Michaels came forward, holding my bicep, supporting me while trying to push me back into bed. “Don’t be an idiot, Prest. You need rest. Your body is in desperate need of healing—”
“And I’m in desperate need of killing someone. It’s either that French bastard or you.”
When he didn’t take his hands off me, I shoved him aside and stood. I ignored the rush of black spots in my vision. I gulped back the crest of sickness and agony. I locked my knees against my unbalanced stumble and embraced the pain—mixing it with rage to make a cocktail that even I feared.
Shoving my nose in his, I snarled, “Choose. Them or you. Because if you get in my way, it’s you.”
Holding up his hands, Michaels backed off. His face etched with frustration. “Fine. You want to undo all my hard work and screw up your body, be my guest.” Throwing a look at Selix, he grabbed his bag and stormed to the door. “When he’s enlisted some common sense or passed out, come find me.”
He stalked to the door and slammed it with a harsh smack.
Good fucking riddance.
Selix stood there, watching as I seethed and plotted my next move.
Pim had been taken by French men. Their accent hadn’t been French Canadian. It wasn’t fake or second language. It’d been pure and from birth.
They were frogs born to frog leg country.
Natives to the country only a short sail away from England.
Not bothering to hide my indecency, I limped to my wardrobe, daring Selix to say something. Every footstep killed my ankle, elbow, shoulder, head, ribs—fucking everything—but I wouldn’t stop. I wouldn’t give in or relax or permit any kindness toward me.
Not until Pim was found and safe once again.
Not until blood ran in her honour.
So help me God.
Chapter Two
______________________________
Pimlico
EVERYTHING WAS WRONG.
From the metallic fur on my tongue, to the dehydration headache behind my eyes, to the utter silence of being in a house instead of a yacht, right down to the horror of being a prisoner yet again.
Old habits had instantly kicked into gear the moment I’d awoken in this room a couple of hours ago. My fingers craved a pen to write to No One, when over the past few weeks, I’d barely had the urge as Elder was my No One now. My voice switched from newfound gift to mute preservation. My skin crawled beneath my ballgown, fearing that at any moment, Alrik would walk in and strip me from it. That I’d be made to live life all over again naked and silent and terrified.
In fairness to the space, it was nothing like the stark white mansion I’d been imprisoned in before. The atmosphere here was elegant and inviting. The bed soft and pillow filled, the bathroom stocked with delicious smelling shampoos and conditioners. It wasn’t a jail...more like a hotel suite, dripping in understated wealth and femininity.
But no matter what illusions the soft silver rugs and duck egg blue couches tried to paint, it couldn’t ease my panic. The walls kept me against my will. The windows barricaded me from fleeing. This place wasn’t my friend, so I didn’t treat it as such.
Even though my system drenched me with past rules of kneeling and submitting and begging for mercy, I’d investigated and torn apart every inch. I’d marched to the floor-to-ceiling windows, rattled the panes, and searched for a weak spot to shatter and jump from the three-story cage. When that failed, I ran to the door and jiggled the handle, inserting pins from my tumbled down hair and doing my best to pick the lock.
I hadn’t succeeded.
But it didn’t matter.
Clutching to hope and ignoring desperation, I’d thrown up rugs for trap doors.
I’d ripped open drawers for weapons.
I’d demolished the bed, looking for anything that could save me.
And nothing.
The suite remained soft and romantic—almost apologetic for keeping me trapped in its refinement.
Stress pounded my heart, reminding me of another time when I’d flown like a wild captured bird in a tiny prison. Déjà vu of the week’s spent at the QMB hotel waiting to be sold made me dry-mouthed and panicky. I’d gone over every nook and cranny of that room, and the only thing I’d found was a chewed-on pencil.
No One had been born from that lucky find. My mind had found a way to save itself even if it couldn’t save my body. But in here, paper and pens and make-up and books and everything a normal, cosy bedroom should have existed.
There was nothing to say what my future held other than I’d woken up in a strange dimension where Elder had been shot and I’d been stolen.
Why?
Why was I here?
Where was here?
What could I do to leave here?
One thing was for sure, I wouldn’t sit and write notes to No One like before. This time, I would fight tooth and fucking claw to get free. I flat out refused to be sold again or inducted into yet another twisted ownership.
I wasn’t a belonging or broken toy anymore. The French man who’d kidnapped me, believing he was my rescuer and living in fantasy denial, would curse the day he’d torn my happy new world apart.
He’ll pay.
My God, I’ll make him pay.
Somewhere deep inside, a furnace cranked hot. My past fears, doing their best to drag me into the darkness from which I’d crawled, morphed into something drastic and fierce.
Consequences no longer mattered.
Terror at fighting back and earning retribution no longer factored.
If I died while refusing to accept this new reality, then so be it.
I was no longer afraid.
Of death.
Of pain.
Of monsters.
All I feared was Elder and if he had died never knowing my fate.
I’m sorry if I get myself killed while trying to escape, Elder, but if you’re dead too...then I guess, I’ll see you soon.
The angry heat in my belly climbed up my spine, threatening rage-filled tears.
