Dance of Devils (Darkest Dance #4)

by Jagger Cole

But pride is a motherfucker. And I hate accepting handouts.

I am just so fucking desperate for something real. For someone who will hold me tight and fix it all. Chase away the monsters. Banish the nightmares.

I’m forty-four, not eighty-seven, for fuck’s sake. And I just fought the little cunt to a draw, so…

I really should try actual therapy someday.

I’ve been where she is. Before the power, and the money, I’ve been there: hurt, broken, beaten down, and knowing that the police weren’t an option.

The Moscow streets taught me pride and honor. Siberia taught me never to lose. Private school and then Oxford taught me that clothes do, in fact, make the man.

Who the fuck hurts you. I don’t know. But with a flash, I realize finding out has just become my single most important mission in life.

The stench of neglect from broken homes. The empty feeling of having no one to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay.

I do and endure all that for dance. My greatest love in the world.

Interesting and tragic. For Brooklyn, that is. Because that one apprenticeship is already going to someone else. And I’m the asshole who’s going to make sure that happens.

I watch Brooklyn as she dances across the stage below. She is good. Beyond good: she’s phenomenal. But as I watch, my brow furrows with curiosity as I notice something Magda didn’t mention, which makes me wonder if she has noticed it herself. Brooklyn is very talented. But she’s also scared. She’s afraid to truly let go, and it’s holding her back. Part of me starts to say “The Imperiya will never let her in with that sort of mindset,” but then I catch myself. She won’t get in at all. Because of me.

Somehow, Brooklyn Ellis has managed to slip her way under my skin and is now the object of my full and undivided attention. God help her.

“Let’s go for a drive, Ms. Ellis.”

I start to ask myself why on Earth I got into this man’s car. But then I realize the answer is that he’s drop dead gorgeous, and I’m the fucking idiot who would probably willingly get into the serial killer’s van.

“Who hits you.”

“Oh, that…” My throat bobs as I touch my temple. “It’s from those four assholes the other night. I think I must have hit it when they⁠—”

“The bruise is older than that.” Kir’s hand releases my jaw, his eyes flickering in the dim glow of the dashboard. “It’s someone else.”

I quickly shake my head. “It’s noth...

“It’s not,” he growls. “Why are you covering for someone who is hurting you?”

“You don’t work a temp job in that building.”

Kir slips into the room, his eyes locked on mine. “That’s the last time you lie to me, Ms. Ellis.”

She was fantastic from the back of the auditorium, when I observed her through the windows of Magda’s office. Up close, she’s magnificent.

Good girl.

“How do you know so much about ballet?”

“I own this company,” I say quietly. “In case you and your tone had forgotten.”

“Plenty of rich pampered assholes own art galleries. That doesn’t...

I smirk. I like this fire in her. Maybe too much. …De...

“Well, this particular rich pampered asshole happens to know quite...

“Good girl.”

Time stops. Everything stops. And then suddenly, so fast that I don’t see it coming, Brooklyn’s lips are crashing to mine. Kissing me.

“Who the fuck hit you.”

“To answer your question,” I growl, “I’m not being a dick because of the other night.” I look at her coldly. “I’m just kind of an asshole in general.” I turn and leave. Because if she says another goddamn word or looks at me for one more second with those sinfully innocent eyes, there’s no power on Earth that will keep me from her.

“I…may have danced when I was younger.”

“All the boys did at the boarding school I attended. Ballet, boxing, gymnastics. Welcome to newly post-Soviet Russia,”

“Good girl.”

“I… I don’t know how to box.”

“This isn’t about boxing,” Kir says. “It's about conquering fear. Hands up.”

“I don’t want to ...

“Too ...

“Come here.”

“I—”

“I didn’t tell you to speak,” he replies. “I told you to come. Here.”

“Bend over.”

“Good girl.”

“Good girl.”

As he says it, he sinks two fingers into me.

“Such a good girl, Brooklyn,”

“You’re making a mess of my fingers, baby girl,”

“You want to come all over them,...

“Then be a good girl,”