Page 57 of Dance with Death

Hurl myself over the balcony’s edge.

It’s a morbid thought, but it comes naturally.

It’s a stupid thought, though. I’d probably survive the fall, only to injure myself further and suffer more in Vigo’s captivity.

But there are other ways to do it…other ways to end it.

Oh, God.

Ezra can’t save me.

No one can.

I want to spare us both further misery.

Fighting for my survival is only prolonging our pain.

I don’t know if I can keep fighting.

I’m exhausted, hollow, and just fucking tired of this captive existence.

I want to be done.

I want to end it all.

Chapter 15

Anya

I resentfully puta hand on Vigo’s shoulder for balance as he bends before me, latching the metal cuff around my ankle and locking the padlock that secures it to my leg. The standing mirror shows our reflection and I see how empty my soul is through my eyes. They used to be a vibrant shade of sapphire and now they are a cool, gray-blue, open wide and vacant.

Did they look that way before I saw Ezra tonight?

Vigo stands, turning to face the mirror and blocking my reflection as he combs his fingers through his wavy hair. Then, he straightens his jacket.

I can’t help but to think that mirror would shatter nicely into sharp edges.

“I’ll return in a couple of hours.Just keep quiet and don’t do anything stupid, hmm?”

Vigo turns to me, slipping an arm around my waist and drawing me close. I turn my head away so I don’t have to look at him, but he grabs my chin and forces me to regardless.

“Do not worry, little doll.Papàwill return to take care of you.” His hand slips down over my ass and squeezes. “I might even be generous tonight and let you come on my cock if you behave yourself.”

I’m tempted to laugh.

To think that the pleasure of coming on Vigo Vittori’s cock should be incentive enough to change my mind about killing myself is absurd.

Kill myself?

Have I decided to kill myself?

I swallow the retort that threatens. I don’t really have it in me anymore to spare the energy and I’m just ready to be done.

But am I really ready?

He’s disappointed in my lack of response, though he doesn’t let on. He enjoys knowing he’s tormented me into responding out of anger or fear or frustration, and I’ve learned that denying him that gratification makesmefeel better on some level.

He shoves me backward and I stumble, landing roughly on the bed behind me. He gives me a look, almost as if he knows what I’ve been thinking about, but thankfully, he leaves without another word.

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