Dollars (Dollar #2)

by Pepper Winters

  She’d been lucky I saved her from that hellhole. Although, she wasn’t lucky I’d been the one to steal her.

  Pim was no longer in a tragic situation with Alrik.

  She’s in one with me.

  DEAR NO ONE,

  I’ll rip this up the moment I’ve finished as I have no safe place to hide you, but I had to tell you what happened.

  I have to give you the good news.

  The best news.

  The news I hoped to write for two very long years.

  He’s dead.

  He’s dead.

  Oh, God, I’ll never get tired of the thrill and pleasure of writing those two words.

  He’s dead.

  They’re dead.

  Every single bastard (apart from Monty) is dead.

  I pulled the trigger on Master A.

  Are you proud of me? Happy for me?

  I want to keep talking to you, but I don’t know how much longer they’ll leave me on my own. I don’t want to be caught. He stole our previous conversations, but he won’t steal anymore.

  Perhaps, in a few weeks when I heal, I’ll be able to whisper my confessions to you instead of scribe.

  Maybe then, life will be normal.

  I’d just finished shredding my latest note into tiny fragments and scattering them in the drawer when the door opened. I hadn’t budged from the single mattress with its overly starched white sheets and the drip feeding drugs and who knew what else into my system.

  I expected the doctor again.

  I wanted it to be the doctor again. I wanted more time on my own before I had to face my new future.

  I didn’t get what I wanted.

  My first peace in so long vanished the moment he prowled into the room.

  Our eyes met.

  The world once again stopped spinning and flipped upside down. Whatever power he’d held over me in my white room still lingered—stronger and more intoxicating now I was in his home and under his authority.

  Elder paused a few metres away, his gaze dropping from my eyes to my chapped and sore lips then to my stark skeleton beneath the yellow nightdress someone had dressed me in.

  The cheery buttercup fabric ought to bring light into my dark existence, but it only amplified the greens and browns of my ugly, ugly bruises.

  I wanted to be free.

  And if I couldn’t be free, then I wanted to be naked. Like normal. I didn’t like the confines or the mind-twisting conditioning I’d been subjected to where clothes were my nemesis and not to be trusted.

  Plucking at the yellow gown, I did my best not to wrinkle my nose. I looked juvenile in lemon while he looked distinguished in midnight. If I had to wear clothes, I craved to don black like him. Black would hide my discoloration and give me a refined power that nakedness and white could not.

  His black eyes, almond shaped and regal, trapped mine. His body exuded tightly reined power with simmering lethalness. His strong jaw clenched as I studied him the way he studied me.

  My lips tingled, remembering the way he—with all his masculine violence—had slammed to his knees, cupped my face, and kissed me as if whatever drew me to him drew him to me with equal strength.

  A shadow fell over his eyes as he crossed his arms, highlighting ropey muscles and hands ready to inflict danger or death. “I see you’re just as opinionated here as you were there.”

  My eyes flared; my jaw jutting out in question.

  What the hell does that mean?

  “Don’t cock your chin at me, silent mouse.”

  Don’t use my dad’s nickname.

  The name Mouse did not belong to him, even if my body did for the time being.

  He didn’t notice my annoyance.

  His graphite dress shoes clicked on the white tiled floor as he strode forward. His dark grey t-shirt and faded jeans didn’t match the formal footwear.

  My eyes drifted to his muscular legs then to the floor where the grout lines and colour were a little too reminiscent to Master A’s. I knew it was due to sanitation rather than personal preference, but it still made me queasy.

  “I feel the same way about white as you do.” His voice borrowed whatever power his body had over mine, slipping through my ears. “It’s a disgusting colour and will be abolished from my home.”

  Hating the persuasiveness he had over my eardrums, I hunched into myself.

  He thinks he can read my body language so easily.

  It only made me want to hide deep, deep inside when only minutes ago I wanted to look him in the eyes and thank him for all that he’d done. To grab his hand and squeeze so hard with a thousand appreciations.

