I shivered as the same hand that vibrated with violence fell back onto my body. One moment, vicious and resolute with cruelty, the next, serene and tranquilizing.
Master A poured himself another bourbon and slammed it down. His brittle hatred moved like glass shards in his limbs as he forced himself to remain calm.
Mr. Prest didn’t care. His full attention fell to me again, inching closer, pressing his knee against mine.
I sucked in a breath as his head tilted toward my ear, his heady incense and spice aftershave whipping up my nose like a forest fire. It blazed through my lungs and over my tongue, making me inhale and taste him all at once.
“Tell me, Pimlico, do you like being touched gently or are you used to much rougher handling?” His palm splayed over my thigh, gripping hard enough for me to flinch.
Permanent bruises flared. I held my breath, willing pain receptors to quiet and numbness to take over. I’d enlisted that trick multiple times.
Mr. Prest was cruel and harsh and dominant. But beneath that darkness, he couldn’t fully erase the strangeness lurking deep inside him. I didn’t know if it was a bad strange or good, but he was different from Master A.
That oddity called to me.
Master A flung himself back into the couch, eyeing us with disdain. “I don’t know why you’re bothering. She doesn’t talk. Hit her, hurt her, whisper, or woo her—it’s all the fucking same.”
Mr. Prest brushed his nose against my earlobe, murmuring so Master A couldn’t hear. “You might not use your voice, silent one, but you speak all the same.” The tip of his tongue ran over the highly sensitive flesh from my ear to the start of my jaw. “Want to know what you’ve told me already?” His hand trailed higher up my leg, creeping to the place where I’d been hurt the most.
I’d gone my teenage years with an occasional fumble from an eager boy who’d earned my interest to get close enough to touch. And then, I’d entered womanhood with a brutal rape that’d forever tarnished sex. Everything about men and women coupling was sick and filthy and wrong.
No part of me, under any circumstance, wanted to be touched there. Not by Mr. Prest, not by Master A, and certainly not by any of his dastardly friends.
I hated him for taking liberties. I didn’t want my skin to be alive. I didn’t want my senses to be alive.
I wanted to be numb.
Aloof.
And the audacity of Mr. Prest to make me notice things again, for my heart to beat and my taste buds to fire—it wasn’t fair.
But at least, my body was as repulsed by him as any other man.
I didn’t feel a quickening in my belly. My pussy didn’t clench; my blood didn’t heat. My spirit might hold on, refusing to break, but Master A had broken my body.
Sex was revolting.
Sex was sickening.
Sex was not something I would ever grow to love.
I was sure of it.
It didn’t stop Mr. Prest from brushing his fingertip between my legs. His voice stayed heavy and low. “I’m used to silence, silent one. But you’re not very good at hiding your thoughts from your eyes.” Pulling away, he brushed my chin with his knuckles. “Want me to prove it? I know that you hate me touching you, and you can’t stop the loathing inside you.”
His eyes flickered to Master A as his head bowed close again. He gave the impression that we whispered secrets to each other. “He doesn’t see you like I do. He doesn’t hear you like I do.”
Master A shot upright, clearly ready for this meeting to be over. “I think we’ve covered the finer details. The rest can be done when you drop the contract off for final signature.”
Mr. Prest understood the underlying message.
Leave.
Leaning away from me, he grinned. “Want your slave back so soon?” He patted my leg, antagonising him. “I don’t think you understand the concept of sharing, Alrik.”
I bristled.
I’m not some toy to borrow.
I wasn’t a novelty or tatty doll to play with on a whim then dismember when boredom replaced fascination.
I was in two minds. Mr. Prest had kept my heart catapulting like some renegade siege with his gentle touches and soft commands. I feared him more than I feared Master A. I wanted him gone. Immediately. But a large part of me wanted to continue being petted because it’d been so long since anyone had. I wanted him to free me.
However, I never got what I wanted.
Master A inched closer, glowering at Mr. Prest’s hand on my thigh. “Do you like his touch better than mine, Pim?” His voice was a hazardous rumble. “I’d advise you say you prefer me over this stranger.”
He stared.
I stared.
No reply.
He didn’t deserve to know, even if I did want to speak. I would never prefer him. I wanted to bury his ashes and get every dog in the neighbourhood to piss on his grave. In that respect, yes, I vastly preferred Mr. Prest’s touch, even if he stole rather than requested.
Master A’s temper swirled as silence lingered. “There’s been enough sharing for one night. Time to remember who your real master is. What do you think of that, my sweet Pim?”
Real master.
That meant kicks and whips and chains.
I bowed my head, keeping my face covered.
You told me to obey him.
Anger churned in my chest because I knew no matter what happened in their business agreement, I would be in a world of pain the moment the door closed on Mr. Prest.
Wobbling a little from too many shots of bourbon, Master A stomped from the lounge toward the front foyer.
My heart clicked ‘start’ on a stopwatch, mourning the swiftly ticking seconds before I was hurt again.
One,
two,
three,
four.
Please, don’t let me endure anymore.
