Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
It doesn’t.
“So? She ain’t my girl, so why should I give a fuck about upsetting her.”
“Yeah?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “And what about King?”
Kyrin rolls his eyes, knowing that I’m right.
“It’s settled. We won’t be killing Saskia. No flesh removal is needed…”
Kyrin glares up at me from thick lashes. “Yet.”
Stepping outside the next morning, I’m heading straight for the tent after realizing that I woke up late. Twenty minutes late, to be exact, and I have no one else to blame but Kyrin and Killian. Bastards.
I push through the doors, dragging my hair into a high pony and tossing my bottle of water to the ground. I had no time to change into something that would get me into the vibe of dancing, so I settled for tight bike shorts and a sports bra, and by settle, I mean I literally had no other time to put anything else on. Brisbane is warm, and I heard on the radio that they’re just coming out of summer. So fucking weird. They’re literally the land down under.
“Saskia…” Delila stutters from the corner of the center ring. God, it’s good to be back inside the tent. To smell the worn rubber, the damp grass, and the faint smell of gasoline.
“Yes?” I blink rapidly. “Sorry, I had a disrupted sleep.” My eyes cut to Killian briefly, who is bent over the stage with no shirt on and grease rubbed all over his chest. You will not stare. I try to ignore the way his tanned skin gleams against all of his tattoos. The new sleeve he got during the holidays, the Kiznitch over his chest, but it’s hard when the man hardly ever wears a shirt.
“Okay, well that’s alright then. You be late whenever you need to be…” Delila has been extra fucking cranky lately and her sarcasm was not lost on me. She was never like this before. She was smooth and collected and—dare I say it—sophisticated. Now she’s a mess. No longer wearing perfectly tailored suits and primed hair styled to the nines. Now her suits have wrinkles in them and her hair—though I should blame the Australian humidity—is frazzled.
“Sorry, Delila,” I murmur before slowly making my way onto the stage where Perse is glaring at me. I give her a small smile, ignoring Callan and winking at Kenan.
“Alright.” Delila claps, lighting a smoke and bringing it between her cracked lips. “Now that the showstopper is here, let’s continue, shall we?” She moves to the front of the stage. “Did you all decide what you’re doing for the tour? If you’re doing the same choreography and songs at every location?”
Perse nods. “Yes, we did. I have our group dance and show, my solo, the duet with Sass and Kenan, and—” She sucks in a breath, turning to face me. Her eyes say I’m sorry, but I get the feeling that she is not. “I would like Saskia to have her own solo act.”
Everyone silences.
“What?” Callan chokes. “Why?”
“Yeah! Why?” I glare at Perse.
Perse squeezes my hand before going back to Delila. “Listen, on New Year’s Eve, we were playing around with the fire batons and—well, the fire equipment in general and she” —Perse turns to face me—“can motherfucking dance with them! Drunk. On Jager bombs.”
“Ahhh…” I raise my finger. I’m in trouble already this morning, I don’t want to give Delila another reason to be angry at me. “I can explain.” Well, I actually can’t, but I’m hoping to think up something quick while everyone is silent.
Delila glares at me. “Saskia, you playing with toys is not going to get you in trouble. I don’t give a shit about your safety.” She blows out a cloud of smoke. “Is what Perse is saying true? Do you breathe it too? Correctly, because fire breathing is one of the most dangerous circus acts known to man…”
I gulp. “Yes. But, but I don’t know how I know.”
Killian snickers in the back.
I ignore him.
Delila is staring with newfound interest. That’s the thing with her, if you don’t bring something to the table that sets you apart from the rest, you are disposable. “Tell me, my Little Showstopper, are you a pyromaniac?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I just—well, I don’t know. I understand how they work and what to do, as if I’ve been doing it all my life.”
I watch as her face flashes with something, but before I can decipher it, it’s gone and replaced with her scowl. “Hmmm. Show me later. I would like you to work on that today.”
I nod, and after she has yelled the rest of her orders to everyone, me and Perse’s crew start warming up. I need to get my head into the game. Into music. Music can drown out even the loudest of screams.
Three hours later and we’re done for the day. The routine that Perse has me and Kenan doing is probably one of my favorites. I recognize the song from a movie, but never would have thought that Perse would have us dance to such a hypnotic and entrancing slow tune. Kenan uses my body as his own personal tool, and I him. It’s intimate and heart crushing and takes a lot of stamina to keep up with.