Hundreds

by Pepper Winters

  The vibe changed from desire-heavy to purposeful.

  I was grateful in an odd way. Thankful that the connection throbbing between us wouldn’t devour us just yet. That we had time. That we weren’t just hostage to what our bodies screamed.

  I mimicked him with my napkin, taking a sip of water to bolster my courage in preparation.

  Never taking his eyes off me, Elder reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out his money clip. Peeling off a hundred dollar bill, he smoothed it onto the table, pushing it toward me with elegant fingers. “For you.”

  I gawked at the money, lost and slightly cheapened. He’d given me money before, but the notes had always been quaintly dressed in origami. I hadn’t counted how much he’d gifted thanks to his paper creations—it was more than I’d had in years—and I would continue to accept any number of his folded artwork because I had no intention of destroying them to spend it.

  They were presents.

  This was payment.

  Payment for what?

  I would never accept straight-up cash.

  I sat back in my chair, my lips thinning.

  He leaned forward, understanding my subtle refusal. “I thought as much.” Taking the bill, he creased the green paper, his face shedding the tense affliction between us and becoming almost innocent in study. His fingers crimped and folded, magically turning flat money into a simple crane even I had been taught in school.

  Pushing it back toward me, he murmured, “Now, it’s a gift. Not payment.”

  I hated that he understood me so much. That he could read me so well. It was an invasion of my privacy. An assault on everything I tried to keep hidden and secret.

  I paused for a second before reaching forward and plucking the green bird from the table-cloth. Just because he’d read me correctly didn’t mean I’d punish him for it. I loved his origami just as much as I hated his music.

  Cradling it in my palm, I nodded in acceptance. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. It’s in return for something.”

  “For what?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “For things I want to know.”

  I sat in silence, trying to make sense of this.

  Elder leaned forward, his hands clasped together, elbows resting on the table. “For each question I ask, you will give me an answer.”

  I waited for more.

  When he didn’t continue, I asked, “Where does the money come in?”

  “I told you I’d give you a set worth. A value you had to repay in order to earn your freedom. You refused my offer of freedom. Now, you must do what I say to receive it.”

  “And if I don’t want it?” I blurted, surprising both of us with brutal honesty. “If I don’t want to return home to a city I no longer feel safe in, to a mother who never liked me, and to friends who no longer know me? What then?”

  “Then you take your money and start a new life.”

  My heart panged to think of another existence. One without travel and yachts, and most of all him. I wasn’t superficial. I didn’t like Elder for the expensive lifestyle he could give me. I liked Elder for the quality of life he could give me. The understanding he offered. The kindred knowledge he shared. Those attributes were priceless in my eyes.

  Twirling the crane, I whispered, “So you still want to be rid of me?”

  “It’s not a matter of what I want, Pim.” He glowered. “It’s about what’s right.”

  I didn’t reply for a moment, trying to understand what was right and wrong. Was our connection wrong? Was whatever growing between us something terrible and in need of severing? Who was pure enough to judge right and wrong? Who was there to tell us we were breaking the rules when we were making our own and finding ground where we could both survive?

  I looked up, studying the grey shadows under his eyes and the tension in his jaw. Elder seemed so capable that I forgot what he’d told me. Conveniently ignored his need for simplicity, music, and the unorthodox ways to keep his tendencies at bay.

  “You want me gone for you.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not true.”

  “So you deny I’m making your life more complicated?”

  He snorted, his bark becoming a sad laugh. “I would never deny that when it’s so painfully true.”

  I bit my lip, hating how helium had replaced oxygen making me squeaky and thin and ready to burst at any moment. “Oh.” So I was the wrong in this equation. Elder was my right, but I was his wrong. As I healed, he succumbed. As I got better, he got worse.

  We couldn’t survive together because I fed off his charity and protectiveness while he drowned under my fledgling sexuality and hope.

  I supposed it was a good thing to be honest with each other. To know now that no matter what happened tonight, we started this knowing we had an ending.

  You knew that, Pim!

  You always knew this was temporary.

  Just because I knew didn’t mean it wasn’t a rusty blade stabbing at my heart.

  Stroking the money crane as if it would come alive and peck at the crumbs left from dinner, I murmured, “How much am I worth?”

  His jaw clenched. “How much do you think you’re worth?”

  What an awful question. Answer too low and he would still believe I hadn’t overcome my past. Answer too high, and he would think I was above his help and send me away. That I valued myself more than I valued him. “I can’t answer that.”

  “In that case, how much do you think I’m worth?” His eyes glowed black, daring me to guess.

  The question caught me by surprise. “Do you mean literal net worth or figurative soul price?”

  “Are they two separate things?”

  “Definitely.” I placed the hundred dollar crane on the table, resting it in the middle of my napkin as if the white linen was a pond it had just landed upon. “A soul is priceless and could never have a monetary sum attached. Net worth might make a difference in this life, but when we die, we’re all worth the same.”

  “And what is that?” Elder’s voice was deceptively low and provocative.