Master A bellowed, “Leave, Mr. Prest. Our business is over. Pim and I need to have a little chat.” Glaring over his shoulder, he waited none too subtly to kick Mr. Prest out, all while his gaze hammered knives into my chest.
Mr. Prest’s fingers tightened on my leg, digging perfectly trimmed nails into my skirt. He held the pressure for a second too long, holding his breath.
I daren’t look up. Even though I knew he wanted me to.
He’d yanked more answers from me without speaking than Master A had managed in two years. We had an unspoken understanding between us. A chemistry recognising our connecting similarities. What made us notice each other? Why did I sense as if I could know him…
I hate that you can see my secrets.
But in return, I see some of yours.
His talk of business and weapons weren’t who he was at heart. Such talk was cobwebs and prisms, keeping the truth hidden.
How I knew that, I didn’t know. How he could read me, I didn’t understand.
And it terrified me as much as it intrigued me.
“Return to your master, silent one. I hope to see you again.”
You can’t go.
I…
He released me as he stood. With half a smile, he moved sleek and sedately toward the exit where Master A paced with his arms crossed. I’d never seen him so angry with another man for touching me.
“Come here, Pim.” Master A snapped his fingers, tugging the invisible cord around my throat.
Instantly, I stood on creaking bones, keeping my chin down in taught respect. Only utmost servitude would save me tonight.
Already my blood popped and fizzed with terror. My body wept achy tears at the thought of what would happen. The only thing granting courage to inch across the floor was the intoxicating scent of Mr. Prest and the warm heaviness of his blazer.
I belonged to a beast. But if that was true and Master A was an animal, then Mr. Prest was the game warden. He was the master with the locks and keys and power. He had the jurisdiction to whip such animals into submission, to starve them for bad behaviour, and force them to behave against their base desires.
I didn’t know which was worse.
The animal or the ringleader.
“Get Mr. Prest’s jacket off your worthless fucking body, Pim!” Master A snapped as I padded closer, making me flinch.
My fingers rushed to obey, pulling at the immaculate lapels and slipping the expensive material down my arms.
I mourned the loss of heat and comfort immediately.
Mr. Prest held up his hand. “No, I said she can keep it.” His eyes turned evil as he looked at Master A. “And I do mean that. When I return in a few days, I expect to see she’s still in possession of it. Got that?”
Master A swallowed his rage, unsuccessfully hiding the anger on his face. “Fine.”
“Good.”
Turning his dangerous gaze on me, Mr. Prest murmured, “Until we meet again, silent one. Don’t ruin my gift.” With a last lingering look, he permitted himself to be ushered from the white mansion.
The way Master A kicked him out offered no respect or politeness.
The way Mr. Prest stalked outside extended no gratefulness or acceptance.
Battle lines had been drawn, and I had an awful feeling it’d been because of me.
I hadn’t instigated it.
I wasn’t a spoilt girlfriend flirting with her lover’s acquaintances to cause problems. I was just a girl begging for a quiet existence, wishing to vanish so she never had to see another male again.
Rage from both of them plaited together, buffeting my body as the door slowly swung closed. Rage that would earn me broken parts, and salvaged parts, and parts I wished would just give up living and perish.
Breathing through an oncoming panic attack, I kept my eyes on the final sliver of the driveway.
The last thing I saw, before everything dissolved into a fit of agony, was the terrifying stranger and his powerful back as he walked away.
Chapter Fifteen
Pimlico
The Moment Mr. Prest left, I drifted toward the corridor and staircase.
I’d played my part. I’d been the pawn in Master A’s business transaction.
I was done.
“Oh, Piiiimmm.” Master A’s taunt rang out behind me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
My back straightened even as adrenaline shot down my legs. Every instinct screamed for me to run. Run and hide and get as far away as possible.
But I wouldn’t run.
I never ran.
Because running was a weakness, and I was many things, but I refused to be that.
Cocking my chin, I gave him a look and continued my trajectory toward the corridor. The sound of his shoes on tiles sent carving knives flaying my spine.
“You know not to turn your back on me, Pimlico.”
Just keep going.
A few more feet.
My left hand splayed out to touch the doorframe as I left the lounge and took a shaky breath. One step, two, three. My bare toes touched the first stair; my racing heart made me shudder as I clutched the polished banister.
“Come back here.” Master A picked up his pace, appearing a few metres behind me. He cracked his knuckles, tilting his head in a well-known threat. “You didn’t think you’d get off so easily, did you? You know you fucked up tonight.”
His teeth shone savagely white. “You sat at my fucking table, you bitch. You ate my food. You enticed my guest. You were rude to me, and you know what that means.”
Every step he took toward me, my cells bellowed louder to bolt.
It was so hard to ignore. So hard, I had to clutch the banister to keep myself in place; my poor knuckles popped with pressure.
But I didn’t increase my speed.
No matter he stood like a gun ready to fire, just waiting for me to fly away, I climbed the steps slowly, regally, with my head held high and silence draped like a glittering gown around me.
I’d let myself down once tonight with my panic attack. The undermining terror that I couldn’t control struck my fragile power at the worst possible time. To think the stranger had seen me that way. Heard me breathless and blue.
