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.
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 h
is.
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 looked 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.
Damn him.
Curse him.
Never come back.
Don’t you ever come back.
Turning his attention from my left side, he angled himself on my right, kicking my ankle, calf, thigh, and rib. At least my bruises would match. A Morse code dotting my flesh. Would it blare a plea for help? Or would it repeat the knowledge that I was his to do what he wanted?
“You won’t speak to me, but you spoke to him.”
What?
“You spoke to that fucking asshole who thinks he’s better than me.”
No!
“You think you can lie to me? Even your silence drips with the fucking truth.”
What truth?
There is no truth!
He kicked me with every remaining energy, landing squarely on my lower back and earning a deep-seated groan I couldn’t control.
“Ah, sweet victory. You do make a noise.” Crouching beside me, he wrenched my head, forcing me to look at him. “You wanted him, didn’t you, Pim? You wanted his cock over mine. You wanted that sick fuck because he let you sit at the table and eat like a human. Because he permitted you on the couch like a woman.”
Shaking me, he spat in my face. “You aren’t a woman. You’re mine to be what I tell you to be. If I say you’re a fucking flamingo, you stand on one leg. If I tell you you’re a dog, you get on all fours and wait to be mounted. Do you get that? Do you!?”
I flinched, disgusted as warm, oozing saliva flowed over my chin.
I am a woman.
And I’m not yours.
No matter how long you own me, I’ll never be yours.
“Those gifts weren’t his to give.” Yanking me to my feet, he used my hair as a leash, guiding me from my room to his.
I stumbled beside him, breathing hard, tears streaming that I didn’t remember crying, all while holding my mangled hand. Every step felt as if I’d shatter into a billion pieces. I wanted to shatter. Perhaps then the agony would stop.
My hand was broken. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me that.
He tossed me into his room, stormed to his bedside table, and yanked out the rope. I parried backward as he grabbed my wrist, throwing me on the bed.
The moment I lay down, he tore off Mr. Prest’s blazer, wrenched down my skirt, ripped off the rest of my ruined polo, and smiled with victory. “I wanted to have fun tonight. Not every day is as special as a two year anniversary.”
He shoved his face in mine. “But you had to fucking ruin it, didn’t you?! You had to get wet for that cocksucker as he swindled me out of millions. You had the audacity to let him touch you and like it.”
Pulling back, he swiped shaking hands through his hair. His shaking matched mine but for entirely different reasons. I fought terror and the last dregs of strength I possessed. He was drunk on brutality and ready to deliver.
Coiling the rope around his hand, he snickered. “You know what I just realised, sweet little Pim?” His arm lashed backward, bringing the rope hissing forward. “I realised that it’s been too many months since I made you scream.”
The first sting hit me square on the chest, granting a livid welt instantly.
I clamped my lips together and stared at the ceiling. I would’ve given anything to roll onto my side and squeeze into a ball. I’d been with him for long enough to know what he planned.
And it wasn’t good.
He whipped me again and again, the tiny fibres of the rope slicing through tender skin like a fileting blade. Pinpricks of blood welled on my breasts and lower belly.
“Remember that night…when I broke your arm? You made the sweetest sound.” He grabbed his cock through the denim, before quickly undoing his belt and shoving his jeans to the floor. He didn’t wear underwear, and his ugly penis sprang from a thicket of blond hair. “When I heard you scream? Fuck, it turned me on.”
Tearing off his t-shirt, he climbed on the mattress, naked with just the rope in his hands.
I tore my eyes away.
From now on, I wouldn’t look at him. He would do his best to make me bellow. He would force me to watch. Order me to listen to every depraved thing he said. But he couldn’t make me stay.
As his sweaty grip lashed my body to the bed and coarse rope bit into my wrists and ankles, I said goodbye to Pimlico and became Tasmin instead.
I sank and sank.
I returned to a happier time.
Shedding my slavery, my mind skipped into innocence.
Where nothing and no one could touch me.
WHO THE FUCK is she?
The question drove me mad.
She was in my mind with her judging silence; in my thoughts with her knowing stare.
She was just a girl. A beaten, skinny, insolent little girl.
So why did I recall her as something so much more than what she was? Why had she made such an impression on me?
No one had left such an imprint since I’d lived on the streets full of coldness and cruelty. She reminded me of that time. A time I tried so fucking hard to forget.
Pennies (Dollar #1) Page 11