  “We’re worth the weight of what we leave behind. The people we’ve touched. The lives we’ve shared. The knowledge we’ve gathered and traded. Physically, we’re worth the dust our corpses turn into, but spiritually, we’re rich forever.”

  He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “That’s all very pretty, Pim, but you haven’t answered my question.” He licked his lips. “Pick one. Pick a worth and tell me a figure.”

  I forced myself to look at Elder.

  Truly look.

  See past the exotic handsomeness, the brutal boyishness, the man I’d come to know and only see a roughish businessman in a fancy restaurant wearing an immaculate suit.

  “You’re rich.”

  He nodded. “How rich?”

  “Millions?”

  “Go on.”

  “Wealthy enough to travel the world on the biggest yacht I’ve ever seen and proctor deals with men like Alrik.”

  He tensed. “And do you believe my mother when she said I stole it?” His shoulders tightened, his body language shutting down as if hoping I had no clue. He’d asked a question he didn’t want an answer to.

  At least, he didn’t have to worry. I wouldn’t believe one person over another until evidence stated otherwise. “You’re a musical genius with a talent at perfecting anything you do. Money would’ve come to you, regardless if you stole it or not.”

  “You think far too highly of me.” He laughed, his face falling into polite indifference as the waiter arrived to deposit salted caramel tarts for dessert.

  We didn’t touch them, too absorbed in this complicated conversation.

  Staring at the sugary treat, I whispered, “Will you tell me? How you became this way? How you created this empire?”

  Picking up his fork, Elder used the dessert as a delaying tactic. Placing a sweet, sinful bite into his mouth, he chewed slowly. “That is a tale for another time, Pim.”
<
br />   “But you will tell me?”

  He looked away. “Not tonight.”

  I copied him and took a bite of caramel.

  Another bite later, Elder asked, “Do you think I deserve it?”

  His questions made my brain ache and fear clutch my insides for getting it wrong. When he’d said he wanted to ask questions, I’d expected them to be about me, not him. I’d prepared to be evasive and noncommittal, not have to search past his barricades and rip out things he never wanted me to see.

  I answered his question with another. “Does anyone deserve more than they can spend in a lifetime?”

  He smiled coldly. “Good response.” His eyes clouded with things I couldn’t understand. “The right answer is no, I don’t deserve it. My mother was right. I did steal it. None of this is real.”

  “I don’t believe that. This is real. You’re real. What I feel for you is real.” I gasped, whipping my fingers to press against my lips.

  Whoops.

  He froze, locked like an ancient statue in his chair. He sucked in a heavy breath, his eyes inspecting me for an eternity. “How can you be sure of something when you don’t know a thing about me? When the only things you know are I’m a murderer, a criminal, with no family or background?” His temper etched his face, sliding into his shoulders and hands. “How can you look at me the way you do?”

  “What way?”

  “The way you’re doing right now. As if you trust me to keep you safe all while I’m dying over here not to fuck you on this table.”

  His admission shut us both up.

  Silence crackled.

  Ignoring the tart, I picked up my crane again, desperately needing to fidget from the whipping intensity he’d caused. “I know I seem naïve to you, but I can’t help what I feel. It’s been so many years since I’ve felt anything. Even before I was taken, I just existed in my previous life rather than living.”

  I shut up again.

  I hadn’t shared a single thing about me yet. I didn’t know if I started now if I’d be able to stop.

  But Elder didn’t let me close the door I’d just opened. “How do you mean?”

  I stared at the table-cloth. Writing to No One and telling an imaginary pen friend how upset I was with my mother was different than saying it out loud. Writing it down didn’t feel as much as a betrayal. I didn’t want to admit that to this day, I still loathed her for her strictness and lack of love. That I worried about her. That I hated her. Loved her. Missed her. Cursed her.

  The familiar itch to grab a pen and scribble consumed me. It’d been days since I’d written to No One. How had I forgotten to share this new part of my life with ink and papyrus? Only…I wasn’t right when I said Elder didn’t know about me.

  He does.

  He read my notes to No One.

  Each and every letter.

  I looked up, faint anger folding with warm annoyance. “You already know more about my past than you let on. You read my inner most thoughts. You stole them.”

  His forehead furrowed as denial wedged into his muscles only to drip away with the truth. “I did.”

  “So why the need to learn me? Why say you need to ‘master’ me to be free of me when you already know more about me than anyone?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “I might’ve read your notes, Pim, but didn’t you ever stop to think who you were writing to?”

  “I was writing to No One.”

  “Exactly.”

  I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Why title them to No One? Why that particular address?”

  I shrugged. “It was the least pretentious one. Dear Diary was too young. To The Person I Wish Would Rescue Me was an invitation to being beaten. It just…felt right.”

  Elder chuckled under his breath, shaking his head a little. “It just felt right.”

  I didn’t understand his melancholy or the direction of our unusual conversation.

