Page 73 of Dance of Ruin

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Because in a blink, he’sgone,yanked away from me and slammed against the wall with a hand at his throat and a face snarling into his.

“Touch her again and I’ll cut your fucking hand off.”

15

NICO

I’m goingto rip his fucking arms off.

That’s the only thought I have as I watch Naomi from the alley entrance, every muscle in my body tensing.

She’s standing with some guy—tall, built, lean, good-looking, covered in tattoos.

It fuckingpisses. Me. Off.

I don’t even know why. I don’twantto know why, because I’m not interested in psychoanalyzing myself or this tangled situation with Naomi right now.

But for now, let’s call it a purely territorial thing, for simplicity’s sake.

She’s mine. He’s standing too fucking close to what’s mine, putting his goddamnhandson what’s mine, and it makes me think violent thoughts.

Elegantly simple, uncomplicated, cause and effect.

The cause is him stepping over a fucking line. And the effect will be my fist smashing into his perfect nose and wiping the cocky grin off his charming face.

Naomi laughs too loudly at something he says, slapping his bicep playfully.

My eyes darken.

Not because I’m jealous.

But because I don’t fuckingshare.

She was foolish enough to skip coming to my office this morning—and now that I’ve strolled into the middle of her flirting with this motherfucker?

Now I’ve gone from inconvenienced and annoyed tovengeful.

The guy laughs, his hand darting to the hem of her skirt.

Andthat’swhen the fuse lights.

I don’t think, just charge down the alley like a runaway train, and I don’t slow down until I plow into him. The guy grunts as I yank him away from Naomi and slam him up against the brick wall behind her.

“Touch her again and I’ll cut your fucking hand off.”

For a moment, there’s stunned silence in the alley behind the theater. It’s just the three of us, since the last of the other dancers were filing inside as I was charging down the alley.

But then Naomi’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Nico!” she blurts. I can tell she desperately wants to sound incensed or angry, but her tone comes out fractured and halting, her breath catching sharply. “What thefuckare you doing?!”

Before I can answer, the motherfucker I’ve got pinned to the wall wrenches in my grip, spins, jams an elbow into my ribs, and makes me wince as he breaks my hold on his throat.

Shit. Up close, I’m suddenly realizing that he’s fuckingripped. Not massive like Roman, but toned as fuck, andstrong.

Whatever preconceived notions I’ve had about male ballet dancers goes out the damn window. Because instantly, it’s crystal clear that this fucking guy knows how to handle himself in a fight.

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