All of my choices had been stripped from me except for one. Dance or die.
Three years ago, I was taken, stolen away, far from the world I knew, far from civilization. I became a slave, forced to serve one of the four families with my talent.
I’d been abused, battered, tortured in isolation. My master brought me men, partners for performance, but they failed to live up to the high standard of dance my master required.
Until one day, he brought me a new man. A blond-haired, green-eyed, dreamy new man who had no idea what was coming.
The men before him had disappeared. I presumed they were dead. I couldn’t afford myself the luxury of hoping they’d made it out alive because that would give me hope that I might someday do the same.
Hope was a dangerous thing and this new man’s spirit still thrummed with that electric spark of lightness. I would be the woman to strip that hope from him piece by tiny piece until he had none left. Only then could I control him, use him. Only then could I even consider the possibility of a predictable, complacent survival in this nightmare life.
And until that time came, I would make the only choice I was given the liberty of making.
Dance or die.