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He ushers me out of the room as Mrs. Yugur pleads with him to forgive her. Clearly, she’s recognized who he is, or I’m sure she wouldn’t be doing that.
“Dez?” I look up at him, hoping to get a read on what’s happening here.
He doesn’t say a thing as he marches me through the school, out the front doors, and into my waiting car. Opening the door for me before my driver can, he slams it shut as soon as I’m seated. I can almost feel his anger penetrating the fiberglass and metal.
Shivering again, I’m chilled to the bone, and this time, it’s not because of the biting shower but because Dez is giving me the cold shoulder. I know I deserve it; I always screw everything up. I just hadn’t anticipated this level of disinterest from him. Not after the way he fought so hard to keep me.
When I realize the vehicle isn’t moving, my eyes cut to the side, and I find Dez leaning over the car, hands on the roof, head hanging down, and breathing deeply.Is he trying to gain control of himself?
I wait impatiently for him to make a move, watching the entire time as his arms flex beneath his zippered sweater, nearly bursting the seams. Dez is lanky, so the muscle surprises me, and when he lifts his head, his piercing eyes meet mine, and in them, I see all the feelings he’s having in this moment. Despite the fact that he likely can’t make me out, I recognize that he’s as desperate as me for this connection we have. It swirls like madness in his eyes.
When his eyelids close and open a few seconds later, the emotion I saw is gone, and in its place is the stolid man he shows to the world. No longer do I see the boy seeking affection and baring his heart to me. Even if he didn’t know he had.
The door opens, and he slides inside next to me. I know he’s about to lean over and fasten my seat belt, so rather than allow him to do that, I slide my body over his. Straddling his lap and settling my head on his shoulder.
The pounding of his heart is bruising against my own as he processes what’s going on. Burrowing further into him, I turn my head slightly and whisper, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” leaving a kiss under his jaw as he swallows roughly.
His arms move forward, cupping my ass in his hands as the car begins to move. Dragging me closer, I feel him inhale deeply before releasing it slowly, then doing it again. It takes a second before I realize he’s inhaling me.
“I smell like you,” I whisper. Dez purchased me my own shampoos and soaps, but this morning, I had the overwhelming need to be close to him, so I showered with his things instead of mine.
“You smell like…you, mixed with me,” he responds, almost too quietly.
For the first time in my life, the demons in my head are silenced. I feel like I can relax a bit.
NINE
DEZ
My entire life, I’ve always felt a rumbling in my chest, this loud pounding in my ears. Unfettered rage has been my go-to emotion for longer than I can ever remember. I’ve never known true joy or happiness. When I saw that boy in Liliya’s class lean into her, I knew precisely what he was after because I wanted the same thing.
The right to call her mine.
When their lips touched, she’d been shocked he was so close that she fell to the ground. The boy, of course, was thrilled before becoming pissed. It was that matching rage in him, the one I feel every day of my life, that propelled me through that door. He was about to lash out at my woman, and I couldn’t let it happen.
Watching her through the remainder of the lesson had done nothing to soothe my racing pulse. Instead, it ramped up until I lost my composure. It wasn’t until she slid into my lap that I began to feel less monster and more human.
Now, I have her driver/bodyguard driving around aimlessly so I can keep her close because, despite the words she spoke to me yesterday, Liliya doesn’t seem all that interested in separating herself from me—something else I’m not used to. People run from me. Have, all my life, for one reason or another. She seems to be trying to burrow herself in closer. To get…deeper?
After I’d gone to the old neighborhood, I stayed out all night, not wanting to taint her with my savagery. Unwilling to subject her to the man I was forced to become after years of abuse and fighting with every fiber of my being to stay alive.
When I feel the car slow, I glance out the side window to see we’re back home. Without bothering to move Liliya, I open the door and step out with her in my arms. It’s not until we’re striding into the house and Mila and Nadia are watching with serene looks on their faces that I realize she’s sleeping.
“She fits you, Dez,” Nadia whispers, brushing a lock of hair back from her face. Her discerning gaze finds mine. “You more than deserve her.”
With a nod, I head up to our rooms. Locking the door behind me, I carry Liliya to the bed, intending to undress her and put her in something more comfortable. I’ve never concerned myself with someone else’s well-being before, but with her, it’s natural…it’s instinct. I need to do these things for her because I know no one else ever has.
Starting with her shoes, I marvel at just how much tinier she is than me. While I’m six foot two and lanky—having a swimmer’s body is how I’m described—she is barely five and a half feet, and I’d be surprised if she’s more than a hundred and ten pounds, soaking wet.
Moving on to her pants, I slide them down her body without much trouble, frowning when I see scars on the tops of her thighs. Spreading her legs slightly, I see them on the inside as well. I’ve got a bad feeling, and after I remove the two sweaters, I notice blood spots on the plain white t-shirt she’s wearing. Lifting the material, what I find blurs my vision as I drop to my knees beside the bed.
My name has been carved into her stomach. Angry, jagged lines with red blood crusted to her too-pale flesh. I finish removing her clothes, and while I would love to admire her body because sheisa work of art, I can’t. What I focus on, instead, brings tears to my eyes. Never in my life have I cried for anyone, not even myself, but this woman has me in her clutches. Scars litter her ribs, the upper part of her forearms, and the tops and insides of her thighs.
Gripping her hip and shoulder, I roll her a bit to see if there are more. After thoroughly inspecting her body, I find nothing else; no more impressions to indicate that she’s being physically abused. Instead, I discern that she is the one doing this to herself.
Covering her with the blanket, I go into the bathroom to find some first aid supplies to clean the carving on her stomach. Concern for another human being has not been an issue for me before, but now, seeing the damage she has caused herself, I’ll nevernotworry about her.
At her side again, I dab a cloth in antiseptic and blot her skin. There’s no way this won’t scar her body, and I have to wonder if it was intentional. Did she want my name claiming her? It doesn’t make sense to me. She was saying I would never see her naked, and now, she’s carved me into her body.
