Scarred Regrets (Bellandi Crime Syndicate 5)

21

SCAR

Six months later

I'd lived through hell. I’d thought I'd seen the worst life offered in my years on the streets, but watching Irina twine her hips against another man's was a new brand of torture. The sparkling violet fabric of her mini-dress shimmered in the neon lights as her eyes landed on mine.

Watching me. Testing me.

Everything she did was a show, designed to push, since the day I’d made it clear I would kill anyone who didn’t deserve her. Irina still didn't understand that I'd never be able to give her what she wanted.

Hands trailed over her hips, clutching her tightly in a grasp that hinted at all the desperation she brought out in men. A tantalizing taste of the kinds of pleasures we didn't deserve. Of her flawless, light brown skin she’d inherited from her Greek mother. Of the vibrant, light green eyes that contrasted with her dark hair and warm complexion in an almost feline fashion.

My jaw clenched as my finger itched for my gun. He may not deserve her.

But neither did I.

She spun to face her dance partner, a lean and well-dressed businessman who wanted to stain her with his filth. His hands slid around her hips, fingers precariously close to her ass as Irina did a body roll and touched her hips to his, tossing her hair back and glancing over my way. I watched a teasing smirk cross her face as she shook it out and turned her attention back to him.

She stumbled on her heels, far too drunk to be dancing like she didn't give a shit about the consequences. The guy steadied her against his body as her face transformed with a giggle I couldn't hear.

I knew the sound by heart. Had it branded on my very being. It should have been for me.

His hands slipped down farther, caressing her ass through the fabric of her dress. I watched his eyes light with something greedy when she didn't adjust them and saw the exact moment he realized she was drunk enough to make a mistake and go home with him for the night. He leaned down to say something in her ear, and her body stilled for just a moment.

Irina glanced over my way briefly, shaking it off a few seconds later. She nodded her head hesitantly, her teeth sinking into her plump bottom lip she'd painted the color of blood. He stepped back from her, holding out a hand for her to take so he could take her home.

Make love to her.

Fuck her.

All the things I'd never be able to do again.

She paused, staring at that outstretched hand and understanding as well as I did that it would be new territory. Irina danced. She teased.

She never went home with any of them once she realized I wouldn't intercede. But something about this night was different. Something about it made her sag with the weight of our reality.

Her eyes were wet when she looked my way one last time, the smile she gave me brittle as she placed her hand in his. Everything inside me tightened, agony and rage filling the void in my chest a heart was meant to occupy.

She took that first step, teetering on her heels as they shook, and her free hand trembled as she lifted it to wipe away the lone tear that slid over her rosy cheek. I wasn't aware I'd taken a step until she paused, hope filling her face as she stared at my shoe. My gaze slid down to it as my jaw clenched, incapable of controlling my body as her pain drew me closer.

She stared up at me with wide eyes, shock parting her red lips, as she took one step after another until she was right in front of me. Closer than she'd been for over six months.

"Let go, cuore mio," I ordered. She dropped his hand instantly as if his touch scalded her, straightening as she stared up at me. Her slender body went solid as she waited, her intense green gaze never leaving mine as she undoubtedly waited for the inevitable push. For the moment I would remind her she wasn't mine and never would be.

Irina had feelings for someone who didn’t exist. For the man she wanted me to be, the hope she saw inside me without acknowledging the damage.

I held out a hand, watching as she stared at it. Without a glance back for the man she'd been prepared to welcome into her body, to sever the toxic obsession that thrummed between us like a soul bond, she placed her perfectly manicured palm on mine. Electric sparks shot through me at the touch, reminding me for just a moment what it would be like to feel.

But with feeling came pain.

Irina followed me as I guided her to the exit without a word. The walk took everything she had, her steps coming more unsteadily as she swayed. The cool fall air kissed her skin when we emerged from the front doors of the club, and she wrapped her arms around herself. With a sigh of frustration, I turned and scooped her into my arms. She wrapped hers around my neck as she squeaked in surprise, settling in with her head on my shoulder when exhaustion weighed her down.

She'd drunk far too many gin and tonics to be aware of her surroundings, and I tried to stop the condemnation that bubbled up. Irina wasn't unaware of the dangers in the city, but she still took risks.

One night every month, she shed her professional shell to go to Indulgence and torture me. Her green eyes were hazy as she studied me now, her head lolling against me more heavily with every step I took. The bare skin of her legs draped over my suit-covered arm was the epitome of temptation. I wanted to run my hands over her. Wanted to see my skin against hers.

She was nearly asleep by the time I set her in the passenger seat of my SUV, smiling up at me through the drowsy look on her face. My heart clenched, knowing she thought the day had come where I finally accepted the pulsating thread that connected us. I couldn't put it into words, but something about Irina just felt like mine. Even though I knew she wouldn't be.

Eventually, Irina would tire of waiting for me to make a move. Eventually, she'd move on with a good man and he'd give her the white picket fence and two-point-five kids she needed.

Her soft snores filled the SUV as I climbed in the driver's side. If she'd been any of the Bellandi girls, I might have chuckled. With Irina, all I wanted was to fall asleep to that sound.

I drove her to the nearest Bellandi-owned hotel, checking in and carrying her up to the room I’d booked. It wasn't the Penthouse, but Irina would sleep through the night and race out first thing the next morning.

Horrified. Embarrassed.

Pissed.

As I'd requested when checking in, the concierge quickly dropped off a bottle of water and aspirin, ducking out of sight when he caught the thunderous look on my face. I placed them on the nightstand where she'd be able to reach them when she woke up with the hangover from hell.

I supported her weight against my body, tugging the covers down so I could tuck her under them. When she was laid out on her back finally, the temptation to touch my fingers to the place where her heart beat in a steady thrum consumed me, but my hand hovered just an inch from her skin.

Her red lips glistened, a beckoning temptation I wasn't strong enough to resist. I leaned in, my lips touching hers in the faintest hint of a kiss as I pulled away. I grabbed the notepad off the nightstand, scribbling a quick note on it. My throat was tight as I wrote the words she'd see when she first woke up.

Stay home.

I imagined her reading it the next morning, drinking the water and taking the pills as she forced her eyes to work. The rejected look on her face wasn't hard to imagine.

I'd pushed her away countless times since we’d met.

She deserved a man who could give her the world, not one who could barely tolerate being touched.

I made my way to the door, glancing back at her and knowing one truth; it would be the last time I watched her dance at Indulgence. Walking away would mean the end of whatever it was that threatened to pull me under.

I turned and closed the door behind me with a final click that echoed through me, knowing it had to be done.