Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Our worlds shouldn’t cross. I’m a performer in the spotlight, and he’s the monster people in the underworld fear most.
He’s someone who doesn’t feel, let alone touch another person. The thought revolts him, so much so that he always wears gloves.
So why can’t I seem to stay away from him? And why is he able to touch only me?
Aleksandr
I will stop at nothing in my pursuit to free the dancer, but the moment I lay eyes on the singer, Lena, my world changes.
She’s a bright ray of sunshine, lighting up the shadows I walk in.
I won’t leave her alone. In fact, I force her into a contract to sing only for me.
But it’s not her voice I’m after.
*New Stand Alone Dark Romance all connected in the same world as 'Lethal Vows'.*
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Aleksandr
Three months ago…
Her hand slips from my gloved ones as she looks at me. I’ve been chasing her for what seems like years when, in reality, it’s only been six months. My pretty ballerina. My little Russian beauty. I first met her when I was five, then reunited with her just over two years ago. She always smiled. I hated her smile as much as I loved it. But just like me, she had her own demons. And she wasn’t willing to chase them away, whereas I became the demon.
The buildup of my feelings for her was gradual. Some would say I loved her, but I think I was fascinated with her. I have only ever truly loved one person, and that’s my sister.
So why did I chase her?
Why do I feel the need to protect her? She clearly never asked for it or wanted it.
But chase her I did.
And I would do it again in this life and the next, without a doubt.
“Alek,” she whispers my name, and I have a feeling it will be the last time I see her. Just when I finally found her.
Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.
“You need to stop. Just stop. Promise me you’ll stop,” she begs. Cinita has a thing for dangerous men. I should have known better the first time she danced for me.
I didn’t.
I was sucked in by her, by all that she was. It’s how she got around in life. Her attraction to dangerous men led her to a precarious lifestyle, constantly chasing a high.
“I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need protecting from them.” The lie falls from her lips so easily.
And that’s exactly what it is—a lie.
Cinita dances for all types of men. Being a ballet dancer has sent her all over the world and introduced her to all the wrong people—by her choice. I tried to pull her out of that scene, to right her path in a way that wouldn’t lead to her demise.
“You want me to leave?” I ask, and she nods. Her hands clasp my gloved ones again.
“I don’t need you to protect me anymore. You found me, and you did good. Thank you for protecting me. I’m not really sure where I would be without you, but I’m good now. The Bratva don’t want you around, and I work for them. This is my life, Alek, and while I wish you were going to be in it, you can’t be.”
“They’ll kill you,” I inform her matter-of-factly.
She flicks her pin-straight black hair over her shoulder.
“No, they just wanted to watch me dance.” They do, I have no doubt. But it’s everything else they offer her that’s worse for her. She was in a bed somewhere in Russia with a needle in her arm and on the verge of death.
As I said, she likes to mix with the wrong people.
Why the fuck did I chase her in the first place?
Cinita is a dangerous beauty with her long, raven-colored hair and perfect dancer’s body. The way she smiles as if she’s doing it for just you. And the way she moves? Fuck, can she move. It’s a mesmerizing combination, a carefully woven spell as she comes to life on stage. But she’s nothing more than a broken doll.
When I reunited with her two years ago, she was at one of our auctions, accompanying someone else. I remembered her from our orphanage when we were five years old. And as an adult, I was stunned by her beauty. I didn’t speak to her. I’m not one for talking. I simply watched her from a distance until she approached me. I flinched when her hand landed on my shoulder because I hate being touched. It makes me feel like I’m drowning in a grotesque pool. I can’t breathe, and so many voices come to the surface. Filth. Disgust. Pain. It’s easier to avoid contact. I also hate doing the touching. I’ve hated it all my life. But then she touched me again. I didn’t move away, and she smiled that big, beautiful smile at me.
I’ve only ever made a few exceptions as to those who can touch me. A handful of people who I try to fight against the feeling and voices for. She had been one of them.
We stayed in contact. Well, she stayed in contact. Somehow, she’d gotten my number and would send me flirty messages when she was here.
I never replied.
Until a few months later, when she came back to another one of our auctions. The man who accompanied her had a hold on her arm so tight I could see the bruising. She was smaller than the last time I saw her—and she was already a tiny little thing, all legs and arms, and I guess that’s how she moved so effortlessly around the stage.