Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“Nothing is too much for you.” He holds out a hand, and I take it without question. “Come with me.”
The firm order is easier to follow than succumbing to the flicker of instinctive resistance.
Still, my steps are a touch reluctant as I allow him to lead me through the sprawling manor.
We reach the end of a long corridor. My stomach drops when he opens the door to reveal the massive room.
It’s a dance studio.
Mirrors line the walls, and the ballet barre makes the purpose of the space undeniable.
I shrink back, but his arms enfold me from behind, refusing to allow me to retreat.
“Brandon…” His name is a shaky protest.
He drops a kiss on my shoulder. “Dance for me.”
I shake my head, fear fluttering in the center of my chest.
Shirley’s phantom fingernails dig into the back of my skull, and my head is submerged in icy water. I can’t breathe. I’m going to drown.
Just like my parents…
“Breathe, Karolina. You’re safe. You’re with me.”
I draw in a ragged breath.
“Good girl. Another. Keep breathing.”
I obey, and my lungs burn in protest.
“No one will hurt you here,” he soothes. “I won’t let them.”
His corded arms flex around me, reassuring me that nothing will get past him. Nothing can harm me while he’s holding me.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “I know it’s not rational, but I feel…” I choke on the admission as though I’m coughing up water. “I can still feel her fingernails cutting into my scalp. I remember the way her cane burned when she lashed my thighs.”
“Shirley is dead. So is Charlie. They can never hurt us again.”
I turn in his arms, so I can look up into his familiar eyes.
“They’re dead?”
He nods, but his jaw ticks. He’s anxious about my reaction.
Because I know the truth. I read it plainly on his new face.
“You killed them.”
He searches my eyes, trying to discern the tumultuous feelings that churn inside me.
I trace the taut line of his jaw. “You did it for me?”
He leans into my tentative touch. “Yes.” He blows out a long breath. “And I did it for me. They will never abuse another child.”
“It wasn’t just for us,” I surmise. “You did it for the others, too.”
I take a moment to consider him. “You said all the men you killed in the ring were criminals. Is that why you don’t feel bad about it? Because you prevented them from hurting more people?”
He huffs. “If you’re trying to picture me as some sort of righteous vigilante, you’re wrong.” His fingers trail through my hair. “You’ve always wanted to see good in me, and I love you for it. I’m addicted to the way you look at me.”
“And how is it that I look at you?”
His eyes darken. “Like I’m not a monster. Like I’m not capable of terrible things.”
I go up onto my toes and press a soft kiss to the harsh slash of his lips. “I know you’ll always protect me, and that means you’re capable of violence. But I also know you have a good heart. That’s all that matters to me.”
He shakes his head. “You see me like no one else, but you’ve never accepted the truth. My heart isn’t good. It’s selfish and possessive. I would burn the world for you, Karolina, and I wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse.”
A shiver dances down my spine, but I’m not afraid.
I brush his caramel hair back from his cheek. Unlike his buzz cut when he was younger, the long locks frame his perfectly constructed features.
“I accept all of you,” I promise. “I’ve done terrible things, too, and you accept me. We have each other, just like always.”
He captures my hand and presses my palm to his chest, directly over his heart.
“Always,” he repeats, a deep vow.
I can’t suppress a shudder—something between yearning and vicious, cautious hope.
“Are you still scared?” he murmurs. “Will you dance for me?”
That flutter of fear makes my heart race again. “I don’t know if I can.”
He takes a step into the room, keeping my hand caged so he can lead me into the studio.
“Then let me play for you.”
My apprehension finally ebbs enough that I notice the grand piano in the corner.
“You still play? After everything Shirley and Charlie put us through?”
He sits on the bench and arranges my body beside his, so we’re still touching even as he uncovers the keys.
“I don’t think about our abusers when I play. I think about you dancing for me. It was never for them, never for the prestige they wanted from us. This was always for you.”
My breath hitches.
All I remember is pain and trauma, but Brandon finds beauty in the arts that bonded us.
And when the first, bittersweet notes soar through the studio, my heart twists with agonized desire.
He plays fearlessly, untouched by the cruelty of our tormented childhood. Our foster parents couldn’t beat this out of him. He still has his passion and skill.