Page 39 of Dance of Deception

“It’s their ability to blend in, to manipulate those around them into believing they are something they aren't. They perform emotions they don’t feel. They learn your vulnerabilities without you realizing it, and may use those vulnerabilities to their advantage.”

I press my lips together, thinking of the man who chased me through a dark, cavernous labyrinth, who whispered filthy, terrifying things into my ear as his fingers pushed me over the edge.

The thing is, whether he knows it or not, heisusing my vulnerabilities against me. In a sane or rational world, I’d never evenconsidergoing back to that place.

Except “sane” and “rational” are currently taking a back seat to the cold reality that I need to come up with five thousand dollars a fuckingweekto pay back Arkadi’s debt. And the only way I can possibly think of to get that kind of money is to do exactly what I shouldn’t after what happened the other night: gobackto that place.

Back tohim.

My body reacts to the memories before my brain can stop it—a flush creeping up my neck, a pulse beating low in my stomach, a tight ache curling deep within me.

Shame burns in my chest.

Why the hell was I turned on by any of that—vividly, feverishly so?

What thefuckis wrong with me?

“Many psychopaths operate in positions of power. They thrive in places where manipulation and ruthlessness are considered assets, not weaknesses.”

I exhale sharply and drag a hand through my hair, trying to focus, forcing the thoughts down.

Professor Armitage steps to the front of the stage, clasping her hands in front of her.

“In summary, the defining trait of a psychopath is simple: they do not stop.”

The air outsideis crisp and biting, the afternoon sky pale and overcast. I tuck my hands in my pockets, my bag slung over my shoulder as I head for the subway to go uptown for rehearsal. My phone presses against my palm, sending a nervous tick through my fingers.

I should message Brooklyn’s contact about another job.

I ended up texting Milena, whose family is Bratva, asking her if she knew a “Mr. Popov”; I claimed I’d heard some guys giving my local bodega owner a hard time, and mentioning that name. Milena said that it was most likely a guy named Grigori Popov, a mid-level Russian gangster who Milena characterized as a "serious lunatic".

Apparently, I have a neon sign over my head welcoming those into my life lately.Great.

A shiver ripples up my spine as I yet again replay the sordid details of the other night. But this time, I shove them down as I pull my phone out of my pocket. It hasn’t been a full week yet since Grigori’s guys kicked in our door. But if I’m going to be magically producing five thousand dollars a week, I’m going to need to go back to wherever that was and dance again?—

A hand grabs my arm, and I yelp.

I'm barely able to react before I’m yanked hard into an alley.

Panic explodes in my chest as my back slams against the brick wall, my breath leaving me in a sharp gasp.

The same two guys from the other night—Grigori Popov’s men—leer down at me.

“Well, now,” the taller one sneers, his lip curled. “Look what we have here.”

His partner leans in, his gaze trailing down my body. “You been avoiding us, little girl?”

I shake my head frantically, heart slamming against my ribs. “It—it hasn’t been a week yet!”

The taller one smirks. “If you don’t have itnow, I’m not sure how thefuckyou think you’re going to get it in two?—”

“I have it!” I blurt.

Well, most of it.

With trembling fingers, I dig into my bag, pulling out the envelope I was handed as I was dropped off the other night.

It’s not the full five grand. I mean, we had toeat, and I pulled a thousand out to set aside for rent. That’s why I’ve been working up the nerve to text the contact again, asking when I can dance again for more money.

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