Page 92 of Bound By Hate (Born in Blood)

I gave him my virginity. He’s my husband; it’s expected of me. But I wanted it. Icravedit. It was the best experience of my life.

And that’s why I feel ashamed. Dance was my life. I worked and breathed and lived for it for years. How can I just give it all away for a man? And not even one who comes from any status. Father would be so disappointed in me. He would have wanted me to marry a man like Mikhail—one in power. Not a worker bee like Aleksander.

I was supposed to be pure. The pure Ice Queen. Untouchable. Unfazed by anything in this world.

Yet, here I am, feeling like Odile, full of a lust and sensuality I shouldn’t be feeling.

Watching the dancers prance around the stage creates a strong yearning inside me. I’ll never be truly happy until I can dance again.

Or until I’m fully free of it.

Intermission rolls around, and the three of us get up and enter the lobby, stretching our legs.

“Interesting to see you here, Viktoriya,” a familiar female voice says. Turning around, I see Vera and her group of friendsapproaching us. She nods to Sofiya and Mila before directing her vicious grin on me.

“I would’ve thought you ladies would be in New York by now.” God, I’d hoped they had. The sight of Vera makes me want to stab something. Mainly Vera herself, right in the eye.

“Oh, we wanted to, but my husband had some work to do in Moscow, so we decided to stay a little bit longer. Wonderful ballet. Shame you weren’t in it. You were always such a beautiful dancer.”

A compliment from Vera? What’s the catch? “Thank you. I am a beautiful dancer.”

“Oh? I thought you gave it up!” She shares a laugh with Darya. Now, I want to stab Darya in the eye as well.

“I didn’t give it up. I had a broken ankle, which is all healed by now.”

“But that must be hard, right? Dancing with a weak ankle. It can’t be easy. Besides, aren’t you getting a little old to be a ballerina?”

“I’m twenty-five.”

Vera smiles in a way that makes me curl my hand into a fist. “That’s my point.”

“Vik is young enough to dance,” Mila says so innocently. Clearly, she didn’t get the memo about passive aggressiveness among Bratva women.

“How’s your face doing?” Vera asks, sidestepping Mila’s comment. “When I was at your wedding, I saw you had a large bruise on your face. It’s gone now. Did your husband do that to you?”

“No. The guard of the man who bought me off the black market did. You know. The man I killed.”

Vera’s jaw drops while the rest of her friends go very still. Even Sofiya looks scandalized.

“Vik is joking,” Sofiya says quickly.

“No. I’m not.” I step up close to Vera. From here, I can see her gulp as I stand over her. That’s the one perk of being a taller woman—I can look down at all the bitches who annoy me. “I’ve killed once before. I can do it again. I would be careful with what you say, Vera.”

“My husband would kill you for hurting me,” she responds, but there’s no courage in her voice. Only fear.

“Maybe he would. I know how Bratva men can be. They’re quite good at getting revenge. But it would be worth it just to shut you up.”

“We should head back to our seats,” Sofiya says, grabbing my arm.

I brush her off, still staring Vera down.

“It’s a good thing you’ve found yourself a husband,” Vera says. “I’m amazed any man would want you with that mouth of yours.”

“Then it’s a good thing Aleksander wanted me. I seem to remember you falling all over him when you met him. How embarrassing. For you.”

Vera’s cheeks turn red. Her friends look outraged on her part, but they don’t stand up for her. Every woman for herself when it comes to the Bratva.

“Come on, Vik.” Sofiya tugs on my arm.

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