14
IRINA
Istrolled along the cobblestone path through the rose gardens, following the twisting road to the building that Ivory said housed the gym the guys used on the property. My jeans hugged my legs tightly, keeping out the chill of March on the cold breeze, along with the long wool coat that fell down past the swell of my hips.
I rubbed my hands together, bringing them up to my face to blow on them, and wished I’d had the foresight to grab my gloves from the center console of my car. I hadn’t anticipated walking to the back of the property, thinking Scar would be inside the main house with Ivory.
But she said she hadn’t seen him all day, and her face was tight with concern when she admitted it. It didn’t seem common for him to just disappear for the day. His absences when he stalked me tended to be more geared toward the nighttime hours when she’d have Matteo at her side.
The brick building emerged from the landscape as I made my way around the back edge of the gardens, almost warehouse-like in construction, but much more modern and clean than I would have expected.
I pushed the doors open, hurrying into the warmth inside and breathing a sigh of relief when I closed the doors behind me and shut out the cold. All eyes fell on me as I moved into the open space at the front, looking around cautiously in a moment of insecurity.
Usually, unknown places required me to wear my business face. To don the mask of the bold woman who would do whatever it took to see justice for her kids. Being just Irina left me unsettled.
I didn’t know who she was without her work.
Someone whistled, and the reaction snapped me out of my reverie. I straightened my shoulders, turning to face the man who looked me up and down like a piece of meat. “You lost, Little Lamb? I can help you find your way home.”
“I’m looking for Scar,” I said, pointedly ignoring the invitation. “Ivory said I’d probably find him here.”
“Shame. He wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you,” he grunted, nodding his head toward the boxing rings at the back of the gym.
“You’re trying for that whole big dick energy thing. I’ll give you that,” I said, huffing a laugh. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Men who actuallyhave big dicks don’t have to be so obnoxious and desperate for it.”
His friend burst out laughing at his back, slapping him on the shoulder as he gaped at me. “Damn girl, what the fuck?”
“You said Scar was this way?” I asked, pointing toward the boxing rings with a saccharine smile. I made my way past the men who had paused to watch my brief exchange with the horndog who needed to be taken down a peg or two and learn some respect.
My eyes landed on the center ring, watching the two men within spar with movements so fast it was almost impossible to know what limb belonged to who. There was no mistaking the breathtakingly beautiful face of Scar as he ducked and jabbed, only the scar across his oh-so-slightly crooked nose marring the perfection of his features.
Someone whistled again, more loudly the second time, and I turned back to glare at whomever had bothered with me after the first one. When he nodded toward the ring, I spun back and Scar and his opponent had stopped fighting.
He was panting as his eyes came to rest on me standing there, clearly exhausted from the workout. His body was bruised, deep red welts forming where Ryker had landed vicious punches against his body. One side of his face was swollen, the skin over his cheekbone split open.
But even the fresh injuries that I wanted to tend to couldn’t distract me from the utter decimation of his body. Scars from old wounds covered him in criss-crossing lines across his chest that looked like they continued onto his back. Burn marks dotted his biceps and forearms, and six round scars signaled the bullets he’d taken to save Ivory’s life not long ago.
The realization of how close I’d come to losing him before I’d ever even known he existed was like a wave threatening to pull me under a surge of emotion.
He maneuvered through the ropes, jumping down from the ring and storming over to me. His body was slick with sweat, and the first discolorations of bruises were appearing all over his body. “What are you doing here, Irina?” he asked, the use of my name feeling like a betrayal in itself.
I wasn’t Irina, not to him.
But it seemed that in public, I wasn’t his butterfly, either. Just another secret to add to his collection.
“I just wanted to check on you, after last night,” I said, crossing my arms self-consciously as all my worries came rushing back. Had I crossed the line coming here?
He’d left so suddenly the night before, I needed the closure of knowing what was going on in his head. He was too hot and cold, too unpredictable, and I couldn’t take it.
I needed to know where he stood, but looking at him then, I had a feeling I already did. The Scar standing in front of me was vastly different from the man who’d told me to come to him the next time I needed to feel pain. He was a world removed from the man who’d been outraged at the sight of my scars.
“You shouldn’t have bothered,” he said harshly, making me flinch back from the cruelty in his voice as he turned his face away and looked at one of the other men nearby. It was a blatant dismissal, but I couldn’t seem to make my feet move.
Gone was the man who’d looked at me like I could be his everything. In his place stood a cold, unfeeling monster who looked at me like I wasn’t worth the dirt beneath his shoes.
I stretched out a hand, my fingers coming so close to touching one of the particularly gruesome slashes across his collarbone. “Don’t, Irina,” he warned, making me draw back my hand. I had thought to find some semblance of the connection we’d shared the night before.
“I can’t do this,” I whispered, feeling my heart crack inside my chest. For just a moment last night, he’d made me believe that something might be possible. That we could find a way through the issues we both clearly needed to deal with and find something on the other side.
“Good. Had enough of slumming it already?” he asked.
“That’s not what I mean,” I said, shaking my head in exasperation as tears burned my throat. I couldn’t cry, not here, with an entire audience watching. Humiliation burned through me, leaving me with a rising anger that he would do this to me. That he was so stuck up his own ass that he couldn’t see how much he hurt me.
Or maybe he just didn’t care.
“You’re so hot and cold. One minute you’re demanding everything from me...and then the next…” I trailed off, all too aware of the men listening to our every word.
“I’m a man, Butterfly,” he said mockingly. “You made yourself available. That’s all it was.”
I nodded, feeling the first tear break free from my eye as I turned on my heel and headed for the door without another word. I kept my shoulders straight, determined not to let him see me break. That would come behind closed doors with no one to watch.
I made my way through the exit, emerging into the suddenly refreshing sharp air of March. He didn’t follow me, and I doubted he ever would.
I was nothing to men like Scar. Never enough for anyone to stick around.
Things were better that way.
* * *