She turned wild in my arms, wriggling and fighting. A growl rumbled in her chest, but she didn’t yell or scream.
Her fighting was nothing. I held her effortlessly, but my temper rose to match hers. My insides curled with the urge to hurt. “Just fucking stop it.”
She didn’t.
Tears sprang from her eyes, tracking down her face.
But she still fought.
She scratched and kicked, connecting with my forearm to gorge tracks and my kneecaps with her tiny feet.
I bellowed, “Fucking stop.” Holding her ruthlessly tight, I marched to the bed and threw her onto the mattress.
She winced but didn’t stay down.
So I made her.
Slapping my palm against her chest, I shoved her onto her back. “Keep fighting and I will hurt you. You have my fucking word you will be in pain.” Breathing hard, I leaned over her, adding more and more pressure to where I held her in place. “Whatever trance or nightmare you’re in, wake the hell up. I don’t have the patience for this.”
She snarled, struggling to sit up. Her eyes once again gravitated back to my cello.
I grabbed her cheeks with my free hand. “What is it? Why are you acting like an idiot?” I dug my fingers tighter. “Goddammit, speak and spit it out.”
Her heart hammered beneath my palm holding her down. Her body lurched with terror and rage.
It wasn’t an act. Her fear stank my room with truth.
Pulling back, I removed some of the pressure. “I’m going to let you go. But if you go after my cello again, I won’t hesitate to do what’s necessary to stop you. Got it?”
She ignored me.
My patience wore out.
Pinching her face, I forced her to look at me. “Got it, Pim?”
Her eyes blazed blue fire.
“Nod for yes. This is one time I won’t let you get away with not answering me. Unless you truly want me to hurt you, then that can be arranged.”
We glowered at each other.
For a moment, I feared she’d make me hurt her to prove a point. To become like him.
But then saneness finally glimmered; she reluctantly nodded.
I rewarded her by letting her go.
Prowling away, I jerked both hands through my hair, doing my best to figure out what the fuck was going on.
“What were you doing running around the yacht naked and bleeding?”
She slowly sat up, dragging the sheet with her to cover her nakedness. I didn’t know why she did. It wasn’t because she was shy. Perhaps to make me more comfortable? She didn’t hunch, but she did keep her eyes downcast the more sanity returned to her.
Her body language spoke of regret and shame. Of confusion and a lostness that made my goddamn chest ache.
Regret, I could understand—I regretted so much of my life. But shame was not allowed.
Stopping my pacing, I snapped, “I know what you’re thinking. It’s about the other night, isn’t it?”
Her eyes met mine.
“Don’t feel shame for trying to show me what we could have together.” I gave her a wry smile. “Receiving a blowjob from you—even if I stopped it—felt fucking incredible.” Deciding to push her and see just how open she was to discussing sex as a mutual thing, not just an expectation, I added, “Your mouth…fuck, Pim. I dream about your mouth and finishing what you started.”
She sucked in a breath, her chest flushing.
“So don’t feel shame for showing me what you’re worth. I already know what you’re worth, and it’s a lot fucking more than just sex.”
She looked at her hands in her lap.
I couldn’t help it.
She thought she could lock me out after tearing into my space and wreaking havoc? The least she could do was listen and communicate for once.
Striding toward her, I once again grabbed her chin, dragging her eyes to mine. “Is this about Dafford? About him trying to buy you?”
She flinched, trying to pull her face away.
I didn’t let her.
“If it is, I’ll make you a promise right here and now. I won’t sell you. I won’t lie and say I didn’t think about it. But I give you my word. I won’t. You’re mine for however long I decide.”
Her eyebrow arched as if to ask what would happen when I decided that time was up.
“Then we deal with that when we come to it. Things have a habit of changing. And decisions made now might be obsolete by the time we decide this—whatever it is between us—has run its course.”
She scowled as if she didn’t do well with open-ended contracts. She liked to see the finish line. To know what would happen in a best-and-worst-case scenario. Perhaps that was why she still held on to the idea of suicide even though she was too strong to ever give up. It was the power in having an end the way she orchestrated, no one else.
I could understand that.
Shit, I’d danced with the same possibility myself when everything turned to fucking pieces. But she didn’t get to decide that anymore.
“Now I’ve sworn never to sell you, I need you to swear something in return.”
She sucked in a breath, her teeth grinding beneath my hold.
“Swear you won’t end it. Don’t rob me of the chance to heal you.”
She snorted as if that wouldn’t be long. She stuck out her tongue, revealing a red line decorating the pink muscle. No more stitches and no more blood.
It was my turn to suck in air. “I’m glad it’s almost healed.”
She held up her broken hand that’d downgraded from bandage to skin. Her eyebrow rose as she wriggled her fingers.
I frowned. “Why are you showing me your physical injuries? You think now your tongue is functional and your bones are knitted together, I’ll decide what to do with you?” A slow smile spread my lips. “Oh, not quite, Pimlico. We have a long way to go before you’re healed” —I tapped her temple— “in here.”
She froze.
“Did you think I just wanted you physically fit?” I grinned. “I know damaged. I’ve been where you are—in a different way, of course. It takes time.”
