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 on 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.
However, I’d underestimated Mr. Prest.
Almost as if he sensed the imminent attack, he stepped back, forcing me to move with him until he entered the lounge and spun to face the three men, pinning me against the wall.
He faced them all as Master A stalked to stand with his evil accomplices.
Mr. Prest clenched his jaw, his eyes hooded and dark. “Let’s start this again. With the fucking truth.” Yanking me from behind his back, he placed me beside him. “She’s a whore.”
I jolted at the word.
I hated that word.
It conjured such sad and broken things. But I wasn’t that. I was a daughter, a student, a friend. I was smart. I’d been pretty, once.
I meant something.
Master A shared a glance with Tony before smiling. “She’s more than a whore. I bought her. Fair and square.”
“So, she’s a slave.” Mr. Prest didn’t phrase it as a question. Somehow, he’d known all along what I was the second he saw me.
I’m his slave; it’s true.
But I don’t want to be.
Master A stared at his guest for a long moment before his shoulders relaxed and a broad smile split his face. “She’s a slave, a whore, a slut. She’s whatever you want.” Coming forward, he held out his hand a second time. “Meet Pimlico…my possession. And you have full invitation to use her.”
No…
My eyes flew to Mr. Prest, hoping like hell the proposition abhorred him. That he’d rather walk out the door than deal with such awful people and take me with him.
But the tense standoff ended as he accepted Master A’s handshake, smiling coldly.
“That’s more like it.” Breaking the introduction, Mr. Prest slung his arm over my blazer-cloaked shoulders. “Why didn’t you say that before?”
Don’t…
“That makes this evening a lot more interesting.”
Chapter Eleven
Elder
This place stank of lies and deceit.
And that said something, seeing as I was the one who usually had the most to hide.
This asshole had cleared most of my vetting channels, but my research hadn’t revealed a live-in girlfriend.
Definitely not a mute girlfriend.
Yet she’s neither of those things.
She was a beaten, broken whore.
A slave.
I’d seen some shit in my past. I’d committed crimes. I’d done my fair share of filth. But I’d never met someone who thought they could own a human soul before.
Part of me wanted to unleash every wrath he had owing. But the other…a stronger part was intrigued.
Distancing myself from Pimlico, I couldn’t deny my flesh heated at the fragility of her bones. I couldn’t look away from the translucency of her skin with its map of blue veins and red arteries.
Balling my hands, I took another step.
Her breathing fluttered, not as a flirt but in fear.
That was not a good thing.
Not where I was concerned.
Over the years of my dominion, I’d earned a name that’d paved the gold-brick road into the underbelly of this sick and twisted world.
Kaitou.
Phantom Thief.
First, because I was a pickpocket, robber, and five-fingered master.
Second because, instead of stealing objects, I started stealing lives.
But only those lives owed to me or those too feeble to be of any use.
What category does she fall into?
She was feeble but not useless.
Something about her got under my skin, itching with an intolerable curiosity.
Where did she come from?
How long had she been here?
And just how long had she wanted to die?
The look in her eyes was a classic invitation for death.
I took another step away from the slave girl.
Just in case.
I saw strength in her, but I also tasted the yearning for her end. Once someone enticed thoughts of suicide into their soul, it was there to stay, slowly corrupting them until they found their way back to life or gave in and let demise claim them.
I’d underestimated Alrik Åsbjörn.
He’d kept this woman alive for who the fuck knew how long, even when her wish to die echoed with every heartbeat.
That was impressive.
The sharp thrill knowing I could do anything I wanted to this girl with no repercussions disgusted me. I could hurt her, fuck her, treat her with no bloody respect. And she could only accept it because that was her place. Her bought and sold place.
I could kill her, and she’d probably thank me for setting her free.
Maybe I should.
Perhaps I will.
Depending on how the evening and our transaction went, I might steal her life and keep it as a trinket, a token, for yet another shadowy deal struck with monsters.
“Let’s eat.” Alrik grinned, strolling toward the eight-seater table positioned beneath a generic chandelier.
His house irritated me. The stark white. The impersonal walls and sterile furniture. I preferred personality in my décor. Why live in a box this soulless? He might as well live in a fucking coffin.
Alrik’s friends took their seats, not waiting for the guest of honour—me—to sit first. My lips tightened at the lack of courtesy and respect.
My culture demanded such things.
Even when I lived on the fucking streets as an unwanted rat, I’d remembered what my elders had taught me.
