Page 5 of Run, Starlight (The Royal Ballet Presents #3)

LUCKY

I’ve been aware that something has been off with my brother since we were first assigned here, but I'm officially worried since my disagreement with him at her last rehearsal. Enzo isn’t the type you can leave alone and hope for the best. He’s far too dangerous for that.

Before this moment, I couldn’t grasp what this ballerina had done to steal his focus.

I needed to figure out what was happening here and how much danger we were in. It’s hard to fault him now.

She moans, raspy and sinful. My cock grows and pushes against the zipper.

I’ve never seen anything more sensual than the way she touches herself, the rhythm of her hand, and the way she falls into her own pleasure.

For a moment, I feel as taken as my brother is with her.

We shared an intense moment early this morning, staring at each other for the better part of twenty minutes.

Since she didn’t have night goggles, she wasn’t able to appreciate how intensely we were watching each other.

Since then, I’ve been more curious than I’d like to admit.

I watched her film herself dance, and my interest only grew.

Whatever is calling my brother is calling me too, but unlike him, I’m not fool enough to answer.

When I broke into her dorm, I didn’t expect to stay around and watch her.

I was here just to satisfy the gnawing, to put an end to it all and finally find a foolproof angle from which to change Enzo’s mind.

When I found her like this, though, stripped naked and touching herself, how could I resist watching her?

I needed to know far more than just what would interest my brother.

Not many things grab my brother’s attention, and now the same woman has managed to appeal to us both.

She is beyond special. But this can’t be anything more than a passing interest, no matter how much she calls to me.

My brother needs a keeper because surviving is one of the things he doesn’t find interesting enough to do.

Without me, there wouldn’t be an Enzo, and the truth has been a part of me for as long as I can remember.

We can’t bring her into this. I couldn’t guarantee her a good life or a long one.

He may be my little brother by only ten months, but it’s not an issue of maturity.

Enzo is different as a result of the worst trauma, the kind of thing most people don’t ever come back from.

I came from the same monster he did, but it never affected me quite as badly as it did him.

In the dark recesses of my mind, I’m much more like him than I care to admit.

I just don’t dance along the edge of sanity quite the same way he does.

My brother has never had a pressing interest in the women he’s fucked before. He’s always casually gotten his dick wet and moved on. That’s what I’d grown to expect and what I was comfortable with until her. This strange little ballerina is changing everything.

When Cygnus sent us to the ballet company, we were inclined to say no.

We’re not security guards for pretty girls; we’re mob enforcers.

We break things, we don’t keep them safe, but I guess he trusts us.

When he flashed the associated paycheck, we were forced to graciously accept his task.

Hell, if he wants to pay through the nose for murderers to watch his girl spin around, that’s on him.

This was supposed to be so simple that we would be bored , wishing we had taken any other assignment.

Nothing about this is simple anymore. I’ve only ever seen this look in Enzo’s eyes when he kills.

The focus, the fascination, the devotion—they're part of his murder ritual. He doesn’t feel those things while he’s hunting his next art project.

He feels them during, so I know Marcella is particularly special to him, as she’s becoming to me.

Since Enzo locked his eyes on her, she’s the only thing on his mind.

He’s a predator circling his prey, his eyes follow her wherever she goes, and soon she’ll be caught in his trap.

Will I be able to fend him off when that moment finally comes?

Suddenly, I’m invested in how that works out for her when we get there, and I can’t help but laugh at how off track we’ve gotten from Cygnus’s hope for things.

I’m not sure I even remember what his Maeve looks like anymore.

Marcella is all that fills my mind. She’s small yet her tits are too big for a ballerina, and her ink is done right.

She’s pretty, yes, but we’ve seen pretty before.

There’s a lot of pretty out there. Marcella Serra has something else about her that woke the rabid animal inside Enzo, and now I’m here, at her dorm, trying to figure out what it could be, and I’m not finding it that difficult.

She is simply stunning. I can’t remember the last time my cock was this hard or wanted for anything this badly.

I can never give in because Enzo only destroys. We would ruin her.

Her hand works fast between her legs, and I watch in fascination as the digits split her pretty pink folds.

I can’t tell the water from her juices, but I want to lick and suck them all the same.

The idea of her hot and wet around me fills my mind, too potent to ignore.

My mouth waters as she whimpers. I should turn around and leave, but my feet are rooted to the spot.

The glass between us is fogged, making me bold enough to assume a measure of privacy.

I widen the door just a little and watch her closely.

She’s an internet celebrity. Her page has half a million followers, waiting for her videos to drop every day, and that’s just another reason we should keep our distance.

Everything about this adds up to and spells out trouble.

We depend on the shadows. We don’t mess with people who can be missed.

A lot of people would miss her, and hell, I think I would be one of them.

My urge to touch her is growing to nearly insane heights, but I’m not the passionate brother who lets everything go for the pursuit of art and vision.

I’m the practical one, the one who will keep us both alive and in line when my brother forgets that eating and breathing are even a priority.

I don’t have the energy to care for them both, and she has that same lost artist’s look in her eyes that tells me she forgets the time and melts into her own vision—just like him.

The cons column only grows, and I’m a reasonable man who takes my own good advice.

But then she throws her head back, and her raspy moan is like a hand squeezing my cock.

I’m not the type of man to take my own advice.

I’m weak and uncomfortable under my collar.

There isn’t a chance in hell I would leave even though I know for sure it’s for the best. She lifts one arm to rub her breast, and she turns ever so slightly so the water can hit her clit with her as she strokes.

I love the way women masturbate. They're so ingenious. Through the fogged glass, she looks my way. I take a step back, trying to avoid her line of sight, but it’s too late.

Shit .

Her dark eyes lock on mine, but she doesn’t scream in terror like I expect.

A whimper works its way out of her throat as her hand keeps up its steady movements.

Her eyes flit over me, and just as I’m wondering what she thinks, she shatters, coming hard on her own fingers while she stares right back at me, a stranger lurking inside her bedroom.

The vision is obscured for both of us, but she knows I’m here and continues to rub herself until it’s over.

She lifts her hand from her pussy, showing me the tips of her fingers. “Do you like the way I come for you?” she asks.

She’s filthy, and I want to tell her she comes so pretty, so perfect, exactly how I want her to, but I don’t say a word.