I didn’t let them fall.
I couldn’t dwell on Elder’s aliveness or death...not yet.
With my arms locked around my waist, I came to a reluctant stop in front of the large windows. I glowered at the view, despising the quaint garden lovingly manicured with hedges and fruit trees. Birds flittered left and right, uncaring that this place was home to a beast who’d broken apart true love.
The crinkle of my ballgown as I hugged myself harder broke my heart.
The silky satin embellished with its crimson and navy battling-bruising colours hadn’t been stripped from me even as I’d lain unconscious. The bodice remained torn and held together thanks to Elder’s hastily applied cravat.
Beneath the heavy finery, I was sticky with old sweat and sex, and my bare feet were cold. I wouldn’t deny that while ransacking the bathroom, I’d eyed up the shower in longing.
But what was the point in washing when I had nothing to put on afterward? I would never wear the simple clothing hanging in multiple sizes in the wardrobe. I wouldn’t accept any form of gifts from this kidnapper.
Alrik had denied me clothes, yet whoever this new asshole was offered me dresses as if I were some kind of Barbie doll.
Not going to happen.
I would remain dirty. I would hope to God I stunk to high heaven if he ever thought of touching me. I would embrace my sex-tangled hair and smudged make-up and residue of Elder's pleasure on my inner thighs because I didn’t belong to this new bastard.
I belonged to myself.
I belonged to Elder.
But his name isn’t Elder...
The thought came from nowhere, plucked from the mayhem of what’d happened that night. My fingernails dug into my bodice.
Miki.
The Chinmoku had called him Miki.
Elder had been upfront about having another name, just as I did. In fact, the similarities between us were mind boggling when I took a step back and compared notes. We had lost our fathe
rs. We had a mother who wasn’t perfect. We lived a life less ordinary than others.
And the most terrifying similarity of all? In some laughable, strange twist of fate?
I was named Minnie Mouse after my dad’s watch present, and Elder...is called Miki.
I shook my head in disbelief.
Mickey and Minnie.
Could there be any more outlandish hints that fate had been the driving force bringing us together? That our meeting wasn’t just opportune or spontaneous? Life had pushed us together for a purpose. For a reason.
I’d written to him for years as No One. And even before he was No One, we shared the same pairing of names, forever binding us to a beloved Disney couple.
And despite all that written-in-the-stars kind of thing, we’ve been torn apart!
I laughed out loud, looking at the ceiling. Exasperated, frustrated, mad, sad, confused.
I was every spectrum of emotion but finally one was missing.
Fear.
Every trace had vanished.
Now, I was angry.
So, so angry.
I pitied whoever came to touch me because they’d be leaving with no fingers.
The click of a lock whipped my head around just as the door opened and a woman in a cute black and white maid’s uniform appeared. Her eyes shot to the dishevelled bed, searching. When she didn’t find me in the torn coverlets, her gaze quickly tracked across the shoved aside furniture and skew-whiff rugs to where I stood in my cascading bruised gown, looking just as rumpled as the rest of the room.
She swallowed, flicking a small smile while questions decorated her pretty face. Round nose, wide eyes, neat and tidy brown hair. She carried a small tray with a plate laden with a thick sandwich and crisps. “Ah, you’re awake.”
Two scenarios I could choose.
One, I could stay where I was and allow her to call the shots. I could play meek and lull her into thinking I wouldn’t fight back. I could be the Pimlico Alrik had created.
Or two.
And I like this one much better.
I could attack now.
I could show her that they’d stolen the wrong girl. That I’d lived this life, and I absolutely refused to live it again. I didn’t care women were involved in this instance. I didn’t care her smile was kind and encouraging. I didn’t care that the vibe of this house was welcoming instead of torturous.
I didn’t care.
All I cared about was Elder and getting back to him. Of finding him hopefully alive and allowing fate to give us what it so obviously wanted.
I was done with this nonsense.
I’m done letting others dictate my life.
Gathering my skirts in clawed fists, I swooped toward her. My bare feet brushed silently, winging me quickly, transforming her smile into a shock of worry.
She back-stepped, crockery clinking on her tray.
Trapping her against the wall by the open door, I snarled, “Let me go. Right now.”
She held up the tray as a barrier, shooting a quick glance at me, the exit, then to the sideboard beside her. “Before we work on your demands, can I put this down?”
Her stubborn, unflustered response rattled me a little. Not used to being the aggressor, I struggled to stay curt and rude rather than step out of her personal space and apologise.
I trembled with right and wrong, hoping like hell I hid the battle it took to stand up to her. “I don’t care what you do. Just move away from the door and I won’t hurt you.”
Nodding as if she was used to violent outbursts from ballgowned prisoners, she carefully placed the unwanted food onto the table and held out her palms in pacification. “It’s okay. No one is going—”
“Stop it!” I snapped. Her soft, sweet voice wriggled through my anger, begging me to believe in kindness and not cruelty. She was the worst kind of prison guard as she made me feel like the bad guy for demanding my release.
She couldn’t be permitted to brainwash me or to steal my anger when I’d worked so hard to find it.
