Page 39 of Scarred Angel

When I steal a glance, I catch him watching me, and suddenly it feels like my skin is being set on fire one inch at a time.

God, I’m so fucked.

“Maksim, you don’t need to run from me.”

The wordswe’re familylodge in my throat. Because maybe, yes, as a whole, we look out for each other. We know the darkest secrets that set us apart from the rest of the world. But that word doesn’t fit here. Not with him.

I step off the elevator and into the hallway, groaning at the ache in my arms and legs after all the walking I did at the fair. But I’ll be damned if I ever let Maksim know I was in pain—especially after he warned me I would be, and I waved him off. Can’t let him know he was right. Gotta keep him on his toes.

Speak of the devil. I pull my vibrating phone from my pocket.

Maksim: I’ll drop your new friends off tomorrow.

My cheeks burn picturing the big, tattooed Russian mobster with his arms full of stuffed animals, prizes he won for me to prove a point, or so he says. Of course, Maksim had insisted on coming up, but he was already almost three hours late for that meeting with his agent. I didn’t want to hold him up, so I played my “loyal servitude” card and made him drop me in front of the building. He owed me big anyway. And I also needed an excuse to see him again sooner rather than later.

I’m just starting to type a reply when a shadow by my door makes me jump damn near out of my skin.

Hand reflexively going to the gun at my waist, I freeze just long enough to see a familiar face leaning in the frame.

“Papi!Fuck, you could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“Good reflexes, baby, bad situational awareness.” He pushes off the wall, eyes on me. “Vali, don’t ever hesitate.”

I roll my eyes and dig through my bag for the key. “And what, shoot you? Mom?”

“Or Maksim.”

My gaze snaps up. “Not funny.”

He plays it off lightly, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s not entirely joking.

I lean my crutches against the wall and wrap my arms around him, breathing in the familiar cologne that always means safety and home.

“Out late tonight?”

“Went to the fair,” I say, resting my chin against his chest, eyes lifting to his. My initials are inked on the side of his neck, and I always make a point to look when I’m in his arms. The view has changed over the years. The once neatly trimmed dark stubble along his jaw is now a fuller beard, streaked with salt and pepper. Still as handsome as always.

“On crutches? I thought you’d skip it this year.”

“Ugh, not you too.”

I pull away and unlock the door. Hermes and Apollo bound toward me, goofy grins and wagging tails, before moving on to greet their second favorite person. Dad steps inside behind me and secures the door, like he’s done a hundred times before.

A pained groan escapes me as I try to lower myself onto the barstool. I don’t need to look at him to know the exact expression on his face.

“Don’t say a word. Let me at least catch my breath before one of your lectures.”

He shakes his head, hands lifted in mock surrender.

“All I need to know is that you’re okay.”

“Nothing a hot shower and a warm compress won’t fix.”

Dad goes quiet, absently scratching Apollo’s head, but it’s obvious there’s more on his mind—a reason he’s here this late.

“Papi,” I prod gently. “Something you want to talk about? What brings you by?”

“Do I need a specific reason to visit you? Is it too late or something?”