TRIGGER WARNING
Dear Reader,
This book contains darker themes and graphic depictions of past trauma, trafficking, SA, and CSA. The plot heavily revolves around primal/CNC play, impact play, and very rough adult acts of a dubious nature.
Fasten your seatbelts and make sure your tray tables are in the upright position.
While these scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth story, they may be triggering to some readers. Please know your own triggers, and read with that in mind.
Thanks for reading,
Jagger
1
BIANCA
A chilling sensation drags up my spine, razor-sharp as the tip of a knife. I can feel my throat constrict, as if an invisible, malicious hand is squeezing. The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickle as my eyes widen.
He’s getting closer.
His hand is on the bedroom door now. The knob twists silently, shadows lengthening over the bed like funeral shrouds as he billows into the room, a cloud of black smoke—
“What the fuck are you reading?”
It takes everything I have to stifle the scream that rises in my throat. My heart literally stops for a millisecond and pure adrenaline explodes through my system as I whip around, almost dropping my tablet on the dressing room floor in the process.
Alicia’s staring down the bridge of her nose at me, wearing her trademark haughty, smug look that would give Regina George a run for her money. As usual, her number two, Irena, stands next to her and just a few deferential inches behind her.
Can’t upstage the queen herself, after all.
I glance around the backstage dressing room, realizing I’m the last one here aside from Alicia and Irena. The wall clock, under which Madame Kuzmina has pinned a sign that reads “time is everything”, tells me rehearsal ended forty minutes ago. But I left off on a cliffhanger earlier, and I had to read the next chapter as soon as rehearsal ended. So I stayed.
“Seriously,” Alicia cocks a well-manicured brow, tucking a lock of blonde back into place. “What the fuck is that?”
I can feel my face blush darkly. “Nothing. It’s just—”
Before I can finish my sentence, she snatches the tablet out of my hand. Irena crowds closer to her, their eyes fixated on the e-book open on the screen. Immediately, they both make grossed-out faces and then start to laugh.
“Bitch, you cannot be serious with this.”
My mouth tightens slightly. “It’s just this book—”
“About a girl getting hacked to death in her own bed by a psycho?” Alicia raises her eyes from the screen to my face. “Bianca, hon, this is why you’re single. FYI. This horror shit is creepy as fuck, and honestly, it’s super weird that you read it.”
I frown as I snatch the tablet back. “It’s not horror. It’s true crime.”
Alicia and Irena share a look.
“Like, it’s not fiction,” I try to explain. “It’s about a real murder, a girl named Rachel Dawson—”
“Yeah, so, anyway…” Alicia says quickly, cutting me off. She arches her brow again as she cocks a hip. “Whatcha doing right now?”
I hate the spark that ignites inside me. I hate that I’m excited that it really sounds like she’s about to ask me to hang out.
All of us who dance with the Zakharova Ballet are the best of the best. I mean I probably learned first position before I could even walk. I’ve poured hundreds of thousands of hours into honing my craft, and given up so much to be here.
I’m good. I’m really good. The Zakharova, under the frosty and merciless direction of Madame Kuzmina, is one of the top ballet companies in the world.
But Alicia Houghton, disproving everything you want to believe about karma, is the best of us. Yes, she’s kind of a bitch. She can be mean, catty, and haughty, and is acutely aware of her position as the most likely to be the next one promoted to soloist.
Because of that, she’s also the reigning queen bee of the corps de ballet, surrounded by her little posse of suck-ups like Irena.
The thing is, Alicia’s just snooty enough to be annoying. But she’s not cruel enough to make you want to avoid her completely. The fact that she’s supremely talented, beautiful, and cool makes it even harder to ignore her.
You kinda want to hate her. You also kinda want to be her. Which is why despite part of me wanting to have nothing to do with Alicia, the other part of me perks right up when she asks what I’m doing.
That’s the allure of cool.
None of us is immune to it.
“Nothing?” I shrug.
It’s not a lie, either. I had plans to do something with Milena and Naomi after rehearsal. But Naomi got called in last minute to cover at the bar she works at, and Milena had a family thing she couldn’t miss.
…And by “family thing”, I assume she means “mafia thing”. That kinda goes without saying when your father is Marko Kalishnik, head of the Kalishnik Bratva.
I mean, I get it. My dad, Vito, is the don of the Barone family, after all.
