Pennies (Dollar #1)

by Pepper Winters

  The black despair living permanently beneath my strength threatened to throttle me. My heart kicked my other organs as if trying to wake me up or kill me. Forcing a reaction that I’d long since ordered to remain hidden.

  This stranger might be the only one I’d ever see before I died. I’d never again inhale a flower’s fragrance or taste a raindrop on my tongue.

  I gasped as an impending panic attack swirled. For a year and a half, I’d been able to control my hysteria. But a few months ago, I’d suffered such a vast void of horror and despair, Master A was forced to call a private doctor (who didn’t ask questions) to ensure I wasn’t dying of heart failure. I’d been diagnosed as severely depressed with panic tendencies.

  I was grateful for a diagnosis but full of hatred that the strong teenager I’d been was now nothing more than an emotional, wrung-out wreck—no matter how brave I forced myself to be.

  Master A clutched me harder, hissing in my ear. “Get it together, Pim. You will not have an attack while company is present.”

  If I could control it, I’d obey. There was nothing good about revealing just how deep my fear went.

  But once the crashing, smashing breathlessness gripped me, I was swept away.

  Gulping, I clawed at the tight cotton around my throat.

  I can’t breathe.

  I need air.

  I need to run and run and run.

  His weapon-like fingers dragged me to the side. “Calm down!”

  I can’t.

  I can’t.

  Memories of inky, sleepy death corrupted me. I recalled what it was like to see the last thing I’d ever see and feel the last thing I’d ever feel. Suppressed recollections of being strangled and waking up in this sex-trafficked nightmare swarmed.

  Stop!

  Make it stop!

  My choking turned to open-mouth gasping.

  Master A manhandled me across the lounge to stuff me somewhere where I wouldn’t embarrass him.

  Mr. Prest followed in our wake.

  As I stumbled through the doorway to the corridor, a cold voice demanded, “Let her go.”

  Master A froze, looking over his shoulder. With angry hands, he spun me to face the stranger. “This is of no concern of yours.”

  I can’t breathe.

  Clutching my chest, I rode out the confused double-beats of my heart. According to the doctor, I had the power to stop the attack by reminding myself that my current situation wouldn’t change, no matter how I felt about it. I had no reason to stress when I couldn’t reverse the circumstance.

  He had the audacity to say that.

  To me.

  The mute slave girl who was beaten, raped, and starved on a daily basis.

  I was fully justified in my terror. I was just surprised the attacks only started a few months ago and not the day I’d been sold.

  Oh, God.

  Two years.

  Two long, long years.

  I folded in half, holding my chest, doing my best to keep my soul from jackhammering free. While trapped in the middle of an episode, my head roared, my heart hopscotched, and all I wanted to do was die. Stopping the horror and becoming calm again seemed like an impossibility.

  I can’t handle two more years.

  I can’t even handle two more days.

  Mr. Prest cocked his head, running a hand over his shadowy jaw. Everything about him boycotted the white starkness of Master A’s mansion, bringing blackness into its corridors.

  “If you want to do business, Alrik, consider this my concern.” His eyes trailed over me. He wasn’t sympathetic toward my suffering, merely cold and mildly annoyed.

  His eyebrow rose with an aristocratic arch as my lips cooled to blue and my gasping turned haggard. He watched me as if I were a circus freak putting on a performance just for him.

  A performance he didn’t like.

  Ignoring Master A, still struggling to keep me upright and not kneeling on the floor as I wanted, Mr. Prest murmured harshly, “Stop it.”

  I wanted to scream. To shout. To speak. To show him I was human and not something he could command. But I shrivelled beneath his heavy glare, slouching in the biting fingers of my owner.

  Being reprimanded wasn’t new. The only conversation I endured was snide comments, snapped orders, and putrid curses. So it didn’t shock me that this stranger was the same as them. No kind word or commiseration. No empathy or ability to see past the lies and understand the truth.

  Even if he could…why should he care?

  I was nothing to him.

  Just a rebellious toy swiftly becoming tiresome and ready for replacement.

