Page 28 of Dance with Death

His face brightens with a demented sort of smile and it twists nausea through my stomach. He steps back and moves toward the third cage. The woman inside moves away, pressing her back against the far wall. Her hair is pulled into two, long, tangled pigtails, as though it’s been some time since it’s been brushed. She wears a simple cotton dress—reminiscent of child’s clothing—with a plain A-line shape that ends at the knees.

She’s visibly trembling as Vigo approaches. I watch as he enters a number into another keypad. The door pops and opens just a crack. Vigo is careful not to show me what he’s hiding, keeping his back turned away from me. I expect to see the girl attempt an escape as Vigo steps back, making a clear exit for her.

But she doesn’t.

She shakes her head viciously, eyes wide and wild, shivering in fear of him.

What has he done to her?

My God.

What will he do to me?

“Get in,” Vigo commands me.

“Please…please…” I beg him.

“Begging is disrespectful. It’s weak and pathetic. Are you weak and pathetic, my little Russian doll?”

I take in a quick breath and pause before speaking, making sure my voice comes out steady and calm. “No.”

“Then, get in.”

My mind screams at me to run, to fight, to cower, but I manage to move my body forward despite the screaming sirens in my brain. My eyes well up with fearful tears as I step across the threshold from the open space into the transparent box.

The other woman and I both jump at the sound of metal clanging against the concrete floor. Vigo has tossed in a kitchen knife. My eyebrows bend in confusion, but then the hinged plexiglass shuts and I whirl around, slamming my palms against it.

“Anya, pick up the knife and kill her.” Vigo grins. “Do it quick…before she decides to kill you with it first.”

He steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. His head tilts to the side. His honey-brown eyes burn into something resembling hellfire.

When I hear the blade slide against concrete, I whip around to see the woman holding the knife. She backs into the corner again like a feral animal, though she holds it at her side, pointing the tip outward toward me.

Oh, God.

My breath catches and stutters in my chest. My heart races at lightning speed. My sudden distress signals my body to pump adrenaline, hard and fast, through my veins.

My life is in immediate danger and I have to protect myself. I don’t even feel the pain in my ankle as I rush backward, stepping onto the thin mattress so that I can press my back to the opposite corner.

Why didn’t I pick up the knife?

Oh, God.

She’s going to kill me!

My mind prepares for a fight, but then the woman starts to cry. Streams of tears fall like waterfalls down her pale, sunken cheeks.

I don’t know what she’s thinking, if she’s about to attack me or crumble into a sobbing mess. Her anguish tempts my own, and though it nearly makes me want to give up, give in, let her rush me with her blade and end what’s left of my life, I know that I can’t. That fight that Ezra brought back to life within me rears back and roars through my heart.

Yours.I can hear his voice inside my mind and it refuses to be ignored.

I stand defensively, ready to fight her for the knife and kill her if it’s what I have to do.

But I will wait for her to make the first move.

And shedoesmake the first move.

Only it’s not the move I expect.

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