Stolen Heir (Brutal Birthright, #2)

by Sophie Lark

She’s talented. But what good is dancing, in a world full of killers and thieves?

My eyes are locked on the screen. I couldn’t look away if my life depended on it.

I can’t take my eyes off her. Every line of her body is burned into my retinas, from the strands of sweat-soaked hair, to the bird-like shoulder blades, to the long lines of her legs. I can’t look away.

I’m so confused. One minute I think the Beast is going to kill me, and the next he’s buying me gifts. I don’t know which is worse.

when I meet somebody nice—he’ll be sweet and complimentary. He’ll bring me flowers and hold the door for me. He won’t scare the wits out of me and attack me with a kiss that makes me feel like I’m being eaten alive.

I want to show him he doesn’t know everything inside my head.

It’s a strange thing, studying the men you wish to kill. You watch them, follow them, learn all about them. In some ways you become closer to them than their own family. You learn things about them that not even their family knows.

unusual for a mafioso. They’re not patriots. Their loyalty is to their family, not their country.

if that’s all it takes to get her excited, I’d hate to see her reaction to an actual favor. Or maybe I’d love to see it. I don’t even know anymore.

“I like the moon. It changes all the time. But it also stays the same.”

She’s not intimidating. But she is . . . intriguing. She’s a piece of music that gets stuck in your head, repeating over and over. The more you hear it, the more it lodges in your brain.

Most people become predictable, the longer you watch them. Nessa Griffin is the opposite. I thought I knew exactly who she was—a sheltered little princess. A dancer living in a fantasy world. But she’s much cleverer than I gave her credit for. She’s creative, perceptive. And genuinely kind.

Days slip by so fast when you don’t have any schedule, or anything planned.

Of all the people in this house, I think about Mikolaj the most. I don’t want to. But I can’t help it. When he’s in the house, I feel like I’m trapped inside a tiger’s cage with the tiger roaming around. I can’t ignore him, I have to keep track of where he is, what he’s doing, so he can’t creep up behind me. But when he’s out it’s even worse, because I know he’s doing something awful, probably to the people I love most.

He smells like cedarwood, cigarettes, scotch, fresh orange rind, shoe polish, and that rich, heady musk that belongs only to him.

That’s why he was angry. To brutal men, love is a liability. I discovered his weakness.

I feel like she’s peeling back my layers, one by one. She’s looking into crevices where nobody should see.

They knew me, but they only knew the adult version. What I became after my sister died. They didn’t know the boy before. I thought he was dead. I thought he died at the same time as Anna. We came into the world together, and I thought we left it together. All that remained was this husk, this man who felt nothing. Who could never be hurt.

And now Nessa is digging into me. Unearthing the remains of what I thought could never be resurrected. She’s making me feel things I never thought I’d feel again.

It gets dark and cold. We’re midway through the autumn now, at the point of the season where some days seem like an endless summer, only with more color in the leaves. Other days are bitter, windy, and rainy, with the promise of worse to come.

We’re two sides of the same coin. Our blood has mixed, our language and traditions, too. And yet, we are not the same. We thrust our hands into the same clay, and we built something different from it.

may be allies in this moment, I can never forget that what he wants and what I want may run parallel, but they will never be the same. He can become my enemy again as easily as he became my friend. He’s a dangerous enemy. Because he knows me better than most.

“Nothing tastes as sweet as the fruits of others’ labor,”

His men trust him. But I’m not as willing to do the same.

He wanted the man with the will to lead, not the genetics.

‘A Russian takes a piss with purpose.’”

Don’t divide the skin while it’s still on the bear.

I saw those tears as my due. They were the salt that would season my revenge. But now I feel that most dangerous emotion of all—guilt. The emotion that drains you, that makes you regret even the most necessary actions. Those girls are growing too close. And I’m growing too soft.

Death is stronger than marriage.

“I know I’m nothing and nobody. But I love my brother. Can you understand that? I love him more than anyone in the world.

“My brother is a good man. I know this is a war and you’re on opposite sides. I know he hurt you. But if you kill him, you won’t be hurting him back. You’ll be hurting me. And I never wronged you.”

She’s talking about fairness, justice. There is no fucking justice in this world. There are only debts that have to be paid. But there’s more than one kind of currency.

That was a peek through a keyhole. Now the door is wide open.

she crawls across the floor toward me, like a panther hunting its prey. I’m supposed to be the hunter. But I’m fixed in place, mesmerized by her green eyes looking up at me.

But I’m waiting. I want to see what Nessa will do, all on her own, without my interference.

But my body and my brain are two separate entities.

I’ve never even had a boyfriend! I’ve had crushes, boys I thought were cute. It was almost a game—something I liked to imagine, without taking any action. I never really wanted to be kissed, not badly enough to make it happen. There was nothing special about any of those boys. Nothing made them stand out. They were interchangeable in my fantasies. I’ve never had a strong attraction to anybody.

My attraction to Mikolaj is a compulsion. It’s nothing as simple as lust. It’s every emotion wrapped into one: fear, intimidation, arousal, fixation, and anguish. It’s so intense that nothing as normal as a crush could hope to compare to it. It’s ...

I used to be a girl who would curl up and cry when she was disappointed. Well, not anymore. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of doing what people say.

It makes me realize how beautiful Mikolaj is. His features are so sharply defined, they’re almost godly. What would he look like if he were happy, if he actually smiled? It would be too much. I don’t think I could stand it.

I’m looking at the man he could have been. A man without anger or bitterness. A man without pain. Now my heart is hurting, and I don’t know why. Why should I have sympathy for the Beast? But I do. Some bizarre connection has grown between us, without either of us wanting it.

But who would I trust to guard her? Fucking nobody. Nessa could worm her way into the heart of a rabid badger.

It was a good speech I gave her. I wonder if it was actually for Klara, or if I was trying to convince myself.

I don’t wear suits like most gangsters. They think it makes them look like businessmen. I think it’s a fucking farce. Suit jackets are good for concealing a gun, but otherwise bulky and constricting. I’m not a businessman—I’m a predator. And I’m not going to shackle myself for fashion. I don’t ever want to catch a bullet because I couldn’t get out of the way in time.

It’s like a vision. Time slows, sound fades away, and all I can see is this girl—a little shy, a little nervous, but radiating a sort of joy that can never be snuffed out of her. Because it doesn’t come from circumstance or situation. It comes from the goodness inside of her.

I blink, and the vision is gone. She’s not my bride, she’s my prisoner. I’m taking her to a negotiating table where Kristoff and I will decide how to divide the carcass of her family’s empire.

I feel anxious taking her out of the house. It’s like releasing a songbird from its cage—if anything goes wrong, she’ll fly away.

I want to cancel the alliance right now, just based off the fact that I don’t want to do business with someone who thinks he’s Hugh Hefner reincarnated.

Nessa reminds me of Persephone, kidnapped by Hades and forced to reign as queen of the dead. Persephone tried so hard not to eat Hades’ food, so that one day she could return to the sunlit realms. But Nessa has already eaten my food. Just like Persephone, who grew so hungry that she lost her resolve, consuming six tiny pomegranate seeds.

“Be careful,” Kristoff says softly. “Remember who is your friend in this room, and who is your enemy.” “Remember what belongs to me, if you want to remain friends,” I reply.