  Master A shook me, hissing in my ear. “You heard our guest. Stop it.” Yanking me closer, he added so only I would hear. “You think this behaviour will go unpunished? Silly, silly, Pim. Tonight, your back will be shredded. Scars on top of scars.”

  I convulsed, breaking his tight fingers and slithering to the floor.

  No. No. No.

  Get it together.

  Breathe!

  My entire body shook as I tore at the cotton around my throat. My broken fingernails scratched painful slices over my skin as I finally managed to grab the offending clothing, rejoicing in the crack of ripping material.

  The clinging neckline opened as I shredded and slashed.

  I didn’t stop until the white top hung open and gaping, revealing the whip lacerations, painful scabs, and silver scars on my chest from belonging to a troll like Master A.

  Mr. Prest stiffened.

  I daren’t look up, but his thighs locked into steel tree trunks, tightening his black trousers. The soft rustle of his blazer hinted he no longer watched as a bystander but as a witness to my ruin.

  Once upon a time, I would’ve hidden my bare chest, tried to cover my nipples—be demure and shy.

  Now…I didn’t care.

  After so long with no clothing, I was more comfortable naked. I couldn’t stand anyone or anything touching me.

  Touch, just like speaking, had become taboo. It only brought pain. Not pleasure.

  Master A yanked me upright, his hands fierce and unyielding beneath my arms. “What the fuck did you do?” His temper built like a blizzard, swirling with hail and sleet.

  I shivered, waiting for the arctic freeze.

  But Mr. Prest stepped forward. Shrugging out of his blazer, he ignored my master as he draped the material over my half-naked form. I flinched, dreading the slightest touch.

  But nothing came.

  He gave me his jacket, still warm and smelling richly of heady incense and something exotically spicy, but he did it all without a single finger graze.

  I froze.

  I drowned.

  The act of kindness threatened to send me into another panic attack.

  I slouched beneath the weight, so unused to heavy heat smothering me.

  One heartbeat demanded, Get it off!

  The next remembered what my flesh had forgotten. It recalled how nice it was to be protected. Don’t…don’t take it away.

  “Get that off her, Mr. Prest,” Master A growled. “She’ll run upstairs and dress in her own things, won’t you, Pim?”

  With what?

  I had no other clothes.

  But Mr. Prest didn’t know that, and I waited with eyes downcast, my heart burning at the thought of having the one element of comfort I’d been given in so long taken away.

  All I wanted to do was slip my arms into the wide, beckoning sleeves, fall to the floor, and hug myself. I wanted to curl into a chrysalis, protected by my blazer armour, and re-emerge so much braver and bolder than before with paper wings and powder beauty able to soar me far, far away.

  At least the shock of Mr. Prest sharing his wardrobe interrupted my nerves. Adrenaline stopped crackling through my veins; I did my best to breathe rather than asphyxiate.

  Mr. Prest crossed his arms, his dark grey shirt pushed up to his elbows, revealing ropy muscles and a tattooed bracelet with Japanese characters around his
wrist. “She can keep it.”

  Master A glowered, digging his fingernails into my shoulder as he directed me toward the staircase. “No. She can’t.”

  “Why?” Mr. Prest slouched against the doorjamb, never taking his black eyes from me.

  “Because I said so.” Master A shoved me toward the bottom step. “She’ll be back down as soon as she’s changed.”

  I stumbled, the loose jacket fluttering like clouds behind me.

  Mr. Prest lowered his jaw, watching from shadowed features. “I want to hear it from her.”

  Master A froze. “What?”

  Mr. Prest pointed in my direction. His liquidity and grace came across as bored and uninterested, but a vein of lethalness simmered beneath. “Her. I want to hear it from her.”

  I spun to face the man, soaking up the wrongful whiteness around him. We made eye contact before I remembered my place and stared at the ground.

  Master A dragged stiff fingers through his blond hair. “You don’t understand, Elder. She doesn’t speak.”

  Mr. Prest snapped into stealthy power. “Don’t think we’re on first name basis, Alrik. And certainly don’t take liberties not given to you.”

