Page 149 of Dance of Deception

Holy fucking hell.

“I heard…”

She squeezes her eyes shut against the memory.

“I heard him,” she chokes out. Her head shakes violently. “I’ll never forget the sound, like someone slapping raw meat.”

She swallows hard.

“I walked in on him, raping…” She clings to me like a life raft in a stormy sea. “Sophia Ferguson,” she croaks, her voice distant. “He was choking her while…” She stops.

I hold her tightly as her eyes squeeze shut.

“She died before the cops got there. I don’t even know if she was still alive when I saw her.”

Jesus Christ.

Lyra wasfourteen fucking years oldwhen she saw that.

I think I know now why she only reads porn. Why watching sex turns her into a husk. Why me making her look at that couple at Doomsday turned the light off behind her eyes.

I hold her tighter, my hands fisting her wet clothes, cradling her in my arms.

I want to destroy everything. Burn the whole world down. She’smine, and I’ll erase every single ghost that dares to touch her. Every single fucking monster.

Except me.

For her, I’ll be the darkest motherfucking monster the world has ever known.

30

CARMINE

I watch my prey eat.

He looks like a man who has all the time in the world. He cuts his steak with unhurried precision, the knife slicing easily through the meat before the fork lifts the bite to his lips.

The dim glow of the restaurant catches the deep red of his wine as he picks up the glass, swirling it slightly before taking a sip.

He’s alone. No men at his table.

Anyone else would see this and assume stupidity or carelessness.

But as angry as I am with him right now, I’m aware that neither of those words remotely applies to Kir Nikolayev.

Eating alone isn’t carelessness on his part. It’s a power move. A dare.

…One that I’ve just accepted.

I stalk toward him, moving through the crowded restaurant like a shadow, silent and lethal. My steps are slow, deliberate.

Kir lifts his fork, takes another bite. Chews. Swallows. I close the distance, my hand drifting to the blade in my coat pocket.

Just as I reach him, his voice cuts through the hum of conversation. Kir doesn’t turn around at all. Doesn’t react beyond the faint smirk curving his lips. He just lifts his wine glass and takes a slow sip.

"Ah, waiter—good, you're here. The steak is closer to medium than I ordered. Also, would you be so kind as to tell me this evening's dessert list."

I freeze for a moment, then move past him, stepping into view on the other side of the table. He sets his glass down, finally meeting my gaze. His brows lift slightly. Then he clears his throat.

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