Page 26 of Dance with Death

Chapter 8

Anya

There’s a partof me that wants to fall to my knees, grovel, and beg for Vigo not to take me behind that metal door. I want to plead with him, tell him I’ve been trained well, that I’ve been a good slave for Nikolai, and that I’ll be compliant, obedient—I’ll be better than I was on the plane.

God, what has my life become?

Nikolai has been slowly sucking the life out of me for years, edging me into submission until I gave in completely. Yes, I had fucked up falling for Ezra, bringing him into my bed, betraying Nikolai’s trust, but I’d been a model captive before my indiscretion. I had paid my dues. I’d earned graces in his home, been trusted to do what I was told, was given freedom to go about my business when Nikolai was working.

Some sort of righteous indignation rises suddenly in my chest, an oddly placed feeling of superiority that I was a slave who should be treated better than Vigo’s usual standards.

But it’s stupid to feel this way.

A slave is a slave. I belong to Vigo now—he’s the master of my fate. Still, it’s hard to shake that feeling and it upsets me more when I realize where it comes from.

Ezra.

He had built me up, made me feel proud, cherished, loved,worthy.Ezra has efficiently and viciously ruined me with his love.

Ihatehow he’s ruined me.

But fuck, how I miss him, want him, love him with every ounce of pain his turbulent presence has brought into my otherwise predictable slavery.

Mine?

Could he still be mine if he no longer exists in my world?

Vigo holds out his arm, drawing me from my chaotic swirl of emotions, and beckons me forward. I move slowly, knowing there’s no use in fighting it, though I still wish I could.

I reach Vigo and peer beyond him. There’s a dark staircase beyond the door and looking down it makes my heart stop beating.

“Down,” he commands. “Go.”

I’m terrified to find out what’s at the bottom of that staircase. The walls against either side of the steps are painted solid black. I can see a light shining from the landing at the bottom, but all that’s visible is a light-gray concrete floor. My heart starts beating again with a jumpstart that makes my pulse thrum, pounding behind my ears, beating out the message that there is danger here.

Run.

Run far and fast.

I will my beating heart to slow because I can’t run from this. I press a hand over my chest and close my eyes, inhaling a steadying breath so I can focus on one step at a time in this nightmare.

But then Vigo kicks at the heel of my uninjured foot and I snap my eyes open, quickly reaching out to grasp the doorframe with both hands. With most of my weight on my good foot, his incessant tapping at my heel threatens my balance.

“Time is tick, tick, ticking away. Go now,” he says, timing the way his toes tap against my heel with histicks.

I make myself do what I have to do.

Slowly, I descend, leaning all my weight against the rail as I hop down the steps. It’s embarrassing to be so inelegant in my movement. My pride is in my grace, and I’ve lost all of it with this one dreadful injury.

Hop after hop, step after step, I arrive in the basement. I no longer need to put all my intent and focus on making it down the stairs and so, it shifts to taking in my surroundings.

I see, but I wish I could unsee.

“I’ll be right down. Forgot something,” Vigo calls from the top of the steps.

No.

No, no, no.

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