirror hung on the wall near the doorway. I probably could have asked them to bring it over so I could learn the damage this awful man did to me.
But could I face it?
Deciding not to wait on someone’s pity anymore, I picked up the cane next to my bed—the one I used on my trips to the bathroom, which was indoors, thank freaking God—and on my wobbly legs, despite the pain, I slowly made my way to the mirror, all the while hoping Quinn wouldn't barge in.
I needed to do it alone.
Step after step, my bare feet padded on the floor. My toes didn’t really enjoy the harsh wood underneath. Finally, taking a deep breath, I faced my fear head-on. A horrified gasp escaped me as my reflection registered in my mind.
One long, red line went from my right ear to my full lips, and another line spread across my forehead to my left ear. My face was swollen with bruises marking my cheeks and nose. My eyebrows were gone. Quinn had shaved them off to have a better view of all the wounds. I saw only raw meat and nothing that reminded me of the girl I used to be.
Ugly.
So unbelievably ugly.
Without thinking, with all my strength, I raised the cane and smashed the mirror. I kept hitting and hitting it as it shattered into tiny pieces around my feet, but I didn't care. I wanted to destroy it all despite my blurry vision from the tears.
Sobbing loudly, I fell on the floor as my hands covered my bruised face, wondering who’d ever want to look at such a creature as me. Romance novels had the wholeBeauty and the Beasttheme, but I never came across a book where the heroine was the beast.
