Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
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Niamh
Steve had advised the necessary cleaning instructions and aftercare. My heart had raced after I got the tattoo, but as it began to scab over within the last couple of days, I wasn’t so happy. There was itching and some slight discomfort, but I loved the image, and even through the scab, I could see it.
I’d done it. I had finally gotten some ink over that scar I felt gave my father power. Every time I saw it, it was a reminder of what he’d done. Of how he’d left me after hurting me with his belt. It was only when my mother called him to complain that I’d gotten sick, and I was shivering and not able to do my chores, did he come and have a look. That was when he saw the wound had gotten infected. And then, a doctor had come, stitched it up, and even now, I remembered the scent of alcohol on his breath.
It had now been a few days since I had gotten the tattoo and I was once again in the penthouse suite, nursing my leg. I had ointment to help with the scab cracking, which it did because it was on my thigh. I hadn’t thought this one ahead.
Three of my guards were standing a few feet away, and as the penthouse apartment door was opened, they tensed up, only to lower their weapons when they saw Ivan coming through the door. He looked … chipper. I’d not seen him since the lunch and drunken episode.
“You can go,” Ivan said, dismissing them, which I knew pissed off Peter. He put them on my protection detail. I always felt guilty, though, because I didn’t do a lot that needed protection.
Ivan came toward me, and I’d lifted my dress, still keeping my privacy, and rubbed the ointment into my skin.
“Nice, I take it Steve did this handiwork?” he asked.
“You know Steve.”
“Yeah, sure do. I’ve got my own guy, but Steve’s pretty good.” He took a seat on the coffee table. “Are you drunk?”
I groaned. “Have you come to gloat?”
“Nope, I’ve come to make sure you’re okay,” Ivan said.
“As you can see, I’m fine.”
“You’ve got ink. When I left you, you didn’t have ink.”
“The day after, I was inspired. I had a scar, and I didn’t want to have to look at the stupid thing anymore.”
“Taking the power away from your father. I like it.”
“I think of it more like keeping the power for myself,” I said.
Ivan winked.
“If you’re looking for Peter, he’s at work.” And I didn’t quite know where work was for Peter. He hadn’t taken me to work, and it wasn’t something we discussed. I figured with him being Volkov, the less I knew the better.
“No, I came to see how you were,” he said.
“You did?”
He nodded. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to drink as much as you did.”
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault.”
“But it is, I wanted you to loosen up.”
“Why?”
“Because, you’re going to have to make a decision soon regarding your future, and when you do, I want you to make it clearly.”
“How is getting me drunk going to help with that?”
“Do you remember everything?” he asked.
“Yes, but I don’t see why that is so important.”
“Simple, I take it you were blunt with Peter, and he hasn’t backed down, has he? He hasn’t tried to create any distance between you.”
I frowned and stared at Ivan. Normally, I can handle cryptic; it was kind of fun to work it out. With my leg and my embarrassment of drinking too much alcohol, I wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind to be handling cryptic.
“Why don’t you just come out and say what you’re trying to say, rather than being so cryptic?” I asked. “I get that you’re trying to manipulate your own way, and that is fine. I get it. I can imagine you’ve spent a whole lot of time having to do it this way, but cut out the bullshit with me, please.” That could be the irritation or the ink, or the pain. I wasn’t exactly sure which it was, but I didn’t offend Ivan. He held a big smile, which was a little daunting.
Ivan smiling meant trouble. At least, that was what I thought. I was kind of worried.
“Peter believes he cannot do love. That he cannot feel love, and yet I saw him that day when you were taken by your father.”
I didn’t want to think of that day. I’d seen him as well, how he ran after the car. He had no care for his own safety, or the danger. If one of the guys had pointed his gun and killed him, I’d never have been able to forgive myself.
Peter had been trying to protect me that day. I know that. It was why I had so many questions as to why he was holding a gun. Didn’t expect the answer to be because he was a member of the Volkov Bratva, and not just any member, but a Brigadier.