10. Dave
10
Dave
T he moment I see the scars, my whole world goes still. I stand in my study, staring at her, unable to move or tear my gaze away from the welts that mar her back. The room, with its dark mahogany shelves and the heavy, suffocating scent of old leather, feels like a cage. My hands clench into fists as I take in each faint, white line, marking her skin like a story I never wanted to read. Each line is a testament to the hell she’s been through.
A slow, burning rage claws its way up my chest as I absorb each cruel reminder of Igor’s brutality. I grit my teeth, struggling to keep my voice steady. “What the fuck happened to you?” My voice is barely more than a whisper but the force behind it feels like a shout.
Her shoulders tense, and she pulls away, reaching to cover herself, to hide again. But I don’t let her. My fingers catch the silk of her top, holding it just above the raw truth etched across her skin. I swallow hard, feeling the fire of anger surge through me like an electric current, but I push it down, focusing instead on the softness beneath my fingertips.
She looks at me over her shoulder, her eyes wide and full of a pain that cuts me deeper than any blade ever could. “Dave,” she pleads, her voice barely holding together. “Please.”
I loosen my grip but don’t let go entirely. Instead, I kneel down, trying to meet her at eye level. My knees hit the polished wood, and I feel the hard surface bite into them, but I don’t care. I won’t let her hide from me. Not now. I reach out, and my hand trembles as I hover it over her back. Then, my fingers connect with the lines, feeling the raised skin beneath my touch. As I trace one welt with the tip of my fingers I confirm my suspicion these are the permanent reminders of heavy beatings. Fuck! There have been multiple beatings.
“Igor did this to you?” My voice cracks, and I hate myself for it.
I’m supposed to be the strong one, the one who can face down anything. But seeing this, seeing her like this—God, it’s like someone’s reached into my chest and ripped my heart out.
She nods, barely perceptible, but it’s enough.
Rage flares up inside me, hot and consuming. I can almost see Igor before me, the smug smile he wore the last time we met at that fucking charity dinner. His graying hair slicked back, his beady and empty black eyes defying me.
I close my eyes for a heartbeat, swallowing hard against the wave of nausea that burns my stomach. I open my eyes, locking them on hers. “Igor did this. He put these marks on you,” I grunt, stopping short of revealing more than I should.
It guts me that I wasn’t there to stop him. I wasn’t there to protect her. My nails dig into my palms as I fight the urge to put them through the nearest wall. I want to tear him apart, limb by limb, make him suffer the way he’s made her suffer. But the cold reality is I’m not her knight in shining armor.
And I’d do better remembering that. Except, I can’t help caring for her. And this push-and-pull of emotions is driving me insane. Inhaling deeply, I cup her shoulders and help her stand up again.
Despite her obvious discomfort, she juts her chin up and holds my gaze. That’s the Alexia I’ve always known and admired. I don’t fight the pride swelling my chest. At the same time, my heart shatters for the shitty life she’s had with Igor.
Then Alexia shifts again back to a defensive stance, her arms wrapping around herself. “Every time he got frustrated with me, every time he tried to…” Her voice dies down.
She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. It’s clear she doesn’t want to relive whatever it was that Igor tried to do.
“You don’t need to go there,” I offer.
“I’m fine now.” She swallows hard. “When Igor couldn’t perform, when he couldn’t have sex with me, he’d whip me until I bled.”
My fists clench tighter, knuckles whitening with the force. Her words settle in my chest like a boulder, heavy and suffocating. I force myself to relax, to uncurl my fists, to keep my temper from spilling over. I know if I give in to it, if I let it consume me, I’ll lose control. And I can’t afford to lose control—not now, not when she’s finally letting me in.
“You married him.” The words come out harsh, accusing. I regret them the moment they leave my lips. She flinches, her shoulders hunching even further, and I reach out, taking her hand in mine. “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t understand why. I never did.”
She takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening around mine. “I didn’t have a choice, Dave. My father owed him millions of dollars. More than he could ever pay off. And Igor... he demanded that I marry him to forgive my dad’s debt.”
Her words hit like a runaway train. My mind races, piecing together fragments of our past, our history, and the decisions that led us here. “So you... you married him because of a debt?”
Alexia flinches, but she doesn’t look away. “It wasn’t just the money. He hates you and your family. He knew about us and used it against me and you.”
My jaw tightens, and I feel the familiar burn of rage flare up again. I want to hit something, break something. The anger consumes me, but beneath it, there’s something else—pain. A deep, aching pain that I can’t seem to shake.
I close my eyes, my mind reeling. The anger inside me shifts, turning into something darker, colder. I should have known. But I didn’t, and now, all I can do is try to make sense of the mess we’re in.
“Tell me why you stayed, Alexia. Why didn’t you leave, even when things got this bad?” I flick my eyes to the scars before returning to her face.
She takes a shaky breath, her eyes meeting mine. “Because he would’ve killed you, Dave. He told me that if I tried to leave, he’d come after you. And I couldn’t let that happen.” She pauses to take a deep inhale.
