Page 4 of Controlled

I was beginning to think I was more like my father that I cared to admit.

The psychotic bastard.

I grinned down at Paul, taking a deep breath as the blade glistened in the dull light. “Maybe you find peace and salvation in hell.” There was an art to killing someone, but even more so to creating a masterpiece. As the powerful music sent tingling vibrations through every muscle, I sliced the man’s throat before pulling away, turning in a full circle.

Satisfied with my work, I moved to the others, basking in the deep bass vibes, the hard thumping of my heart as it matched the tribal beat. I was in my element, their final moments a beautiful piece of art that I would enjoy in my mind for years to come. I continued, granting each traitor his own unique death, enjoying the slickened feel of blood caressing my skin.

Until I didn’t.

Sadly, the joy I’d once experienced, the heightened senses and subtle yet powerful moments of electricity searing my skin rarely happened if ever. Over the years, maybe I’d become bored with killing, possibly repulsed at the sight of blood. I wasn’t certain but as I inspected the carnage I’d created, I was angry with myself, disgusted at what I’d done.

Did the fuckers who’d betrayed me deserve to die? Hell, yes, but neither their lifeless bodies nor their pleas had influenced me. I wiped the blade on my trousers, shoving it back into my pocket before turning away.

“Toss them in the open pit and give the concrete contractor the okay to pour,” I said more in passing than anything.

“You got it, boss,” Kane said, the level of darkness in his voice not surprising. I’d taught the man well over the years.

I raked my bloodied hands through my hair and headed for the warehouse door. It was going to be a long day.

CHAPTER 2

Bella

“He just wants to get you into bed.”

Grace could barely avoid snickering. I threw her a quick look before trying to concentrate on what Gregor was saying. “That’s never going to happen,” I hissed under my breath, which the holier than thou choreographer caught. She was right in that the bastard had tried hard during the last three months. When I’d refuted his efforts the last time, he’d begun his campaign to try to make me look bad. That had failed as I’d learned from the best, my mother, how to handle bastards like him. I’d gleaned everything from the former movie star when she wasn’t looking. It wasn’t as if she’d taken any time with me, teaching me things or being a mother. I don’t know why she’d gone through with birthing me in the first place.

Christ. I always managed to fall into an ugly session of self-pity when Gregor reared his ugly head.

“Good for you,” she whispered. “I’ve heard his dick is the size of a peanut anyway.”

She had a way of making me laugh, which we both tried to stifle for fear of facing the harsh man’s wrath. She was almost four years younger, considered a top-level prima ballerina that had almost been lured away from Chicago to the bright lights of New York more than once. Meanwhile, critics said I was aging out, washed up at twenty-seven, which was ridiculous as I was in the best shape of my life. And I’d been given not one but three sought-after roles for the night’s performance, which had baffled me as much as anyone else.

Yes, I was grateful, but concerned the horrible man would think I owed him for his sudden interest in my talent. The thought made my stomach churn. The bastard turned his head toward us, his eyes like a snake’s, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he was part reptile.

“Care to enlighten us with your brilliant observations, ladies?” he snapped.

“Why, no, sir,” I said politely while Grace had a difficult time not laughing. “We were just remarking on your extraordinary talents and how grateful we are to have you grace us with your presence.”

I wasn’t usually so mouthy, my little quip obviously shocking the other dancers. Other than my gal pal Tonya and my very best friend and dance partner for the evening, Jonas, he had the others either stuck up his butt or under his thumb.

When Grace made the mistake of snorting, Gregor snapped his head toward her. Jonas whistled from behind me so only I could hear. Suddenly, the prima donna had been placed squarely in the choreographer’s crosshairs.

Grace was one of three dancers I considered a friend in the ballet company, something I’d needed from day one. I’d been a loner for so long, it was tough for me to know how to handle friendships. Grace, on the other hand, came from a powerful family, her father making tons of money. She knew how to socialize, maybe a bit too much.

The moment of tension was broken by a group of dancers walking by the studio, laughing and talking. He was just as annoyed with them as he was with the group dancing tonight. When his phone buzzed, I could tell he was boiling. He always kept it with him, something we weren’t allowed to do. While he didn’t bother heading to the table where he had his things, he did glance toward it, frowning more than usual.

“Big business,” Jonas teased. There were dozens of rumors about the man, none of which were pleasant.

“Maybe,” I whispered back. Was the man sweating? I thought so.

Grace took the opportunity to slide back further into the group of other girls, which was likely in her best interest. When Gregor turned his full attention to the room, he appeared more frustrated than before.

“Please. For the love of fuck, get it right. The performance is tonight, or did you forget that?” There was no doubt Gregor Santiago was brilliant, not only as a choreographer but also as a former dancer. He’d worked with some of the best, his South American roots surprising during a time when various countries had banned certain arts. “Daria, get the lead out of your ass. Gracie, you’re about as graceful as a hippo. Now, we do it again. Bella. Do you think you can keep from appearing as if you’d rather be in the middle of a root canal versus being one of the lead dancers tonight?”

While I admired Gregor for his resume, his work with the Joffrey Ballet incredible, I loathed the man and his brutality. He berated the dancers far too often, today no exception. The sexual innuendoes were something else entirely.

I grabbed a towel, wiping sweat from my face, glaring at him with as much hatred as I had inside of me. I often wondered if Gregor knew how many times I’d slaughtered him in my dreams.