  “How is your tongue?”

  The urge to press the agonising muscle onto my palate to see if it was still intact made me wince. The past hour on my own, I’d struggled not to touch it, inspect it. I wanted a mirror to see how close I’d come to being disabled for life.

  “I take it it’s uncomfortable.”

  You make me uncomfortable.

  I had no way to ask him to leave. But I wanted him gone. I wasn’t emotionally or mentally equipped for him, his questions, or whatever future he’d already planned for me.

  Can you go? For just a little while?

  I stiffened at my rudeness and silently added, I’m grateful. Truly. But I’d also be grateful if you left me to rest in peace.

  He chuckled, not seeing my message this time. “At least you still have a tongue.”

  That’s true.

  My annoyance at his high-handedness faded a little.

  I pursed my lips, flinching as the bottom one cracked from whatever implements they’d used in surgery to keep my mouth open.

  I’d grown used to tolerating men in my space even when I screamed for a moment alone—which was good seeing as Elder had no intention of leaving. If he was here to learn about me, to interrogate me for his pleasure, then I would do the same. I would catalogue and pay attention. I would try to figure out what he wanted before his lips opened to say it.

  The smug way he crossed his arms antagonised me. “Do you intend to use it? Now you’re free?”

  I’m free?

  I shuffled higher in my pillows.

  You mean you’ll let me heal and then take me back to London, to my mother, to university and cafes and the mundane normalness of everything I’ve missed?

  He ran a hand through his hair. The sharpness of his jaw, depth of his eyes, and achingly dangerous presence intimidated me. He was the epitome of calculated and gorgeous. A man not to mess with. A killer never to disrespect. “I misspoke. I meant, now you’re free from him.” He towered over me, his shadow kissing every inch of my skin. “Not free in the general sense. You owe me, Pimlico. I told you I wasn’t the hero.”

  Yes, but you did rescue me against your promise to forget me.

  That was progress—if only small.

  “Do you need anything?” He paced around the end of my bed, his gaze landing on everything in an assessing distrustful way, as if monitoring an unseen threat.

  If I did, I wouldn’t ask you.

  Not because I had a grudge against being stolen (again), but because he’d already done too much.

  He’d given me back my life. What more could I ask?

  To free you, of course.

  That had always been my end goal. For now though, I had to be satisfied with this change of events and contemplate whether I should fight him, submit to him, or bide my time and kill him.

  I didn’t know what path I’d choose, but…he was right. I did owe him. And I didn’t want to owe him any more than I already did.

  You could just end it—like the original plan.

  The flutter of final freedom washed over me. Elder Prest might’ve changed my circumstances, but he was still a monster I had to survive. Would it be considered weak to take my own life now or still strong to prevent him from having it?

  I’d existed with the idea of death for far too long to relinquish the whisper of everlasting sleep. Suicide was ne
ver a spineless option to me but my final hurrah. I wouldn’t give that up. Not yet.

  “Are you tired? We’ve been at sea for a while; it’s almost dawn.” His eyes turned to sharp flint. “Are you hungry?”

  His questions went unanswered.

  The drip gave my body whatever sustenance it needed—keeping any tummy pangs at bay. Even if I were hungry, how would I eat? My tongue refused to move, and Michaels had warned me not to insert foreign objects into my mouth. No doubt that rule included food for the time being.

  I glanced away, clicking the pen open and closed as Elder stopped pacing at the foot of my bed. “I suppose Michaels has already thought about the hunger and hydration issue.” He rubbed his jaw, his fingers scratching day old stubble. Indecision etched his handsome face. “In that case, I’ll let you sleep. I have a big day tomorrow and need to rest, too.”

  Striding to the door, he narrowed his eyes in my direction. “I suggest you relax and let me take care of you. You’ll need your energy.”

  My heart stopped siphoning blood, filling my veins with igloos.

  What do you mean?

  Energy for what?

