Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
He’s a liar.
But if it’s true, he’s a convincing one. More skilled than perhaps even me. When my eyes clash with his, the fight in me dissolves.
He is blue. Hazy blue. Electrifying blue. Blue like the sea and the sky and the storms that rule my life. And right now, his blue is ruling over me. In a matter of seconds, he’s rendered me a servant to the breezeless ocean in his eyes. They are soft around the edges, unmarred by the lines of time. Everything about him is harsh, but I did not realize his eyes could be so sedating.
I’m hyper aware of him now. The way he smells of tobacco and cloves and vanilla. His scent is smoky, dark, and faintly sweet. His body is warm and rigid. And I have witnessed men in all their muscular glory on the stage of the ballet, but I have never been so close to one. I have never felt a man’s weight pressing into my body, making me feel small and soft in contrast. I have never stared so intimately into eyes like these while he touches my hair, untangling it from my face the way I imagine a lover would.
I’ve never had a lover. I’ve never been touched by a man or even a boy. But there is no mistaking which side of the spectrum Nikolai falls on. He is all man. And his domination of my smaller, weaker frame has left me feeling drunk and slightly disoriented. A battered driftwood wrestling with the tide. Rocking against the waves, desperate for solid ground, he’s pulling me farther and farther from the shore. I’m going to drown in his energy.
“Stop.” The word rushes from my parted lips, reeking of my desperation and confusion.
Nikolai halts, his hand still tangled in my hair. The air between us is thick and sticky. Hot and humid like an East Coast summer. His ocean eyes carve a path to my lips, and he is so close I can taste the cinnamon on his breath. I think that he might kiss me, and it horrifies me that I want him to.
I feel like I’ve been doused in ice water when he yanks away abruptly and without explanation. In the time it takes me to blink, his face has neutralized, the dangerous chemistry between us expertly defused.
“I’ll carry you back to the chair.”
His voice is without color or emotion. A man without feeling. Somehow, I am the one left feeling wrecked when he lifts me without effort and deposits me into the chair like a child.
This isn’t right. None of this is right. When Nikolai stalks out the door without another word, my ankle throbs, and my chest does too.
I knew my captor was dangerous.
I just didn’t realize how dangerous he was to me.
“Were you able to find anything?”
Alexei glances up at me from his desk, his eyes cataloging every micro expression on my face. Born of necessity, the habit has become second nature to him. It’s just one of his talents, but I am yet to find something Alexei does not excel at. Driven by an insatiable hunger to prove his worth, he is an overachiever in all things Vory related, bearing the title of cybercriminal genius and unrivaled master of the chess board.
While his achievements are many, his sacrifices are greater. For all the years that I’ve known him, I’ve known him to be a recluse. He chooses the safety of his home over the potential exposure of his secret. Though his seclusion is hardly necessary, considering most would never suspect he is mostly deaf. He learned to read lips after he lost his hearing as a boy, and if it weren’t for Sergei making me aware, I would have never known myself. Even so, he is justified in hiding his affliction. Such an impairment is a weakness in our line of work. And though his condition makes little difference to me, Alexei does not see it that way.
Bad blood has tainted our relationship for as long as I can remember, but our duty to the Vory brotherhood obligates us to civility. As far as any of the Vor know, the only common link between us is the stars we bear on our chest. They would never suspect that we also share DNA. I find it difficult to believe it myself sometimes, but the rivalry that lives between us can only be born from blood. He has always been jealous that I had our father’s approval, and I have done well to nurture my own resentment of his freedom from Sergei. Brotherly affection has not grown with time, and especially not after the unforgivable offense I committed against him.
“Your answers are in the file,” Alexei tells me.
He wants me to leave. He would like nothing better. And perhaps, I should. It’s the easy thing to do. But each encounter only reminds me that we are not so different. Alexei would not have followed through on this favor if all hope were truly lost.