The only issue I had was that he had been persistently trying to get me to fill in as an interim dance coach for ballet. His last instructor had gotten married and moved to Seattle. She’d taught the younger students, and he thought I’d be a great fit for the position. It hadn’t helped that the first replacement instructor he hired didn’t show up to teach.
He’d begged me to step in for that week, introducing me as a guest choreographer to save face with the mothers who paid a pretty penny to have their girls learn from the best. Knowing his reputation was on the line was the only reason I agreed. I barely made it through the week and realized in hindsight why the nightmares had returned.
Ballet was still a hang-up of mine because of my past. And while I still used some ballet moves for my personal warm-up, demonstrating full sets to a roomful of young girls was impossibly difficult. I spent each day that week throwing up as soon as the last girl left.
It was ironic how something so mundane could be the catalyst to unlocking that vault when not even losing the only person who cared for me could. It was at that moment that I knew. I may have come back from the brink, but the journey was nowhere near over. Mr. Dulaine cleared his throat, and Sarah elbowed me hard.
“Ow, that hurt,” I mumbled, looking over at her. She jerked her head toward our instructor twice, making me realize he must have called my name and I hadn’t heard him.
I went to apologize when my eyes fell on the man standing next to him. Taller than I thought he’d ever be, he had to be over six feet tall. Well-formed muscles were evenly distributed across his frame. He was perfectly proportionate, and his rich brown hair seemed disheveled. He ran his hand through his thick waves, and complete shock registered in his beautiful amber eyes.
This was not happening.
Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I dug into a long-neglected coping mechanism. I became as still as possible, lowering my legs from their current position. I straightened my back and stood up.
“I swear he plays favorites,” Deborah grumbled. She liked to think of me as her only competition in class, as if this was a performing arts school, and we were both trying out for the lead in the upcoming recital. It was tiresome andsounnecessary.
Dance, for me, was therapy. That was it. I didn’t want a career in it. I didn’t want to be the best, brightest, or anywhere near a stage anymore. Those days were gone, or at least I thought they were. But as luck would have it, the only blast from my past that still existed happened to be standing next to my dance coach.
I needed to have an extensive talk with the creator of the universe and let them know I wanted to return this existence and exchange it for another. This one was entirely too broken. It hardly seemed fair. Pasha recognized me immediately. I could see it in his eyes and in his body language. Even in the way his toes flexed and unflexed.He knew. I squared my shoulders.
Game face on.
This was what I had been working on for the last eleven years. Now it was do or die. Pretending as if I didn’t know him was the best course of action. The part of my life that included him before didn’t exist anymore. I was not that girl. I’d never be her again. Not for him, not for anyone.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” I aimed an innocent smile at my instructor before darting my gaze back to the man before me. “So this is your surprise? I knew moving here was the best decision I ever made. Hi, I’m Kinsley. It’s an honor to meet you. Pavel Lenkov, right?” The words flowed from my mouth as if I had rehearsed them for hours, and I purposefully messed up the pronunciation of his name.
“Myshka? Is it really you? How? I don’t understand.” He looked dumbfounded, as if the air had been knocked out of him. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he looked like he was seeing a ghost. At least one of us was in control. The thought alone made me feel stronger.
“No one can control your emotions but you. It’s up to you to take control. You’re stronger than you know. Believe that, and you can get through any situation life throws at you.”Owen’s voice echoed loud and clear in my head.
“Do you know each other?” Mr. Dulaine looked confused.
I laughed. The rich sound was smooth to my own ears and increased my confidence. “Mr. Dulaine, everyone in the dance community knows who this is. Did you do this for my birthday? Best dance coach ever.” I hugged him, wearing the biggest smile I could muster as my stomach twisted in knots.
Happy fucking birthday, Kinsley.
Chapter 8
Aleksandr
The Reaper, The Crow, & The Blade
“The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.”
Lois McMaster Bujold
We’d lost faith in the justice system a long time ago. The loopholes and backdoor dealings those with power and money exploited made justice a fancy word people liked to throw around. We came from power, wealth, and privilege, but it didn’t stop evil from darkening our doorstep.
So, what did a person do when society failed to protect the innocent? They hunted with a singular focus on seeking justice, ensuring, if not demanding, it. They became what the world liked to call vigilantes. We, however, preferred to be known as the Reaper, the Crow, and the Blade.
I was the Reaper. Death with a capital D. Hourglass in hand, shaking it, forcing the last grains of sand to fall. Both how a soul was tormented and the timeline belonged to me and me alone. I was the decision-maker.
Nikolai was the Crow. Intelligent and clever, he dug deep into the past and present dealings of those we came to collect justice from. He was the levelheaded one among us. His perspective and profound calmness balanced Ivan and me.
Ivan was the Blade. His unique set of skills in the torture department aided my brother and me in getting the information we needed. Once it’d been uncovered, he got the privilege of collecting the soul with a well-practiced cut of his razor-sharp blade.
Clear and unmistakable, we three served as a reminder that you’d reap what you sow. All actions had consequences. Any man who was fool enough to think his actions didn’t, hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting us.