  The sudden tension in my muscles signalled another problem I’d become mildly aware of but was suddenly desperately uncomfortable.

  My bladder.

  Oh, no.

  My gaze darted around the room, looking for a bathroom.

  You might have a catheter.

  My arms flinched to lift the sheets and inspect below. The thought of peeing while in bed horrified me, but I had been unconscious for a long time. When I’d had my tonsils out at fifteen, the operation had endured a complication. They’d kept me overnight with a catheter so I didn’t move from a lying position and disrupt the seared wound at the back of my throat.

  Is this like that?

  How could I tell?

  I could pee and find out the messy way, or I could struggle out of bed and somehow manhandle the drip until I found the facilities.

  Either option, I had to wait for Elder to leave before embarrassing myself.

  I waited for him to go.

  Only, he didn’t.

  Cocking his chin, he stared at the tension in my shoulders and my bunched hands on the sheets. Slowly, he moved away from the door back toward me. “Are you okay?”

  My head didn’t bobble; I didn’t answer his question—it wasn’t insolence, just a lifetime of self-preservation.

  He sighed angrily. “You can give me clues, Pimlico.”

  Not about this, I can’t.

  It was too embarrassing.

  Leave.

  If Michaels returned, I’d write a request for a female nurse to help, or I’d manage myself. I felt strong enough to clamber out of bed. I’d be wobbly from the operation, but I would make do.

  Like I always do.

  Arching my jaw, I stared at the door.

  I owed him my utmost thanks, and he would get it. I would pay him back. I would find a way (even if that way was abhorrent to me) but not now.

  Elder growled. “Goddammit, you don’t have to be silent with me.”

  In case you’ve forgotten, my tongue isn’t operational.

  A dark smile twisted his lips once again following my train of thought. “I know your tongue prevents you from speaking for now, but your body isn’t damaged.”

  My eyes fell to the ugly bruises and scars.

  Not damaged? How can you say that?

  How did he look past the grotesque marks on my skin and see someone I’d long since forgotten?

  He chuckled harshly. “I didn’t mean that you’re not injured and that fucking bastard didn’t do a number on you. I meant you can wave your arms and shake your head. You can reply to me now you’re safe.”

  Am I safe?

  He glowered, lowering his jaw. “Don’t look at me like that. If I say you’re safe, you’re safe. Understand?”

  The urge to nod was stronger this time. I ignored it.

  Safe from Master A but am I safe from you?

  The unspoken question hung like cinnamon smoke, matching the rich spice of his aftershave.

  He knew where my thoughts had trailed but didn’t answer. Giving me a piece of my own medicine.

  Fair enough.

  I could empathize with how frustrating it was to converse with someone who didn’t reply. I’d been the receiver of that frustration from Master A long enough.

  Alrik.

  His name was Alrik.

  He’s not your master anymore.

  I jolted as Elder suddenly strode to the side of my bed and touched my forearm.

  My skin tightened and heated beneath his touch.

  “You’re not telling me something.”

  I’m not telling you many things.

  “I think I know what it is.”

  I doubt it.

  I squirmed a little as his fingers clenched my wrist. The tension in my body squeezed my bladder, reminding me I’d better remove him from my presence soon or risk wetting the bed.

  “I didn’t let them put one in.”

  My eyes flared.

  One what?

  “After everything you’ve been through and the molestation you’ve suffered, I didn’t want you to feel taken advantage of.”

  I frowned. I had no idea what he meant.

  He huffed, letting my wrist go. He ripped back the sheet covering my yellow nightgown and mottled legs. “A catheter. I didn’t let him insert one. And it’s been hours since you were in surgery. I know why you’re tense and keep staring at the door.”

  Shit, how does he do that?

  “You need to go to the bathroom.”

  My cheeks instantly scalded. I dropped my gaze, scrabbling for the sheet he’d just torn off me.

  Leave. Then I can fix my problem on my own.