Everything I did from now on was to get back to Elder. Having someone to fight toward gave me another shot of courage and rage, and I did something I never thought I was capable of.
I grabbed her around the throat.
I snatched her like Alrik had snatched me so many times before and squeezed. My tightening fingers hurt the tendons in my wrist, screaming partly in regret for laying my hand on her and partly in annoyance that I didn’t have enough strength to kill her.
Swallowing my remorse and nausea at hurting another, I hissed, “Keep your lies. Keep your food. No one is going to touch me. Not you. Not the man who stole me. No one.” Ignoring the muscle spasm in my forearm from squeezing, I forced myself to be ruthless even when I wanted to let go and sprint to the other side of the room. Prior conditioning and past slavery were so, so hard to overcome.
But I did it.
Because of Elder.
Slightly out of breath, I trembled. “I’m going to walk out of here. Do you hear me?”
Her throat worked beneath my fingers. “I hear you.”
“Good.”
I didn’t know the next stage of my plan. I hadn’t thought this through.
I really should have.
At least the door was open and the first stage of my escape was in motion.
“Come.” Jerking her away from the wall, I spun her around and grabbed the neat bun at the base of her skull. I couldn’t continue to strangle her from this position, but I yanked hard on her hair so she knew I would find some other way to maim. “Show me the way out.”
Shame coated my insides. Loathing that I’d stepped into Alrik’s shoes almost made me let go.
Almost.
I’d redeem myself once I was free. I’d repent for hurting another. But not right now.
“You know...you don’t have to do this.” The girl stepped forward thanks to my pressure. “It’s not what you think. We’re not going to hurt—”
I jerked her again, earning a pained squeak. “I’m not listening. I’m not interested in your food or lies. You’re showing me the way out of here, and that’s it.” I pushed her faster.
“You’re not being held against your will, you know. You can just—”
I yanked on her hair again, shutting her up.
I had no intention of letting her finish any sentence because each time she talked, my stomach somersaulted and my fingers begged to unwind from her bun.
I hated being the abuser.
“Could’ve fooled me.” I shoved her into the corridor, taking swift notes of space and money and rooms branching off with equally nice boudoirs. “The door was locked. If I’m not being held against my will, why couldn’t I leave when I wanted to?”
Why are you asking her questions?
Shut up and focus.
“We do that at the beginning. We never know how mentally broken our guests will be. It’s for our safety and theirs.”
If she was so worried about her safety, why deliver food on her own? Why not have a bodyguard to defend her and stop me from doing exactly what I was doing?
Ignoring those unhelpful questions, I marched her quicker. “Guests?” I laughed coldly, eyeing up the staircase in the distance. “Funny word for captives, don’t you think?”
“You’re not our captive. You were a captive. Not anymore.”
“Wrong. I was in love, and some asshole didn’t listen to me.”
Her momentum stalled. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not excused.” Pushing her again, I never took my attention off the midnight blue carpeted staircase. I wanted to leave. My skin crawled with the need. My heart panted for freedom. She was my shield and weapon all in one.
Fingers crossed I didn’t run into anyone else, but if I did, at least I was armed with her life and no longer had any morals about hurting someone after I’d been hurt for so long.
I would most likely retch up the empty contents of my stomach, but I would do it...if I’m forced.
/> “I think—I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” my prisoner murmured. “What’s your name?”
We reached the landing and I shoved her down the first steps. “My name isn’t important.”
“Mine’s Suzette.”
I didn’t want to think about her as a girl with a name. I didn’t want to know anything about her other than she was keeping me from finding Elder. What if he’d drowned when he fell overboard? What if the Phantom staff had been murdered by the Chinmoku? What if everything I knew was gone all because some asshole decided to claim me for himself?
The penny-diamond bracelet Elder had given me tinkled on my wrist, fissuring my heart with worry. I deliberately refused to imagine him dead. I kept the picture of him alive and happy in my mind. But as my dress whispered behind me, slithering down steps to a foyer I didn’t recognise, I struggled to swallow back heavy washing grief.
“Did you hear me? My name is Suzette and I’m—”
“Good for you. I don’t care what your name is.” I injected venom into my tone. “If you’re trying to make me see you as a person and not a tool to get out of here, it’s not going to work.”
“No.” She shook her head, forcing my hand to move with her. “I’m just trying to figure this out.”
“Well, figure it out silently.”
God, how long are these stairs?
They meandered around in a circle, imposing and romantic, the perfect backdrop for some epic love scene.
My mind taunted me with images of Elder before he was bloody and shot. He’d been so dashing and handsome in his tux. I wanted to hold that image forever and delete the god-awful splash as he flew overboard with a bullet wedged in his body.
My anger cauldroned into sick rage. I twisted my victim’s hair.
This is your fault.
“Ow.” She squirmed, trotting down the stairs faster, her hand coming to land over mine in rebuttal. “I’ll help you. You don’t have to hurt me.”
“Give me my freedom and I’ll give you yours. I’ll even apologise.”
I’ll apologise every night for years.
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