Page 1 of Dance with Death

Prologue

Nikolai

2 ½ Years Ago

Crimson circles thedrain beneath my feet. With my head bowed beneath the flow of water, I scrub the dried blood from my matted hair. I hadn’t planned to get my hands dirty on this latest business trip, but it had proven necessary.

I had to disband an entire factory after one of our commodities escaped. The local authorities had zeroed in on our site in Budapest after the young blonde money-maker somehow got away from the men I paid to steal her, keep her, and train her.

She went to a local hospital and the police were called in to take her statement on what she had told them was a kidnapping.

It was.

But if she’d known better, she would’ve kept her mouth shut. Needless to say, the girl has…disappeared, as has the police report she filed.

All of my Budapest commodities are gone.

Decommissioned, so to speak.

I’ve potentially lost hundreds of thousands that could’ve been made from these female assets. They were the reason I had blood on my hands. But they weren’t all a loss. I was able to recirculate half the girls through my family’s other factories in Prague and Minsk.

My stress is at an all-time high. This is not how I expected my trip to turn out. I’m not exactly looking forward to explaining to the board why the Mikhailovs no longer have a factory in Budapest. Furthermore, it will give my father a reason to blame me for any losses we incur next quarter, regardless of the fact that his needless interferences were the reason our sales tanked last quarter. All of this on top of the fact that I’ve returned home to deal with a surly talent slave who continues to deny me her submission.

I toss my hair back as I lift my head from beneath the flow of the waterfall showerhead. I blink the water away from my eyes and movement from within my private en suite bathroom catches my attention. I turn my head and stare through the steam-fogged glass enclosure.

I can see that it’s myrabynya, and I can feel her there as well. Her fear of me is still palpable and it makes me hard, but it also frustrates me. She’s a fighter, and though she’s become reluctantly obedient, I haven’t yet earned her full submission.

But then, why is she here?

I watch her standing there in the doorway that links my bedroom and bathroom, and she watches me, too. I finish cleansing myself, scrubbing away the blood that dried on my skin during my long journey back from Budapest. Blood she’ll never know had been present at all.

As I rinse the last of the soap from my skin, she takes a step, moving from where she wavered in the doorway to firmly plant herself in my bathroom.

I dip my head beneath the water to hide my smirk. I turn off the water a few moments later and pop open the shower door, reaching out to pull a white towel from the bar on the wall. I scrub it over my hair briefly before wrapping it around my waist. I step out, dampness coating my skin, knowing the shine will highlight the lines of my muscles to aid in luring her in.

I walk to her, stopping just in front of where she stands. I look down at her bowed head, wondering if this is the moment she’s chosen to show her submission, to give me her loyalty.

I wait.

She lets out a sigh and then takes off her shirt. She’s bare beneath. I fight the urge to smack her perky little mound and twist her nipple until she screams for me to stop, but I force myself to stay still.

She takes off her cotton shorts next, the ones that mold to her beautiful, rounded ass and creep upward when she dances in them. I should be surprised when her panties come down, when I suddenly find her naked in front of me, but I’m not.

I knew this day would come.

I let her linger this way, in her own purgatory where she came to me needy and waits for me—bare and vulnerable—to give her what she wants.

“Tell me what you want,rabynya.”

I already know what she wants.

Attention.

Affection.

Comfort.

Touch that brings her pleasure instead of pain.

---