Page 27 of Dance with Death

I want to go back.

Take me back to Nikolai!

This cold room at the bottom of the stairs is no larger than the bedroom I was given at Mikhailov Manor. To my left is a concrete wall that matches the concrete floor.

But to my right…To my right…

I hear Vigo’s footfalls on the steps behind me and I whirl around, crashing into his chest as he lands on the bottom step.

“I’m a good slave. You know I am. You don’t have to lock me in down here. I won’t attempt an escape. I promise you. Ipromise.”

He smiles down at me sinfully with his hands behind his back. “Oh, I know you are a good slave.But this is where I keep my dolls. This is your new home,la mia bambola Russa.”

I swallow hard as he steps forward, forcing me to step back, his chest pressing against me heavy and insistent. He moves steadily and I move with him, though I don’t want to.

Beside me is a floor-to-ceiling wall of plexiglass, divided into three separate compartments, each only just wide enough to fit a twin-sized mattress.

And in each of the three boxes are women.

One in each box.

They look starved, tired, lonely, seething. I’m sure there are a plethora of other terms which could be used to describe them, but I simply can’t name them all. They each sit slumped in their corners, shaking, fearful, eyes trained on Vigo as they cast surreptitious glances beneath their lashes with their bowed heads.

A bright light shines overhead in each of the transparent cubicles, illuminating their crude living quarters. A blanket and pillow, stained and dirty, on top of a thin mattress on the floor. A small metal toilet in the corner. Holes drilled into the plexiglass at head height for air and to speak through. Metal dog bowls sit on the cold, hard concrete flooring.

Vigo moves until my back slams into the far wall, the last of the three boxes beside me. I jump at the pressure of Vigo’s aura as it pulses blood lust after me.

“Please,” I beg, bowing my head, ashamed, contrite, desperate.

“I think you’ve been spoiled,” he says to me. “I think you have a bit of a chip on your shoulder. You think you’re cold and dead inside and that nothing can hurt you. Well, I will be glad to be the one to educate you. I can always find a way to hurt you more. There is a bit of a problem with your accommodation, though.”

“P-problem...?” I stutter.

What’s happening to me?

I don’t stutter.

I’m confident.

I’m concise.

Iwas, but perhaps here, I am not.

He tilts his head toward the third cage. “The problem is there’s already a doll living in your house.”

The girl inside senses her presence has been noted. She slowly stands from where she sat in the corner but she doesn’t step forward.

“Each of my dolls gets their own private space. But I suppose my math was a bit off when I purchased you. You see, I now have four dolls, you included, but only three doll houses. Of course, there is only one reasonable way to fix this problem…”

My inhale is shaky.

He presses against me, pinning me to the wall with his body, though his hands remain behind his back.

What’s behind his back?

“Well? Aren’t you going to ask about my brilliant solution?”

Unwillingly, I ask, “W-what’s your solution?”

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