Since Justine’s windows are closed, I don’t get the breeze I’m praying for, but mercifully, the shudders wreaking havoc with Justine’s body pushes her hair back far enough, a bite mark on her arm is exposed. It’s faded over the years, but it is large enough even someone with poor eyesight could see it.
When Vladimir spots it, he’s quick to announce his disgust. “She’s marked! That makes her worthless.” His roar doubles my desire to kill him. I want to hurt him. I want to beat him until he chokes on his own blood, and I want to do it front of Justine so she knows his words hurt me as much as they hurt her when he continues to taunt her, “I could have looked past her lack of innocence to witness her face in ecstasy, but I’ve tasted the richest wine, and I refuse to settle for anything less than perfection.”
Roman holds me back for the second time when Vladimir gathers a blob of moisture off Justine’s cheek. He stares her in the eyes while popping his tear-stained finger into his mouth. I plan his death in my head on repeat when he growls, “It's a pity you’re marked; if your cunt tastes as sweet as your tears, we could have had a lot of fun.” It will be a bloody death, full of the horror and gore he instilled in my life since I was a boy.
When Vladimir shifts on his feet to face me, I stare at him like he did Justine. My glare isn’t fueled by admiration. It’s pronged with venom and voiceless warnings on how numbered his days are.
Three days ago, he had months.
Yesterday, he had weeks.
Now he has days—ifhe’s lucky.
Chapter Twenty-One
Oblivious to the hell I’m about to rain down on him, the corners of Vladimir’s lips tug into a grin as he says, “Thank you for the offer, Niki, but I must decline your invitation.”
After signaling for his men to follow his exit, he hightails it out of Justine’s apartment, once again leaving me to clean up the mess he made. If the carnage had occurred to anyone but the woman standing across from me, I would have passed the burden onto Roman. But since it is Justine, a woman I have and will again kill for, I commence cleanup the instant her front door slams shut with Vladimir and his goons standing on the other side.
When I cradle Justine’s jaw, she yanks away from me. “I’ll slit the throat of any man who dares look at you sideways. Family or not,” she quotes, her voice a dangerous mix of shame and anger. “You’re such a liar.” I’m about to tell her every word I spoke is true, but before I can, she continues talking, stopping me. “Why did you do that? Why did you offer me to him as a gift?”
Shock registers with my gut as pride heats my veins. I knew she understood what I said.
The smart, beautiful woman I’ve seen since day one roars to life when Justine shouts, “I can speak thirteen languages, Nikolai… including Russian. Perhaps if you hadn’t thrown me away like trash, you would have discovered that.”
“I offered you to him to save you from him.” I keep my tone low, my trust as nonexistent as my mood. Vladimir’s exit was dramatic, but I guarantee you he is listening in. To a sicko like him, the clean up after a bloodbath is just as entertaining as the massacre.
Justine laughs like a witch. “Don’t treat me like an idiot! I know what your father is like. I know exactly what he would have done to me if he had accepted your offer.”
I clench my hands so fast, my knuckles pop. “He wouldn’t have touched you. I wouldn’t let him touch you like that. I’d kill him before I’d let him touch you.” As my anger gets the better of me, my volume increases. Let Vladimir hear what I plan to do to him, let him prepare for my attack, because no matter what he does, his fate is already decided.
Nothing but heartache bellows in Justine’s tone when she shouts, “You offered me to him! You gifted me to a man who sells his own daughters to the highest bidders and tortures his sons as if they are animals.”
When tears roll down her cheeks, I tug her into my chest. “I offered you to him to save you. If I thought there was any chance he would have accepted my offer, I would have never said it.”
Not believing a word I speak, she pounds her fists on my chest before pulling away from me. “Don’t touch me.” She makes a beeline for the door. “You lost the right to touch me the instant you offered me to that monster.”
“Justine...”
The look on her face when she ignores my warning growl guts me. It cuts deeper than any knife ever has, and has me throwing caution to the wind. I’m already open and bleeding, so what’s another nick to a wound I’ll carry to the grave?
“If Vladimir knew how much I wanted you, he would have taken you away from me. If not for himself, for someone else. He’s been that way my entire life. Anything I love, he takes. I only offered you to him as I knew he wouldn’t take you. Vladimir craves perfection, so I used anything I could to save you from him.”
Shock about my underhanded declaration of love doesn’t register on Justine’s face. Humiliation does. She heard my comment in the wrong manner. I wasn’t saying she isn’t perfect—she’s perfect in every fucking way. I meant her scars were the only way I could save her from Vladimir because he doesn’t understand that beauty is found in imperfections.
Not giving me the chance to clarify my statement, Justine recommences her race across the living room.
“Justine…”
I snag her wrist, needing her to calm the fuck down for just a minute. If she’d give me the chance to speak, I wouldn’t blurt out the wrong shit all the time.
The chance of me maintaining a rational head is lost when my tug on Justine’s wrist sends her free hand sailing through the air. She slaps me hard across the face, rattling both my teeth and the devil I’m trying to keep contained. I was raised by violence, so it’s my quick go-to when I’m spiraling out of control. I’m trying to be different this weekend. I want to be the man Justine sees when she looks at me for just a day—even if it kills me.
My grip on Justine’s wrist tightens as I talk through the anger clutching my throat. “Don’t ever hit me.” My words are as violent as the abuse I endured during my childhood.
I’ve been burned, stabbed, shot, beaten with fists, sticks, and chains, but nothing hurt me as much as my mother’s hand colliding with my cheek. She was my blood, the only person I ever loved without wondering what she wanted from me, but not even that was enough for her. She abused me as much as Vladimir.
“I’m sorry,” Justine mutters on a sob as tears flow down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have hit you. No one has the right to put their hands on another. I let my emotions get the better of me, and I’m sorry for that.”
