Page 141 of Dance of Devils
That said…her running out in tears, fleeing the house, actively ignoring my callsandtelling Matvey to do the same brings a strange smile to my face as I follow her location to the bar in Midtown.
Not because she’s hurting, but because it means shedoesfeel what I feel.
I tell the valet outside to keep it running before I head in. She’s not in the main bar or the lounge, so I take the stairs up to the rooftop bar.
Which is precisely when the gates of Hell open inside me, and pure wrath and fury thunder through them and out into the world.
Because I see Brooklyn, across the crowded rooftop bar, sitting at a table.
…Being kissed.
It doesn’t matter that she instantly pulls back with a frown. It doesn’t matter that the fucking guy hangs his head, clearly mouthing an apology to her, a pleading look in his eyes.
It doesn’t even matter that as I get closer, shoving my way through the crowd, I realize the asshat who just kissedmygirl on the fucking mouth isRoman Nikitin.
He’s a fuckingdead man.
My vision is a violent riot of pitch black and blood red when I grab Roman by the neck, rip him off his chair, and send him crashing to the ground. I’m on him in a second, snarling into his face before I bloody his nose with my fist.
He and I have danced this dance before, in the underground ring. But this is no boxing match.
This is me killing him with my bare hands.
My fists rain down on him, smashing his mouth, his eye sockets, trying todestroyhis pretty-boy face. He snarls, shoving me off him enough to stagger bleeding to his feet, a look of pure violence on his face.
“You’re fuckingdead, motherfucker,” he snarls as he lunges at me. We go crashing into a table, a crowd forming around us. Someone is screaming. All I can see is this fucker kissing Brooklyn, and all I want is to smash his fucking brains in.
“STOP IT!!”
The two of us jerk to a stop when Brooklyn lunges between us. She whirls on the motherfucker first, shoving him back.
“Enough, Roman!!” she spits at him. Just as the smug smile spreads over my face, she whirls on me, too. “Andyou!” she barks. “STOP! IT!”
“We’re not fucking done here,” I snarl.
“Readyanytime, old man!” he roars back.
My hands curl to fists. I make a move toward him, but suddenly, there’s a flurry of blonde hair, blue eyes, and small, firm hands pressing at my chest.
“Please,” Brooklyn says, her eyes locked with mine. “Enough,please.”
“Foryou?” I hiss quietly. “Yes. Fornow, yes.”
She exhales, her shoulders sagging. But then my arm shoots out, grabbing her hand tightly in mine.
“But I haven’t evenstartedwith you.”
She chokes on her breath as I storm out of the bar, pulling her after me.
34
BROOKLYN
Raw energy ripplesthrough my body, starting where his hand grips mine like a vice. It crackles like the sky right before thunder explodes, electrifying my skin, making the hair on the nape of my neck stand up, and sending my heart rate out of control.
Kir barrels down the stairs of the restaurant, my breath coming faster as we surge out onto the sidewalk toward his idling car.
“Kir—”