  “If you think I’m going to let you stand up without support, you’re a fucking idiot as well as a mute.” With fierceness and impatience, he placed one arm around my back, dislodging the softest pillows I’d had for years, and slid the other beneath my knees.

  “Hold onto my neck.”

  His command came a split second before he hoisted me from the bed and into his strong, terrifying arms.

  I gasped—or as much as I could with padding and gauze stuffed around my mouth—and instinctually slung my arm over his shoulders. The drip cord swooped over his head, stinging my hand where the needle pierced my vein.

  “Grab the IV and wheel it with us.” Elder pointed at the medication with his chin.

  I did as I was told. I had no intention of letting the wheeled contraption scurry behind us with its only anchor in my flesh.

  The moment I grabbed the cold steel, he moved.

  The only sound was Elder’s shoes on the floor and the pound-pound of his heart hidden beneath his t-shirt and the impressive sizzling dragon I knew resided on his skin.

  It took two seconds to cross the room and another two for him to rearrange me in his embrace to bend and open the door, revealing a small bathroom with a stand-up shower, shallow separate bath, and toilet with vanity.

  The sight of porcelain made me shiver with anticipation.

  Without saying a word, Elder very carefully placed me from horizontal to vertical. He let my weight shift ever so slowly back to my legs, never looking away from my face.

  He made me self-conscious, frustrated, itchy—all manner of things—but not afraid. Having a male touch me made my heart grab its rape whistle and prepare to blow like it always did when Master—no, Alrik—came for me. However, no sexual interest was present in his gaze, merely assessment about my health.

  His breathing came hot and deep as he took a step away but didn’t unlatch his hands from around my shoulders.

  When I didn’t wobble or black out—even though lightheadedness made my head swim—he grunted, “Once again, I underestimated your strength.” Almost reluctantly, he let me go, moving another step. “Even after a long operation and even longer imprisonment, you can stand without support.”


  The statement was more than just truth but an analogy for all I’d lived through.

  “I’ll wait outside. Call me—” He smirked, catching himself. “Bang on the wall when you’re done, or I’ll just barge in when I hear the flush.” Pushing a finger in my face, he growled. “Don’t get any ideas of heading back to bed on your own. I’m not leaving.”

  Oh, God, he was going to stand outside and wait? Listen? I spun around in mortification, trading lightheadedness for wooziness.

  Backing through the door, Elder looked over my shoulder at the small mirror above the silver sink. Our eyes met in the reflection. His shadow lurked behind me, black and sinful with harsh secrets in his gaze, while I stood in sad (not cheery) yellow and random bandages.

  We were worlds apart, yet for some reason, he’d not only invited me into his but stolen me to share it. I didn’t know why I deserved such an invitation, but I needed him to know just because I wasn’t ready to talk, I wasn’t ungrateful.

  I’d kissed this man.

  I’d felt something for this man.

  He needed to know I didn’t take him for granted.

  Blinking purposely in the mirror, I bowed my chin with utmost respect.

  He sucked in a breath as he stepped from the bathroom, pulling the door closed. I barely heard his whisper as he said, “You’re welcome.”

  I shuffled painfully to the toilet and prepared to do my business. His scent and lingering presence kept me grounded while my body found comfort once again. Once finished, I stood (wobbling on legs far too weak) to flush.

  I tensed for an unwanted visitor. I needed a bit more time to get my thoughts in order and feel somewhat sane.

  When he didn’t barge in, I used the extra seconds to wash my hands and scrub my face as best I could—avoiding my sore mouth. I couldn’t stop the apprehension that I still belonged to Alrik and any moment he would be back to hurt me.

  Once I’d slicked back my wild, dirty hair, I turned with full intention of knocking on the wall for him to escort me back.

  However, the spin upset the tiny balance I had, and I stumbled.

  Falling like a paper building, my knees gave out, crumpling me from proud skyscraper to rubble on the floor.

  Bones and muscles protested. A guttural groan escaped, sounding nothing like a girl and more like a severely mistreated dog.