As her eyes narrowed in judgment and questions, a plan slowly unfurled in my head. For so long I had no idea what to do with her. What I could do without damaging my own shaky foundations.
But now…I think I know.
“Stand up.” I stepped back, letting her go.
She drew in a breath, ignoring me.
I ripped off the sheet and grabbed her wrist, hauling her upright. “When I give you an order, obey. I won’t hurt you, but I’ll find another way to punish you if you don’t.”
She wobbled a little. Her hand slapped over her injured bicep, rubbing away the drying blood. Her flat stomach stopped heaving with manic breath, and her gaze only tracked to my cello once before landing back on me.
I waited until I had her full attention.
When her eyes settled on mine, and a sense of calmness filled her body rather than nervous fright, I murmured, “We’re going to do something. There isn’t going to be a time limit, and I won’t answer your questions about why.”
She stood taller, curiosity and apprehension budding bright.
“I told you when I first took you that I’d make you worth more than pennies—that you’d be worth fucking millions. Well, it’s time I made that come true.” My cock thickened with the potential dangerous but delicious game we could play. “I’m going to piece you back together, and once you’re whole, then I’ll decide your true value. And once that monetary figure has been reached…it will have to be repaid.
“In full.”
HIS SENTENCE WAS rude and belittling.
How much I was worth?
Who was he to tell me what I was worth? That was for me to decide, no one else.
And to pay him for my worth? What sort of sick con artist did I live with?
But I couldn’t deny my curiosity piqued. Even if I stood in the room where classical music was created. Even if Elder was the
creator of every song that’d tortured my mind while Alrik tortured my body. Even if the cello squatted like a goblin in our midst ready to tear me limb from limb.
I was intrigued enough to fight the shivering need to run far away. I’d never been in this room before, and now it was tainted with notes and pain.
Common sense knew Elder wasn’t the one who played when I was raped and beaten. I knew he didn’t intentionally rip me to pieces and make me bleed every time he strummed a chord. But I also knew that when it came to my hatred of music, I had no rationality left.
I wanted to burn every violin and rip apart every piano.
I wanted to destroy that cello sitting smugly mocking me. I wanted to throw it overboard and let the sharks devour it.
No, that’s too good for it.
I wanted it to burn and burn.
But for the first time, Elder had drawn a line. He’d shown me something he valued enough to raise his voice and put a hand on me. Something that evoked passion in him, revealing a single secret from all the rest that were locked so deep down tight.
He was a mystery, but now I knew his weakness.
His weakness is my weakness, just in different ways.
He had to conjure music. I had to run from it.
Two polar extremes that couldn’t survive the other. Was that an analogy for our twisted relationship? Were we too different—from too contrasting worlds to ever find neutral territory?
I didn’t have the answers, so I stood, waiting, ignoring the belittling statement and cursing his music and watching him with murderous eyes.
He stuck his hands into his denim pockets, looking like a murderer himself in a black t-shirt and bare feet. He paced in front of me; whatever idea he’d gathered grew and changed with every breath.
“I’m going to give you tasks. Each one will be worth a different value.” His voice was hypnotic as he continued to pace. “Each one will push you to take back what he’s stolen. Each requirement will force you to find who you truly are beneath your self-imposed silence.”
He stopped.
I balled my fists, enjoying the ache for once from my healed bones. What are these tasks? And why did I fear them already when he hadn’t hinted at what he’d make me do.
His smile was wicked. “You saw who I was in Morocco. You know how easy it was for me to steal that man’s wallet. There is freedom in theft, Pimlico. Anxiety and guilt, yes. But an insane rush, too. The power to take what doesn’t belong to you and make it yours. There’s no greater thrill.” His face darkened. “Apart from making music, of course.”
I ignored that.
He was deranged. I would never accept his addiction to such disgusting pastimes. Then again, I would rather be a thief for the rest of my life than ever learn to play music.
“The thrill was part of the reason why I stole you. I wanted you, and he wouldn’t give me the option to pay.” His body tightened. “But I also stole you because it was the right thing to do. Sometimes, stealing is wrongness wrapped up in right.” His eyes tightened with age-old despair, dragged into his own black memories. “Sometimes, being bad is the only thing you can do to save the good in your life. And sometimes, no matter how bad you are, even wrongness can’t fix it.”
Everything he just said was a direct contradiction to the speech he gave when he robbed the Chinese traveller. Could he switch his arguments as he saw fit or did he honestly see the yin and yang of each consequence?
My toes dug into the carpet, not daring to move a millimetre in case it interrupted his trip to his past and forbade me from glimpsing more of him. The longer I spent in his company, the more I witnessed a man I never suspected.
Physically shaking the recollections away with a toss of his head, Elder drew to a stop in front of me. “I’m going to teach you to steal.”
What?
“I’m going to teach you how to become invisible, ruthless.” His grin grew. “With each task, I’ll reward you. With each steal, your value will increase until the next person you’re sold to is yourself.”
I blinked.
“Get it, Pimlico? You’re going to buy yourself back penny by penny, and I’m going to be there every step of the way, no matter how long it takes.”