  My back bunched. No one spoke to Master A like that and got away with it.

  But the unthinkable happened.

  Master A swallowed his curse-filled retort, nodding respectfully. “Of course. My apologies.” Moving toward Mr. Prest, he waved over his guest’s shoulder. “Perhaps, we should begin the evening again. We have a nice meal planned. Let’s eat…shall we?”

  “No.” Mr. Prest didn’t budge from the doorway. “I want to know what the fuck is going on.”

  Master A’s eyes bugged.

  If I weren’t so afraid of the man being disciplined, I would’ve enjoyed this change of events. But I knew I would be the one who ultimately paid once the stranger had left.

  “Nothing is going on.”

  Mr. Prest cocked his head, a cold smile on his lips. “Lies. I don’t do business with liars.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Then let her speak.” Mr. Prest’s eyes latched onto mine again. “Pimlico…tell me yourself. Do you want to keep my jacket or would you prefer to wear your own clothes?” His gaze drifted to the nasty white skirt I wore, barely hiding anything. “You have odd taste in fashion, but I won’t judge. You may wear what you wish. Not that it’s my place to direct you.” His glower landed on Master A. “But then again, neither is it the place of your boyfriend to order you how to dress.”

  His accent teased at the corners of my mind, reminding me of wealthy travellers and foreign places. The way he said ‘boyfriend’ made me stiffen.

  I was right.

  He did understand. He saw through the bullshit and knew what I was.

  My heart jumped into an ocean of tears. Why did that hurt me so much? To be seen as what I was? For this stranger to never know me as happy, confident Tasmin but as beaten, ugly Pimlico?

  “Answer me,” Mr. Prest said. “My jacket or your own?”

  The question didn’t prompt me to reply. After two years of muteness, a query no longer held such power. My larynx didn’t prepare to speak. My lungs didn’t inflate to talk.

  I had no urge to vocalise.

  My body stiffened as I focused on Mr. Prest’s powerful jaw and throat. I’d guess he had foreign blood in him somewhere in his lineage. It wasn’t a strong part of his features, but his eyes were too beautifully almond to be strictly European.

  The three of us stood in tense silence.

  Mr. Prest slowly exhaled, his temper overshadowing Master A’s, turning the white blizzard into a dark typhoon. “Speak.”

  Master A chuckled. “I tried to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “She doesn’t talk.” Master A waved in my direction as if I were faulty goods and only good for the torture he put me through. “She’s mute.”

  “Through choice or medical condition?”

  Whoa…what?

  The personal question hacked through the silence like a machete.

  Master A grinned, slowly gaining control of the situation now attention was back on him. “Ever since we got together, she’s been mute. You see, when I found her, she was so broken, she didn’t know how to act normally. I thought it endearing, and I’ve done my best to help heal her.” He ran his hand over my scalp, petting me with false affection. “But of course, these things take time and a lot of patience.”

  What a load of utter bull—

  “Bullshit,” Mr. Prest barked.

  The fact he’d stolen the word from my mind and delivered it with as much contempt and disbelief as I would have made my heart hop with a pink skipping rope.

  Laughing coldly, Mr. Prest added, “Heal? Those scars and cuts on her skin aren’t old.” Stalking forward, he towered over Master A. “They’re recent. Care to lie about how that happened?”

  Master A shrugged, doing his best to come across as unruffled. “A number of things are wrong with her. Being mute is only one of them.”

  Wow, he’s claiming I hurt myself now?

  I wanted to get angry, but I had nothing but disgusted acceptance left.

  Would Mr. Prest believe him if I tore off his blazer and revealed my whipped back, bruised inner thighs, and cigarette burned ass cheeks? Or would it take deeper evidence such as the god-awful internal injuries I’d sustained from non-consensual items being thrust into my body?

  Mr. Prest paused, looking me up and down. “I don’t believe you. No one would self-harm to that extent.” His face blackened. “And believe me, I know.”

  How does he know?

