Page 17 of Dance with Death

Ezra’s been set free from his bindings and I see him at the entrance, screaming at Nikolai. He sees our car and he rushes down the steps and out onto the driveway, running toward us.

No.

Go back inside.I shake my head, wishing he could hear my internal thoughts.

His rash actions always make everything worse.

Yet, in the same way, they make everything better.

I watch the man I love chase after me, though we both know he’ll never reach me. It’s one final moment, one finalI love youto wrap around my heart before the ice freezes it solidly in place.

I watch as Ezra drops to his knees in defeat, knowing the impossibility of the situation. Then I force myself to turn around, press my eyes shut to harden myself, and turn back into the cold, hard bitch I was before Ezra appeared in my life as a slave.

Within that cold hardness lies contempt, returning quickly and rising a ball of indignation in my chest. I look over at Vigo to show him my disdain. Our eyes connect, but all I see is a dangerous sort of humor where my heartache, to him, is entertainment.

He lifts his arm and stretches it to lay across the back of the seat behind me, leaning in close. “Tell me, what was it about Ezra that made you fall so hard?”

I cross my arms over my chest and turn to look out the window, watching as we pass through the gate at the end of the drive and turn onto a dirt road that cuts through the thick forest.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

He chuckles. “Of course not. It breaks your sad, fragile heart, doesn’t it?”

I glare at him, but he seems disinterested in my reaction.

He pulls his arm back and reaches behind him to grab his cell phone from his back pocket. I look away when disinterest falls naturally into total disregard, and I hope he’s done talking to me. Thankfully, he seems to be, tapping away on his phone screen.

Vigo reminds me of Nikolai in many ways. Both of them are handsome, quite unfortunately disarming in their good looks. Vigo is only a year younger than Nikolai, though he looks nearly a decade more youthful. Nikolai has always let his anger age him, but I know Vigo doesn’t carry the stress of his vileness the same way.

Vigo finds humor in his torment.

His eyes hide his madness, which is all the more unfortunate for the victims who capture his attention. They could bewitch prey into believing they were safe with him. The soft, honey-brown color of his irises are unique in the way they give him a light, warm, youthful appearance. His thick, black hair falls in precisely styled, imperfect curls, framing his face in ebony waves. He’s lean and tall—taller than both Nikolai and Ezra. There’s a certain kind of power he holds in his height alone, being able to look down upon every monster and master he comes into contact with.

He’s smooth, sophisticated, handsome, depraved, and dangerous. But all my time spent with Nikolai has prepared me for whatever is to come from this horrendous beast.

I can survive this.

I can survivehim.

But do I want to?

We follow a winding, dirty path for thirty minutes through the swiftly darkening forest. I know this because there’s a digital clock on the dashboard that allows me to count the minutes as time passes in tense, horrible silence.

From the narrow, dusty car path, surrounded by dense foliage, the forest opens without warning onto a clearing. The car crawls forward into the large circle of open space, angling off to the left as it moves forward toward the black tarmac at its core. A helipad exists in the center and resting upon it is a helicopter. This is the only way to escape the Mikhailovs’ land. The helicopter doesn’t stay here—it only comes when Nikolai calls for it.

The car creeps to a stop, and as the engine cuts off, the propellers of the helicopter whir into life, beginning a slow spiral above the craft. Vigo and Kostya slip out of the car without a word to me. I scoot across the seats to the other side of the car and peer out the window, letting my eyes transfix on the propeller blades as they move.

My one and only method of escape is coming to life in front of me. But instead of taking me away to safety, it will take me into a captivity that’s likely worse than I dare to imagine.

The trunk is slammed shut before I even realize it was opened, the sound of it startles me. Kostya drags my suitcase toward the helicopter as Vigo approaches the sedan, flinging the door open beside me. I flinch as he thrusts his hand inside, beckoning me.

“Come,” he orders.

I shrink away from his outstretched hand. There’s an independent woman in me that I suppose Ezra brought back to the surface—she scoffs at the gentlemanly offer to assist me from the vehicle. I want to balk at the offer, but then I realize that I do actually require assistance. I nearly start crying, realizing how Nikolai has disabled me, hopefully only temporarily.

I sigh, taking his hand in resignation, and I carefully shuffle out of the car. I’m thankful for my dancer’s balance as I’m forced to stand on one foot, the gravel surface proving to be an uneven and uncomfortably lumpy landing. He doesn’t offer me the cane he’d taken from Nikolai’s office before we left.

Did Kostya put it in the helicopter with my suitcase?

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