Page 8 of Dancing With Desire

I narrow my eyes. “There you go again, thinking you know what’s best for me. How do you think I coped before you and Dmitry came into my life?”

He scoffs. “Not very well, if I remember correctly. And let’s not forget, without us, you’d be in prison.”

I glance behind me to check Phoebe isn’t within earshot. “Maybe I should have just handed myself in, then I wouldn’t be in this mess,” I hiss.

“Maybe you should never have set out to get Dmitry in the first place, then none of us would be in this mess.” He heads for the door. “I have somewhere to be. I’ll call in later.”

“Where are you going?” I ask, following him. I hate to admit it out loud, but I feel a lot safer with him around.

“To dig out the weeds in Dmitry’s circle.”

“Marshall, what about Vladimir and Vivian?”

“What about them?” he asks, pulling the door open and turning back to me.

“Will he . . . is he going to . . . yah know, end them?”

He smirks. “End them?” he repeats, his tone teasing, and just like that, I feel like we’re friends again.

I grin. “You know what I’m asking.”

“Just know they’ll pay. Leave the details to us.”

I close the door, resting my hand against it while I think about what he just said. I want them dead, and I don’t know when I became the person that is suddenly okay with those sorts of thoughts.

“Oh, did Marshall leave?” asks Phoebe, sounding sad. I smile, turning to find her holding two coffees. “I didn’t know how to work the machine, but I figured it out in the end,” she explains, handing me one. “There’s another in the kitchen. I thought Marshall was sticking around.”

“Oh god, Phoebs, don’t even go there.”

“What?” she asks innocently, following me into the living room. “This place is amazing.” She gasps, looking around in awe.

“You like Marshall,” I accuse, taking a seat and tucking my feet under my backside.

She blushes slightly. “It’s an improvement on an abusive child rapist,” she says, arching a brow.

I laugh. “That is very true,” I agree, nodding. “But seriously, this shit is complicated enough without you hooking up with him.”

“Hey, you don’t get to have all the fun here,” she says, joining me on the oversized couch. “Who the fuck chooses white for everything?” she asks, running her hand over the material beneath her.

“Dmitry,” I say, narrowing my eyes accusingly.

She bites on her lower lip. “He’s very persuasive,” she says in her defence.

“Phoebe,” I cry, “you can’t lie to me. After everything I’ve just been through, I need honesty.”

“I knew you wouldn’t want to come if Dmitry arranged it. And look at this place. I would have missed out on all this.”

“That’s not the point. No secrets and no lies,” I say, and I wince at my own words. “From this point on,” I add to ease my guilt.

“Okay. No more lies or secrets.” She takes a sip of the coffee and screws her nose up, placing it down on the glass coffee table. “He got you the phone?” she asks, nodding to the device.

I take it and open the box. It’s the latest iPhone, and a few months ago, I’d have done anything to get my hands on one of these. “Yep. Brand new. No tracker. New number.”

“So, why do you look so glum?”

I sigh. “Marshall said something to me that hit a nerve.” She waits for me to continue. “I know I wanted this. I’m so angry with Dmitry, and the whole Vivian thing is down to him, but Marshall said if Dmitrywantedto come and take me back to the manor, he would, which means he doesn’t want to, right?”

“I guess,” she says, shrugging.

---