Page 48 of Dance of Madness

He’s seriouslythathot.

Older, with a sort of gravitas that pulls you in. Dark hair that's only slightly salt and peppered at the temples, dark, piercing eyes, arazor-sharp jaw, and a physique that rivals most of the male dancers half his age that I work with daily. I know this because he’s, on occasion, been known to use the weight room downstairs at the theater.

Shirtless.

You wouldn’t even have to know that he’s the head of ahugelypowerful Bratva empire to feel the power he exudes when he walks into a room.

Brooklyn and Val call it his “big dick energy.”

I just think he’s the kind of man who built an empire from dirt and blood.

“Out of curiosity…”

My eyes snap from Kir to Nero, and forbidden heat teases down my spine.

Kir might be very good-looking, and obviously radiates power you canfeelin the air. But Nero?

Nero’s another sort of power altogether: darker, edgier, more feral. Kir’s handsome; Nero’s got a wolfish, primal vibe.

Kir looks like he would pick you up in a limo and take you to dinner at a restaurant he’s completely booked out, if notboughtfor the occasion; Nero looks like he would cut your clothes off with a blade, chase you naked through the woods, then fuck you with his hands around your throat until you see God.

…And again,theremightbe something severely wrong with me. Because it’s that Nero vibe, hands down, that makes my skin tingle and my pulse run like napalm in my veins. That makes my thighs clench together as needy heat pools in my core.

“Why this?” Nero growls. “I mean instead of the usual, you know, me pointing the Black Court in the right direction and doing it that way?”

Wait. What the hell is the Black Court?

Kir smiles in the gloom. “I think these two might be more…personal for you.”

“This would be a lot easier if you’d drop the smoke and mirrors,” Nero growls.

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes Kir’s throat. “Every tribe needs a ghost story. Every club needs a boogeyman. I can be that for you.”

I watch as Nero rolls his eyes.

“And howisyour little club,” Kir asks in a low, baritone voice, his tone almost sarcastic or mocking.

“Not that I actually think you give a fuck, but the Black Court is doing just fine.” He smirks. “Don’t worry, I’ve assured that they still think you’re out to get them.”

Kir’s teeth flash in a dark grin, just a for a second.

“Not that you haven't gone out ofyour wayto sell it that you don't like the court,” Nero mutters.

Kir shakes his head. "Idon'tlike it. I don't like your vigilante outlook. But I've decided that instead of destroying the court, it’s simpler to just use it for my benefit."

"That because of me?" Nero mutters.

“Perhaps a little,” Kir smirks before clearing his throat. “Anyway, I come bearing gifts".

Kir glances down at what looks like two big bags of trash sitting on the ground behind him. He turns, then winds up and kicks one of the bags as hard as he can.

A low, wet grunt comes from inside it, and my heart lurches.

It’s not bags of trash. It’s bags ofpeople.

Kir kicks the second bag, and another voice groans in pain.

A dark glint flashes across Nero’s face—so sharp and vicious that I feel it like a blade down my spine, even from here. He squats down, grabs the top of both bags and yanks them open, revealing the two men, bound and on their knees.

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