Page 50 of Dance of Devils

For one, he’s, well,him: the head of a Bratva criminal empire. Something like twenty years older than me, if sickeningly gorgeous. If you want to get picky about it, he’skind ofmy boss, too.

But the even more burning reason why what happened last night is filling me with shame and embarrassment as much as a throbbing, tingly heat is the fact that Kir’s friends with Ivan Yelchin.

If I put myself in his shoes, it looks even worse: a much younger, desperate girl throwing herself at him because of his personal connections which could help her achieve her dream.

Fuckingcringe.

Like, just shoot me. I know exactly why he shoved me away last night with so much scorn in his eyes. There he was, offering to legitimately help me, and I went right to “I’ll fuck you for a ticket to my dream”.

Ugh.

The idea of ever seeing Kir again, much less having another intimate, one-on-one coaching session with him, makes my stomach churn and my ego crumble to dust. Even though that isnotwhy I kissed him.

I kissed him because…well, let’s blame temporary insanity. But also, I got swept up in it all. The dancing. The light touches. The commanding tone telling me exactly what to do, and when. The low lighting. Fuckme,the “good girls”. The fact that Kir’s anoutrageouslyattractive man, and when I slipped and fell into him like that, I just… I don’t know. Went stupid.

Lost control.

“Brooklyn.”

In the alley behind the theater, I blink away my thoughts when I hear my name. I glance up and grin when I see Val marching toward me, dragging a wide-eyed, stunned-looking Evelina.

“What’s…uh, what’s going on?” I arch a brow, glancing at Val with a reproachful look, then at Evie with a softer one. “Is this man harassing you, ma’am?”

Val flips me off. “Dude, I’ll return you so fast.”

I snort a laugh.

That’s our in-joke. Like me, Val went through the foster system in New York when he was a kid. I really can’t tell if it makes it better or worse that he has no recollection of his life before foster care, because of an accident that left him with some memory loss.

He’s only just recently been reintroduced to an older brother that he never knew he had. I’m not sure how close they are, even though they’ve been catching up a lot: Val is a party-boy with an insatiable appetite for bedding strangers of either sex. Vaughn, on the other hand, is “the Marquis”: the mysterious new leader of a shadowy criminal organization called the Obsidian Syndicate.

I would imagine that “catching up with your brother over coffee” might be strained in terms of common interest.

But getting back to our “I’ll return you” joke: it’s gallows humor about foster care. If you fuck up, you’re going to get “returned” like badly fitting pants.

Val, dressed in black jeans and a baggy sleeveless t-shirt with huge armholes that show off his chiseled arms and some of his grooved torso, all covered with an array of tattoos, clears his throat. He grins wickedly as he leans against the brick wall, glancing at Evelina.

“Guess what Evie saw.”

Poor Eveline turns a spectacular shade of crimson.

I frown. “Do I want to know?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Val snickers.

I put my arm protectively around Evie. “Everything okay?”

Despite growing up as a literal Bratva princess—or maybe because of it—Evie isextremelysheltered. Like the girl gets beyond flustered just hearing the word “penis”, which is endlessly amusing to Val.

She sighs heavily. “I didn’tmean to,” she whispers. “I just wanted to come in early and use one of the stationary bikes downstairs, and…” She blushes again and buries her face in her hands.

I turn to glare at Val. “What the fuck? What did she see?”

He grins. “Kir, in just a pair of shorts, working out in the weights room.”

I feel a tingle ripple through me, and instantly, the replay of that kiss last night roars into my mind.

The tight grip of his hands on my sweaty back. The taste of his lips. His raw, masculine scent. The feel of his tongue capturing mine.