Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I find a playlist on the phone, and I know that I could use that fancy surround sound system, but I don't know how to use it yet. Still, because of the way this room is built, the acoustics are fabulous. The first song echoes through the dance studio, and I lose myself in it. I let my limbs loosen, and it quiets my mind.
I forgot what it feels like when there's a sense of connection to the music in the moment. The way my movements and body become effortless and synced. I'm weightless and fluid, free from what bothers me as a sense of release takes over. My body moves to the rhythm of the music, and I easily forget what worried me, lost to the sense of liberation. There's a freedom of expression in dance. Tranquility and joy, as I glide across the dance floor.
I don't think about what troubles me, I don't worry about the man whose name I've taken. I don't worry what's going to happen tomorrow. All I can think about is today.
As the music shifts, I grip the barre and stretch. I'm vaguely aware of a little noise in the hallway behind me, but when I turn around to look, my guards are still there. I have no reason to believe anything is out of place, except maybe Adriano’s fear at the back of my mind. Still, to satisfy my curiosity, I walk to the door and check in with my guards.
No one's on the floor, no one's dead. I don’t see anyone brandishing a gun and no one’s bleeding. Everyone's here just like I left them.
"Everything alright?"
"Of course," Bruce says.
“I heard some noise out here.”
Bruce gives me a sheepish look. "We were just having an argument about the name of your song."
And then I realize one of them is holding his side and wheezing, like someone decked him.
Men. Honest to God.
"Okayyy." I turn to go back in the studio but decide to play a little bit of the wife card.
"So does Adriano think it’s alright if you guys start smacking each other around when you're on duty?" I say this lightly because I want to see their reaction. Also, I know for a fact that he's not okay with them fucking around on the job, especially when they're watching me and he's not here, and he’s likely to be the one that finishes the smacking around.
They look guilty, like children caught doing something dumb or foolish, and Bruce shakes his head. "No, it won't happen again."
I'm not the type to pull rank, but I also don't want them getting in trouble with my husband. If I'm honest, it's because I'm a little afraid of him. What did he do to those people in the past that hurt me? I walk back into the studio.
I play the music again, and once more lose myself to the dance. I don't know if I ever could settle down with anyone, but if it were someone like me—someone who doesn’t like to put down roots, who is a nomad, who likes to go from one place to the next, without stability, or routine—we’d probably kill each other.
With a smile on my face, I do a pirouette.
There’s a big difference between the two of us.
I'm okay with leaving my past in the past. No, I'm not just okay with it, I walk away from it. Every fucking day.
He's not.
As I stare at myself in the mirror, I ask myself if I can live with that. It's a question I don't have an answer to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“THE DANCE STUDIO”
Adriano
When I open my eyes, something feels wrong. I look around the darkened room and notice that Quinn is gone. I sit up. It’s not just quiet in here, the whole club is silent.
I try to sit up, but my head is heavy. I reach for my phone to send Sergio a message and to check to see if Quinn has left me any.
There's a message from a number I don't recognize.
I'm instantly awake.
I tap the message and see a video.
Quinn, dancing in the studio. Who the fuck sent this message?
I'm out of bed and on my feet, loading a weapon as soon as I see the footage. Someone's watching her in the dance studio. I try to open the door but it's locked. My head throbs, and my shoulder is in pain, but I don't fucking care. I need to get to her. I try the door again to no avail. I pound on it and nothing happens. I call one of my men.
It goes to voicemail. What the hell happened? Where is she? Ready to lose my shit, I try to call the person who sent me the video, but the call doesn't go through.
I briefly consider trying to break the door down, but I know that doesn't help. Not the way Sergio built this place. Fuck!