  I wanted to ask him to elaborate, but he looked up, pinning me with black irises. “Do you know in my culture if a family member is renounced, they’re called no one? They have no home, no people, nowhere to go. Until I saved you, I was no one. Do you understand how crazy that coincidence is? To steal your notes and feel as if you’ve been writing to me this entire time? To believe that you were begging me to find you, yet it took me two fucking years to free you?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Pim. I won’t let what I read on paper twist my need to hear the truth. I want to know everything. I need to know everything. Do you understand now? I already feel as if I know you, yet I don’t know you. What I’ve read doesn’t satisfy me in the slightest. I need to hear it from you.” His eyes burned, flipping to a new topic just as fast as he’d flipped to this one. “We’ve finished dinner. We have nothing else to distract us from what we both know will happen the very fucking second we step into that hotel suite.”

  I breathed harder, faster. “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know if I’m saying anything.” He schooled his features into a tortured mask. “I thought I knew how tonight would go, but I don’t have a clue. If you return with me to the room, I won’t be responsible. I won’t apologise. I won’t be in control.”

  I stopped breathing altogether. How was I supposed to react to that? Run down the street screaming? Pad after him trusting? What?

  “You need to say it,” he urged. “Say you meant what you said before.”

  “What did I say?”

  “That you feel something for me. That you know tonight isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about me. About both of us.”

  He stood, holding his hand out like a dark prince ready to cart me to the underworld rather than the promised kingdom. I’d invited this. We’d been inching closer to this precipice for weeks.

  He had no idea how he’d react.

  I had no idea how I’d react.

  We could find equal ground and ultimate pleasure. Or we could ruin one another in a rain of incompatible pain.

  Is it worth it?

  Was I strong enough to take that gamble? To trade our awkward friendship for terrifying romance?

  I didn’t have an answer. I doubted I would find it until I placed my hand in his and followed him back to the room. Until I gave in and let whatever was about to happen…happen.

  So that was exactly what I did.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ______________________________

  Elder

  HÔTEL DE PARIS seemed voyeuristic as we silently made our way from dining room, to elevator, to suite.

  While eating the dinner I hadn’t tasted, surrounded by people I didn’t want, the walls had been lifeless, the furniture blind and deaf and dumb.

  Now, walking down corridors and into our opulent suite with its heavy drapery, welcoming pillows, and turn of the century décor, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if the walls had sprouted eyes and the furniture ears.

  I felt guilty for doing nothing.

  I felt ashamed for expecting everything.

  I was twisted up and tangled and jumping out of my goddamn skin.

  Pim swayed ahead, entering the room as if she wasn’t under a spotlight or answerable to the chandeliers or couches for every misdeed in her past.

  I paused on the threshold, asking myself one last time if this was what I wanted.

  My one-time rule had been broken in favour of two.

  If I did this, who the hell knew if I’d wake up myself, or if I’d return to the kid who didn’t care about anything but his own obsessions. Who played until cello strings chewed his fingers to the bone. Who beat up people all because he craved the pain and victory of being a weapon.

  If I was this close to falling into the rhythm of addiction, how much longer before I just gave up entirely?

  My hand reached out, connecting with the door to push and lock it. The safety chain clattered as I slid it home. I didn’t know if I was locki
ng out potential rapists and murderers or locking Pim inside with one.

  Goddammit, get it together.

  I massaged my temples as I turned around.

  I froze as Pim’s fingers dipped between her cleavage.

  I knew what resided there. I hadn’t forgotten about the stolen utensil. Throughout dinner I couldn’t stop looking at her chest and fighting the desperate desire to go hunting for it.

  I swallowed as she headed toward the side table by the bathroom door, ready to free the spoon and drop it into the teal bowl sitting on top.

  It couldn’t be allowed to cool alone. I needed to feel the heat of her body.

  “Wait.” I held up my hand, moving forward stiffly. “Let me.”

  Her eyes widened as I stopped in front of her.

  With pressed together lips, she nodded slightly and dropped her hands, her chest heaving.

  With every muscle braced against my oppressive need, I slowly inserted my fingers down the valley of her hot, perfect breasts.

  Jesus Christ…

  My eyes snapped closed, flooding with lust. Her skin was so soft. Her breath so delicate. Her invitation too welcoming as my fingertips locked around the spoon.

  With a hooded gaze, I tugged gently.

  Pim shuddered, her lips parting and the sexiest flush climbing from her chest to her cheeks.

  My cock grew so hard, it punched my waistband, desperate to escape and do what I wasn’t man enough to do—to pounce on her and fuck her helpless.

  I filled with manic yearning as I tugged again, sliding the spoon from her cleavage and drifting the rounded end around the globes of her flesh.

  She shivered as I drew the Japanese character for silence over the hill of her right breast.

  Silence for her.

  Silence for the faction I’d stupidly signed my life to.

  Chinmoku was the Japanese word for silence and I hated how, just like she’d been writing to No One, it had come full circle in ways I’d never expected.

  We both trembled as I clutched the still warm spoon in my palm and took a step away from her. I needed some space. I needed to breathe without inhaling the matching scent of longing.