Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I dropped the locket back and took another long sip of my tea.
“Yeah, I told him his dick was way too big and it just wouldn’t work out. I mean, if we can’t even fit in that way, how could we be together?”
I nearly choked on my tea as I snapped my head in Katarina’s direction, my eyes feeling wide as saucers, liquid dribbling down my chin.
She gave me a smug look and pointed her finger before saying, “A-ha. I knew you weren’t listening.”
I felt my face heat as I blushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening. My mind is just…” I set my cup down and threw my hands in the air as if that were the answer to all.
“What’s going on?” Katarina leaned forward and took on a very serious expression.
Although she and I weren’t the closest of friends, we saw each other daily for practice and, because of that, had created a kind of familial bond with each other. She was also one of the only dancers who wasn’t green with envy or a massive bitch to me due to me being principal.
I exhaled and leaned back in the seat, not sure how much to tell her, although I supposed my forced engagement would be made public soon enough.
Tingling on the back of my neck had me lifting my hand and rubbing my nape. I looked out the window, that sensation of not being alone settling into me. And it had nothing to do with being in a crowded café.
It was the kind of sensation where someone was watching you and they didn’t want that to be known.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand, but I’m here if you want to—”
“My family is very traditional in… pretty much everything.” I was still staring out the window after I said that. “And because of our… culture, for lack of a better word, we have to abide by certain rules.” I glanced at Katarina and saw her confusion.
“Is this some freaky cult stuff?”
Leave it to her to get me to laugh during an uncomfortable situation. “I mean, cult seems pretty fitting for it, I guess.” I shrugged. Of course I’d never tell her my father was part of an organized crime faction.
Maybe she’d be able to understand it more if I did make it seem like it was cultish.
“So my father has arranged a marriage for me, and the man he’s chosen… is not my first choice.”
Her eyes widened and she said, “Whoa.” She brought her coffee cup up and drank a hefty pull from it, her eyes still wide as if she couldn’t believe what I was saying. It wasn’t as if I said something extremely mind-blowing, or maybe I just felt that way because this had been part of my life.
“Needless to say, I haven’t been able to think about much since.”
“No shit,” she said.
I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a little bit lighter that she was able to pull me out of the funk I was currently in.
“Is he at least good-looking?” The expression that instantly washed over my face had her grimacing. “Well, then there’s no plus side to it, I guess.” Her voice became softer. “At least if he was good-looking, it wouldn’t have been so bad.” She shrugged. “Girl, it’s hard dating out here.”
I absentmindedly rubbed the back of my neck again when that tingling started up. I looked out the front window of the café.
There, across the street and leaning against the brick of the building, was a man dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie.
His head was slightly lowered so I couldn’t make out his facial features, but his size was massive. He stood a head taller than everyone else, his shoulders wide. I felt my body involuntarily straighten, this weird recognition igniting inside of me.
A city bus passed by, obstructing the view of him, and then he was gone. It was like one of those thrillers where the killer is standing on the other side of the street just gawking, and in a flash they disappear.
I absolutely was losing my mind.
Chapter
Seven
Ruin
One-two. One-two. Duck and punch. Side step and uppercut.
I slammed my fist into the tattered punching bag that hung from the ceiling in my basement, the bag swinging wildly. Sweat covered my body, dripping down my temples and into my eyes.
I kept going. Harder, moving faster, my bare knuckles cracking into the bag, the skin breaking open, blood mixing with the sweat and dripping down my wrists and forearms.
I did this for another twenty minutes before finally sagging against the bag and breathing out, my lungs burning. I pushed away and walked over to the bench where the jug of water sat.
I drank deeply from it as I stared at the frightening visage of my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that took up one entire wall.