Her words hang between us, heavy and suffocating.
I want to pull her into my arms, to hold her close and promise her that I’ll never let anyone hurt her again. But I don’t.
I can’t.
She’s not mine.
Yet.
With a sigh, she adds, “He threatened everyone I cared about. My father, my friends… you. He told me he’d destroy everything if I didn’t stay with him. And I believed him. I knew he had the power to do it.”
“I should’ve killed him years ago,” I say through gritted teeth, more to myself than to her. But the words feel right, solid, a promise I intend to keep. “You should’ve told me,” I say, the words feeling hollow. I should have known. I should have seen the signs of his abuse. But I didn’t, and now, I’m left with this sickening weight of regret.
She shakes her head. “You couldn’t have done anything. I thought I could handle it. I thought—” Her voice breaks, and she squeezes her eyes shut, as if blocking out the memories.
“I could’ve done something. I could’ve been there. I could’ve—” I stop, the words catching in my throat. The truth is, I don’t know what I could have done. But I would have found a way. For her, I would have found a way.
Unable to resist the pull, I take a step toward her, reaching out to cup her face in my hands. “He’ll pay for this, for everything he’s done. I swear to God, he’ll pay.”
She closes her eyes, leaning into my touch, and for a moment, we’re both silent, the weight of our shared pain hanging heavy in the air. I let my thumb trace over her cheeks, brushing away the silent tears that have escaped her.
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” I say softly. “I won’t let him hurt you again.”
She looks up at me with a sad smile. “It’s not that simple, Dave. He’s... he’s still out there. And he’ll come for me. For us.”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “Let him try. I’m ready for him.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t know him. He’s…” She pauses as if searching for words. A flash of something dark glints in her hazel eyes and she trembles. She adds, “He’s a monster.”
She’s silent, her eyes downcast. She’s slipping away from me, retreating into herself.
I won’t have it. I reach out, taking her hand, pulling her back to me. “Look at me, Alexia. Whatever it takes, I’m going to make him pay.”
Her eyes search mine, and for the first time, I see a flicker of hope there, a glimmer of something that might be trust. I squeeze her hand, a silent vow that I won’t let her down.
The sound of Rose’s cries breaks the spell. I glance at Alexia, her face shifting from vulnerability to a fierce, maternal urgency. “I have to go to her,” she says, her voice taut with worry, her eyes darting to the door.
“Of course.” I’m already moving, following her out of the room.
My thoughts are reeling from everything I’ve learned, the broken pieces of Alexia’s past. The rage simmering in my veins doesn’t dissipate, but I push it down and shift my focus to the immediate need to see what’s wrong with Rose.
We stride down the long hallway, the clack of Alexia’s flip-flops echoing off the wood-covered walls.
When we near the corner, I hear Nadya’s voice, low and soothing, trying to calm the girl. ”Your mama hasn’t left, honey. She’s just in a meeting with Mr. Dave.”
As we reach the living room, the scene before me softens some of the harsh edges inside my mind. Afternoon sunshine streams through the large windows, warming the room and inviting me in. Cream-colored sofas and a rug add a touch of warmth to the hardwood floor. A subdued fireplace sits in one corner, and an oversized coffee table is spread with little teacups and a plastic teapot, remnants of an interrupted tea party.
Nadya is crouched next to Rose, her arm around the little girl’s shoulders, murmuring soft words of comfort. Rose’s face is crumpled with worry, tears streaking down her cheeks as she scans the room, looking for Alexia.
“Mama!” she cries, breaking free of Nadya’s grasp and running toward Alexia, who kneels down and scoops her up in one smooth motion, pulling her close.
“Shh, Mama’s here,” Alexia whispers, her fingers stroking Rose’s golden curls. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The tension in Rose’s small frame melts as Alexia holds her, and for a moment, I just stand there, watching them, caught in the sudden quiet intimacy of their embrace. I’ve seen Alexia in so many different lights—defiant, broken, fierce—but this? This softness, this unconditional love, it’s a side of her I’ve only seen once. It pulls at me again in a way I wasn’t expecting, like it did the moment we arrived here. Just like it happened the moment we arrived here, it pulls at me again in a way I wasn’t expecting.
Alexia cups Rose’s face, her voice soothing. “What’s got you so upset, bunny?”
Her small hands grip her mother’s shoulders. “I thought you left. You didn’t come for the tea party, and I—I thought you left.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Alexia whispers, kissing Rose’s forehead. “I would never leave without telling you. I promise.” She glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes searching. I can see the silent question there, her request for understanding.
“We can continue later,” I say, nodding toward the small table. “Looks like we’ve got a tea party to attend. If Miss Rose doesn’t mind an extra guest, that is.”
The little girl’s face lights up, the worry vanishing as she turns to look at me, her expression shifting from apprehension to delight in a heartbeat. “Wanna come to my tea party?”