My brain was muddled. I didn’t understand what he meant. He wanted me to become a criminal? To use another’s possession to purchase my freedom from him? What sort of sick stupidity was this?
Elder didn’t care I bristled. He moved toward the cursed cello, picking up the bow from the chair and caressing it as he sat down. “Now that I know what to do with you, let’s discuss the reason why you exploded into my room half mad in the middle of the night.”
I had no intention of discussing that.
He pointed with the bow at the small tray with tea and a packet of headache pills along with a white robe draped over the back of the chair. “I ordered up some tea for your nerves. If your arm hurts, take a pill.” Feathering the bow through his fingers, he murmured, “And I suggest you put the robe on. If you run again, you might want to be dressed this time.”
I eyed him warily.
Why would I run?
He saw my question. “Because I’m going to play.”
Before I could bolt, he positioned the cello between his legs, bowed his head so a lock of black hair fell over his eye, and strummed the sharpest, soul-skimming note I’d ever heard.
My ears rang. My heart bled acid tears. And my knees wobbled, threatening to chase me to the floor.
He stopped as quickly as he’d begun, cocking his chin, waiting for his previous instructions to be obeyed.
I had two choices.
Yet more damn choices.
Return to my rooms and forget everything that’d happened, or do as I was told and be brave enough to face such an inconsequential but terrifying thing such as music.
“Drink, dress, and sit down in that order, silent mouse.” Elder smiled. He looked like a king about to play to his lucky court, his cello a sleeping gargoyle waiting to come alive between his thighs.
Deciding to see how far I could push before my mind snapped once again, I obeyed.
With trembling hands, I poured a cup of fragrant green tea, popped a painkiller even though I didn’t need it, and swallowed both.
“And now the robe.”
I gritted my teeth against his commandment. Not only was he about to torment me with melody, but he also wanted to torment my body with clothing confines.
Scrunching up my face in disgust, I draped the heavy cotton around my shoulders and slowly tied the belt. Loosely. Not tight. Gaping enough to flare open if I ran. Loose enough to shrug it off if I panicked.
“The hot water bottle is if you’re cold. But I have a feeling adrenaline will keep you warm.” He pointed at the bed. “Sit. Listen. I want to watch you.”
My bones were glass as I shuffled unwillingly to the mattress and sat.
“Tell me why you hate music so much.”
I sneered, reminding him in a callous way that I wouldn’t speak to him. Especially when he made me sit in the same room as that instrument. I couldn’t untangle my fear from reality. It made me jumpy and snarly and afraid.
“Is it because of something he did?” Elder’s fingers feathered over the strings, spreading wide and elegant over a silent note. “Did he play it while hurting you?”
I hated that he could guess so eerily right.
“I heard it when I arrived that second time. A Chopin piece if I’m correct.” His eyes blackened as he played another note, his fingers shifting almost erotically on the cello. “The volume was a tad too loud, not background symphony but a more intolerable interruption.”
Alrik always played it loud. Too loud to filter out. But not loud enough to drown the beating he played on my body.
I balled my hands, refusing to look at him. I glared at the carpet, wishing I’d smashed that cello to pieces and Elder agreed to either never have music on the Phantom again or let me rob a bank right now so I could afford wha
tever ridiculous payment he expected in return for my freedom.
Why does he want me to steal?
Doesn’t he have enough wealth?
He couldn’t possibly need the money.
It’s not about him. It’s about you.
It’d been about me for too long. Something sparked inside to fight back. To make this about him. To make him face his horrors as surely as he’d made me face mine.
“Don’t run, Pimlico. Music can’t hurt you.” He kept staring while my gaze came up despite myself, locking onto his fingers. I’d never watched a man play an instrument. I’d never gone to lessons or been in a musical family.
Watching Elder stroke his cello was one of the most sensual things I’d ever seen. The way he held it like a lover, so soft and respectful. The way he touched the strings with passion and possession but also gentleness, as if he knew that holding too tight wouldn’t deliver the purity he craved.
He consumed my mind. Switching my hatred of what he was about to create into a hypnosis that belonged entirely to him.
My teeth locked together as he shifted in the seat and brought the bow to hover over the strings.
Never looking away, he played a lingering note.
I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t care. All I cared about was the ghostly fingernails scratching down my back and the bleeding in my heart for every abuse I'd suffered on the frequency of that decibel.
That wasn't a C or D or B flat. That was a rope or chain or whip.
Music wasn’t a collection of notes to me. It was a collection of punishment forever wrapped up in an awful tune.
I was glad he’d made me sit. If I were standing, I would’ve collapsed as memory after memory battered me.
The fists.
The kicks.
The forced sexual torment.
All of it entered the room to thread amongst his chord.
Elder didn’t play fair. He hung onto a note far longer than comfortable only to string into another straight away. I hated every moment, but I couldn’t hate him. The way he played…a mask came off revealing the true him.
His eyes gleamed, his face relaxed, and his shoulders flowed into a rhythm that was purely male, purely sex, purely power.
Dollars (Dollar #2) Page 22