Page 142 of Dance of Devils
“Get in.”
There’s a cold, leaden, almostdeathlytone to his voice. And the fucked-up thing is, as terrifying as it is, and as much as it chills me, it also makes my core throb andriotwith pure desire.
“Kir,please,” I gasp, tugging on his arm. “Wait. Let me just explain?—”
“Get in the fucking car, Brooklyn,” he rasps, whirling on me with fury in his face that does the same thing to me that his voice did a second ago.
Terrifies me.
Turns me on.
Kir grabs the keys from the valet and yanks open the passenger door of the Aston Martin.
“Now,” he seethes, his voice like ice and iron.
Wordlessly, I slip into the car. He slams the door shut and marches around to the other side before slipping in next to me. The engine roars, and I hastily buckle my seatbelt as we peel away from the curb and into the neon New York night.
“Roman is just a friend,” I whisper, my pulse still racing. My hands twist in my lap, picking at the yoga pants I’m wearing.
“I have friends, Brooklyn,” he growls. “And I don’t fuckingkiss them.”
“Ididn’tkiss him!” I spit. “Hekissedme! Besides, he’s just confused because he…because he’s probably…”
Too much information.
Whatever my thoughts are surrounding Roman’s conflicted sexual identity, that isnotmine to share, even with Kir. Even with this big misunderstanding.
Just as I’m feeling like the world’s biggest asshole for what Kir just saw, even if it wasn’t my fault atall, another visual charges back into my head with a vengeance. I turn to glare at him.
“And while we’re levelling accusations at each other,” I hiss, “let’s talk about the fuckinggirlin my room, prancing around in fuckinglingerieand taking selfies for you!!” I relish the way his jaw tightens. “Fuck youfor following me. Howdareyou givemeshit for someone else trying to kiss me, when you’ve apparently got free rein to bring home whatever slut you want?—”
“She’s my daughter.”
All the fight in me instantly snuffs out. I go silent and still, my breath coming quick, my eyes widening as I stare haggardly at him.
“I…your…” A cold feeling ripples down my spine. “Daughter…?”
Suddenly, I’m not sure which makes me feel shittier—him bringing home some random girl to fuck, or him having adaughter. Because that means that the man I’m fucking crazy about, and can’t stop touching or thinking about,had this before with someone else.
Much more than “this”, actually. AndGod, does that sting.
We drive in total silence, me feeling smaller and smaller until we come to a stop in the gravel drive by the back door of his house.
“Her name is Freya,” Kir says quietly. “She lives with her husband—that's who she was taking selfies for—in Japan, and she surprised me by dropping by unannounced while she’s here in the city for work.”
The cringe that twists inside me cannot actually be measured.
Kir turns off the engine and gets out of the car. He walks around to my side and opens the door for me. My face twists as I look up at him miserably.
“Kir—”
“Come with me.”
“I’m sorry. For running out, for what you saw?—”
“Come with me,” he growls, taking my hand and helping me from the car.
Freya’sclothedand typing on her phone when we step into the kitchen. She looks up, her eyes locking with mine as she smiles apologetically.
