Page 52 of Dance with Death

He pushes to his feet and my armor locks into place. I stand and square off with him as he steps toward me. I force a sneer, though I’m aching as much as he is.

I don’t ache.

Nothing hurts me.

My father’s voice echoes around me.Ambivalent, pansy-ass, pretty boy.

“You handed her over to him. Whatever happens to her now is your fault.” His fists clench at his sides.

“Of course it is,” I agree. “I own her, I choose what happens in her life.”

“You don’t own her anymore. He does!” Ezra shouts. He points a finger behind him through his outstretched hand, aiming toward where he left the phone, as if Vigo were standing there himself. “He chooses if she lives or dies now! He chooses if he hurts her, helps her, treats her like a fucking toy. And it’s all because you weren’t man enough to face the fact that she doesn’t love you, doesn’t want you. She knows how weak you really are. Beneath the orders and the threats, you’re nothing, and she knew that.”

I feel like a cornered wolf and that’s how I behave. I bare my teeth at him, practically growling a warning at him before I attack. I rise from my chair and he stands as I swiftly move toward him. I slap both my palms against his chest and slam him hard against the wall behind him.

He flips his wrists between my arms, knocking my hands off, but I come right back, pressing my forearm against his neck. I shift my arm to jab my elbow into the hollow of his throat before he tries to throw me off again. I press in.

My face is an inch from his as I dig into the spot. “I’m not nothing. I ameverything.Everything you wish you could be, everything she wishes she could come back to now. Maybe with Vigo, the bitch will understand how good she had it with me. I’m happy for her to live with the regret of her choices for the rest of her life.”

“I don’t even know how to respond to such bullshit. You’re a bullshitting, motherfucking, son of a bitch, Nikolai. You’re pathetic.”

I tilt my head, pressing harder with my elbow. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re a fucking slave. I can kill you and no one would care. Yet you still push and push andfuckingpush me.”

Ezra’s eyes narrow to slits and mine do the same as he snarls, “You took away the best thing that ever happened to me. I have nothing left to lose.”

I’m rage filled.

Indignant.

My blood boils and hates and loathes.

And it pulses that shameful lust through my veins.

My mouth crashes on Ezra’s before I even know what the hell I’m doing. I’ve taken him off guard and he stills, rigid in my hold as I press my lips to his. I kiss him long enough to inhale and exhale one trembling breath. Then I step back and whirl away from him, stalking across the room as he stands there in a stupor. I bend, pick up my phone from the floor, and type out a text on the newly cracked screen.

NIKOLAI:Bring her to the next quarterly meeting. I’ll bring the boy. Let them torture each other with their pathetic longing. They deserve it.

Chapter 14

Anya

I’ve been oneof Vigo’s broken dolls for a total of three months now. I only know this because I’m on my way to the next quarterly meeting of the four families as Vigo’s escort.

The Campbells’ estate is nestled and hidden away safely in the Louisiana bayou, somewhere near New Orleans. Though I’m told it doesn’t belong to the Campbells anymore. The American family is now headed by the Leblancs—still descendants of the founding Campbell family by blood, but no longer by name. They’d given power to the son of a Campbell sister whose name had changed to Leblanc by marriage.

There was a reason females weren’t allowed to be the Head of House for their family, and it was because they might marry off and change their names. It would be an upheaval to the family name that held its reputation with the powerful elite—from buyers and sellers, politicians and law enforcement. Of course, any logical person might ask why the women simply choose not to change their names when they marry. The only answer that would be given was that it’s because of tradition.

Thus, this change from Campbell to Leblanc strikes me as unexpected. It’s unusual—an uncharacteristically dramatic change in leadership. I don’t know the details of why it happened or what it means or if it means anything at all.

Honestly, I couldn’t care less.

The only thing I care about right now is the fact that I’m clean, fed, out of that godforsaken box with the ability to move and walk and talk. As Vigo’s escort, I’m at least given the grace of being cared for enough to look decent for the Leblancs’ talent and reception. I’m only ever out of the box when Vigo wants to play with me. Thatalwaysmeans being drugged.

I suppose I should be grateful that he gives each of his dolls time enough to recover between doses, though recovery only involves wallowing in fear trapped inside a clear, plastic box.

In three months’ time, he’s stripped all substance from within me, leaving me a broken, hollow shell of a woman who wishes daily for the release of death.

I’m not entirely sure why Vigo is bringing me with him to this quarterly meeting. Having been stripped of my talent, I’m no longer considered a talent slave. Talent slaves travel with their family to the meetings, but I suppose I didn’t really know what to expect belonging to the Vittoris. They’re the only family who keeps multiple slaves in their home for themselves. I think they enjoy creating their own rules.

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