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61
IRINA
Scar lay on his stomach in the bed of the penthouse, relaxing after he’d washed the blood from his skin and handed his clothes off to be burned. Something in him was more reserved, more withdrawn in the aftermath of whatever he and Ryker had done.
I trailed my fingers over the scars on his back, the marks that I’d always hesitated to ask about seeming even rougher against my fingers than normal.
“It was a horsewhip,” he explained, turning to look at me over his shoulder. He sighed, and I knew the conversation he’d promised me that I hadn’t been willing to ask for would finally happen. “The man we hunted down tonight was a friend of my parents. A cop.”
“He liked to whip you?” I asked, swallowing around the nausea in my gut.
“Among other things. The whipping came if I didn’t take my clothes off fast enough for him, or if I didn’t bend over the way he liked. It was all part of training me to be obedient,” he said.
“How old were you? Why didn’t your parents stop him?” I asked, tears pooling in my eyes. I was glad he couldn’t see my face as he turned his face into the comfort of the down pillow beneath him.
“I don’t remember how young I was when it started. Maybe three or four? My parents gave him permission to do it, because he brought them drugs and that was all that mattered to them,” he admitted. I couldn’t stop the gasp that erupted from my throat or the way my hands left the scarred mess of his back to press against my mouth.
Like I could take it back. Silence it.
“They died when I was seven. My sister and I fled to the streets, not trusting any of the authorities to help us because…”
“Because your abuser was a cop,” I said, trying not to grasp onto the fact that he had a sister. I’d never heard anyone mention her before, and dread settled in my body.
“We lived on the streets. I stole and scrounged what we needed and then sold my body when I got older to pay for food and things like that, became a willing whore for anyone who wanted to use me if it meant I could protect Cesca,” he said.
“You weren’t a whore. You were a fucking child, and the world failed you,” I said, the venom in my voice feeling all-consuming as he spun to his back and grabbed my face between both hands.
His thumbs brushed against the tears staining my cheeks, wiping them away. “Just like you aren’t dirty for what you did for Madison,” he said, the comparison settling inside of me.
Two halves. One whole.
This man was my everything. He was the other part of my soul staring back at me.
“What happened to her?” I asked, knowing without a doubt that Scar would never have willingly been distant from the sister he wanted so desperately to protect. That kind of sacrifice didn’t just disappear.
“An accidental overdose when we were teens. Heroin,” he admitted. The memory of his searing kiss when I’d spoken of the rehabilitation center at the new location spread through me, making so much more sense in the wake of his confession. “Addiction runs in my blood. Evil runs in my blood. That’s why…” He paused, heaving a deep lungful of air as if what came next would be the worst confession of all.
“What?” I asked, leaning into his touch. Whatever they’d done, whatever he had to say, nothing could change that it wasn’t his fault.
“That’s why I had a vasectomy years ago. I can never give you children, Irina. I can give you me. I can give you my world and anything else your heart desires. But I can never, and will never, give you children,” he said.
Relief flooded me, realizing how much sooner we should have had this conversation. He’d been tormented by the thought that he couldn’t give me something I wanted, never realizing that I didn’t actually want it at all.
“I don’t want biological children,” I said, watching as his lips parted in shock. “I want to adopt. There are so many kids out there who need loving homes, I can’t see bringing another one into the world. Is that okay? Would we be able to adopt a child in a few years?”
“You want to adopt?” he asked, his lips tipping into a smile as if it all made sense.
“I want to adopt a child with you,” I agreed, leaning forward to touch my lips to his. “When we’re ready. If you’re ever ready.”
“Butterfly, haven’t I told you? I can do anything for you. If you want to adopt a child, then we’ll adopt a child. We’ll adopt an entire hoard of them and give them a warm, loving home where they’re safe.”
“That sounds like heaven,” I admitted, thinking of the half a dozen kids I wanted running around my house every day. Thinking of the shrieks of joy and happiness and everything beautiful in life.
“You’re my heaven,” Scar said, rolling me beneath him. I didn’t know about that, but I did know that he made me see God by the time he was done with me.