  Was that a veiled hint that he self-harmed? Beneath his expensive tailored clothes, was he as scarred as I was?

  Somehow, I doubted it.

  However, his hands did hold injuries—both new and old. Overhead lights flickered over silver wounds and knuckle bruising. He used them for business other than introductions with assholes.

  Master A’s temper gathered ferocity. “Well, you don’t have to fucking believe me. She’s my girlfriend. I figured you might like some female company because I heard you’ve been at sea for months. But this is fucking ridiculous. I don’t need the third degree.” Waving his arm, he growled, “She’s mine, got it? Not yours. Forget you ever saw her.”

  Directing his wrath on me, he ordered. “Upstairs, Pim. Now!”

  The obedience he’d beaten into me kicked in. Turning on the bottom step, I grabbed the banister to climb away.

  Only, Mr. Prest snapped, “Stop.”

  Storming forward, he snatched my wrist and yanked me down the stairs.

  No!

  I didn’t want to be in the middle of whatever power trip this was. I wanted to bolt back to my room and tell No One of how confusing this meeting had been. I wanted to inhale Mr. Prest’s blazer in private and give in to the scalding tears left over from my panic attack.

  But it didn’t matter what I wanted.

  It never did.

  I became the rope in a nasty tug-of-war.

  His fingers were just as cruel as Master A’s as he tightened his grip and pulled me close. Too close. Far too close. The mint decadence of his breath smarted my eyes. “Tell me your story. Now.”

  I looked at the floor.

  Master A abducted me from his guest’s hold. “What the fuck is your problem? She’s mute. I just told you.”

  Mr. Prest shoved a finger in Master A’s face. “My problem is I don’t do business with people I don’t understand.” His eyes narrowed. “And I don’t understand where she fits in.”

  Master A shoved me against the wall. He did it in a way that spoke of authority and almost protection from an aggressive stranger in our supposed happy home. However, Mr. Prest saw the truth as I wobbled, reaching for something firm for purchase.

  Grabbing my free arm as I fought to stay standing, Mr. Prest growled, “You. Start talking.”

  Master A struggled to hold me, a battle of possession o
n my flesh. “Let her go.”

  “If you want to complete our transaction, you’ll shut the fuck up.” Mr. Prest’s voice dropped to a scary whisper. “Think hard, Alrik. Is sharing your girlfriend too much to pay for what you truly want?”

  Slowly, a calculating gleam filled Master A’s watery blue gaze. “Share?” He chuckled, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

  To someone unknown, that look would hint at undecided decisions. To me, who’d been shared every damn day for years, it was a threat. A forgone contract that before the night was over, Elder Prest would have sampled me, used me, and ultimately destroyed me with hate as much as he had with kindness.

  “You’re right.” Master A unlocked his fingers, removing his resistance.

  I ricocheted forward, tumbling against Mr. Prest’s sculptured body.

  The moment I smashed against him, I recoiled.

  He wasn’t different.

  He was the same.

  And I had no wish to be close to him or any man.

  Master A puffed out his chest, crossing his arms. “Is sharing an official requirement to complete our deal?”

  My mismatched hair hung over my face as Mr. Prest manhandled me around his body, placing me behind him. His arm clamped tight, keeping me wedged against his hard back. “You really are a sick fuck.”

  Energy and untapped power siphoned down his spine as he chuckled, infecting me with whatever insanity he suffered.

  Because he had to be insane.

  He protected me from Master A, all while discussing sharing me to complete a business transaction.

  Who does that?

  No one I wanted to be around.

  A year ago, I might’ve struggled—bit his wrist for the chance to be free. But just like I’d evolved in obedience to survive, I learned that antagonising for no reason wasn’t smart.

  Master A spread his hands. “Rather offensive thing to say. I’m not judging you. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t judge me.”

  Looking over my shoulder, my skin crawled to find Darryl, Tony, and Monty had repositioned themselves to stand behind Mr. Prest, ready to maim or kill him if he threatened their friend.

  I squeezed my eyes, deliberately avoiding what would come next.