Oh, God.
The embarrassment was new. I’d had no reason to value what another thought of me for so long…until him.
But it didn’t matter. He’d left. I’d never see him again. After what Master A would do to me tonight…who knew if I’d ever see anyone again.
Seven steps, eight, nine.
Twenty-seven more to go and I’d be in my room, my jail. If I could get there, perhaps Master A would remember that I was his not Mr. Prest’s. Another man could touch me, use me at the discretion of my owner, but they would never take me away.
Only I could do that by taking my life or his.
My spine crawled with imaginary cockroaches, scurrying faster and faster.
Master A ascended the stairs soundlessly behind me. My ears strained, waiting for him to charge and pounce. But he never increased his speed, content to stalk me up the stairs, happy to see what I would do.
He wasn’t in a rush to chastise me. We both knew no other alternative existed for tonight.
He felt as if I’d disobeyed him.
I didn’t agree.
The pain would be the same.
“Are you ready for another anniversary present, my dear?” His chuckle was rancid with malicious intent. “I think you’re the one who owes me a present after I let you sit on my couch. Don’t want you believing you’re worth more than you are.”
The landing was so close. My speed increased just a little.
He growled as my feet grazed the top step. “Running won’t change what I’m about to do to you, Pim.”
His oath shoved me forward like a phantom hand between my shoulder blades. It was no longer a battle between slow and quick, strong or weak, brave or meek. I was a warrior who faced combat head-on. But I was also a defeated soldier who wanted to sprint from enemy lines.
Go!
Instinct made me do it. The animalistic need to hide gave no room to argue. I couldn’t stop my legs from breaking into a scurry, just like I couldn’t stop my heart from tearing through my kick-bruised chest.
I shouldn’t.
I’d be punished.
I should fight my terror and drop to my knees. Like always.
But I couldn’t. Not this time.
I bolted.
“Pim!” He chased me. Just like I knew he would.
My brittle legs hurtled my skinny body from the corridor into my room. There were no doors to slam, no locks to secure. Even my ensuite had no barricade—no privacy offered at any time.
I supposed I was lucky to have my own space, but it was just another element to Master A’s board game of pain. No matter where I ran, no matter where I hid, he found me. Because he was god in this house, and I was merely his whore.
My mouth parted with a silent scream as he appeared in the doorway, panting with angry-sharp eyes. “I thought we’d taught the lesson of no running a few weeks into your stay?” Storming toward me, he growled, “Did that fucking prick somehow undo all my teachings the second he touched you? Did he? Answer me!”
Every cell cowered, my blood dried up, my heart stopped beating.
Melting to the tiled floor, I went one step further in begging. I didn’t bow with my chin tucked and shoulders rolled. I threw myself entirely on the ground with my arms outstretched as I’d seen monks do in deep prayer, pleading for mercy but knowing I wouldn’t get any.
“That won’t save you this time, bitch.” My breath caught as he stomped on my left hand, twisting his foot so my skin pinched and did its best to spiral-fold.
I screamed in my head.
Pain.
Pain.
Pain!
My silent scream was so loud it made my eardrums bleed.
“You liked him touching you, didn’t you!? Don’t fucking deny it. I know the truth.” He trampled harder on my hand, putting his entire weight on the tiny, breakable bones. “You think I didn’t notice? That I wouldn’t see the way you looke
d at him? Fuck, Pimlico you’re mine!”
I screamed again, drowning myself in the gonging sound of agony, but the room remained silent while he stomped again and again, doing his best to shatter delicate fingers.
“Just because you won’t talk doesn’t mean I don’t fucking know when you’re lying to me!”
Turn it off!
Now!
Fighting a rush of overwhelming nausea, I forced every nerve ending to withdraw deep inside. I did what my body had taught me. A mantra filled my head while the pain receptors in my hand switched off.
After all, that was what pain was. A siren to tell me all was not well and that action had to be taken to avoid worse damage. No shit, not all was well. I got that message loud and clear. I didn’t need to hear it over and over.
On or off.
Click.
Off.
It didn’t mean I could ignore the throbbing, bellowing agony ricocheting up my arm. It merely allowed me to compartmentalise and stay alert so I could pre-empt what came next.
His shoe lifted from my hand only to pull back and jab sharply into my ribs.
I fought the urge to curl around the new flare. It didn’t matter that he’d kicked me only hours ago. It didn’t matter that my previous bruises would become new bruises, which would bleed beneath my skin.
All I could do was remain straight and prone for his abuse. I would blanket myself in whatever numbness I could and accept two things: either I’d survive this, in which case I could nurse my wounds in private and finally give in to building sobs, or he’d kill me and then none of it would matter anyway.
Kill me, get it over with.
“Why won’t you motherfucking speak?!” He kicked me again, going for my hip, painting me with livid colours. “Talk, goddammit.” His sharp shoe stabbed my upper thigh, then my knee, calf, and ankle. “Say one word and I’ll stop.”
No.
Never.
This battle was not new. I’d endured it many times before. However, he was more vicious tonight, all because of Mr. Prest.
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