Reverence for those wiser, older, and smarter than you. Appreciation for those kinder, gentler, and nicer than you. And utmost worship for those who could fucking annihilate you without a single thought.
Grasping the back of the chair, I looked over my shoulder at the wraith of a slave as she faded into the background.
Judging by her current well-being, I’d say she’d become a master at accepting pain. She was like me in that respect. And because of that, she earned my interest. She wasn’t just a possession, but a puzzle, ready to be deciphered.
Sinking to her knees on the hard white tiles, she bowed her head.
Even with my blazer covering her stark skeleton, her malnourished body imprinted beneath it. My jacket looked five times too big for her. Her hair was a disgusting brown mop with no style. Her green eyes resembled a swamp, and her skin hinted as if she bordered scurvy.
She wasn’t healthy.
Why didn’t she speak? And why did her defiant thoughts scream so much louder than words? How could she remain so impertinent when she rang the doorbell of death with eager fingers?
Tearing my gaze away, I glared at the unwanted guests around the table. Alrik assured me, when we set up the meeting, that it would just be him and me. Not three other bastards and one silent girl.
I’d put up with it through dinner because I refused to talk business while eating, and never when drinking, but the moment the food was consumed, they had to fuck off.
My back stiffened as precautions filled me.
Could he have poisoned the meal?
Thanks to my tireless research, I knew he didn’t cook—that his chef service provided delicacies every night. I had to trust he wouldn’t slip ricin into my main course purely because of his ego and what he wanted from me.
If Alrik did, by some imbecile decision, try to dispatch me rather than do business, I was ready.
He wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me.
And he wouldn’t be the last.
However, the trail of cadavers left in my wake would steadily grow longer as I proved I was invincible.
Sitting down, I readjusted my silverware, running eager digits over the serrated knife. I could murder everyone in this room before one scream was uttered.
Perhaps I should.
Maybe I will.
Before the night was through.
Alrik remained standing, opening bags of gourmet food and serving us with each element: bok choi with oyster sauce, Peking duck, Singapore noodles, and wontons.
The scents replaced the blandness of the monochromatic space with welcome.
Finally, he sat at the top of the table and smiled. “Eat. Enjoy.”
As he arranged his napkin, I looked once more at the girl.
She hadn’t budged. Her head remained bowed, her eyes locked on a speck in front of her.
Picking up my fork, I pointed at her. “You don’t feed your slave?”
Alrik slurped a mouthful of noodles, no longer trying to hide the truth. “She gets fed when she’s behaved. She knows that.” He raised his voice so the girl could hear. “And tonight, she didn’t. That unsightly episode before is not tolerated.” He grinned, stabbing a piece of duck. “She’ll eat tomorrow.”
I agreed.
A naughty pet ought to be punished.
But she wasn’t just a pet.
She was a human being, and I wasn’t done inspecting her.
I need her closer.
I ordered, “Invite her to eat with us.”
Alrik and his friends froze, food half-chewed or dangling on their forks. “What?”
“Invite her to eat. She’s hungry.”
“But this is a business dinner. I won’t have it sullied by her—”
“This is not business. This is merely a social nicety to feel as if we’ve bonded before our transaction is concluded. If it were up to me, I would’ve arrived to find you alone, as per our discussion, and left a few minutes later, rather than this fucking spectacle.”
My chin lowered as my temper siphoned through my veins. “You’re the one who changed the rules. Now, I want to change them for my benefit. Let her eat.”
Alrik’s fair skin turned puce with anger.
I smiled, just waiting for an outburst, any outburst. I’d happily teach him a lesson that he would never win with me.
Ever.
Slowly, he put down his utensils and looked at his whore. “Pimlico, grab a plate and join us. I’ve changed my mind. You can eat tonight.”
I didn’t turn around, but her gasp trickled down my nape, making me shiver. It was too easy. Hunting was a lot of fun. Just like thievery. The trick to pulling off a great heist was to gain the trust of your intended victim first.
Trust me, Pim.
Let me steal your secrets.
Alrik had tried to do that by luring me to dinner with his friends. But he couldn’t mask his eager greediness for what I could offer him. Pimlico, on the other hand, bought my sanctuary with every heartbeat, hauling herself into a standing position and shuffling into the kitchen.
I didn’t move as the sounds of collected crockery and the clink of knives and forks echoed in the white space. Her footfalls were as quiet as a shadow as she hesitantly approached the table.
I narrowed my eyes as she kept her vision on the floor, holding her plate like a shield.
Alrik’s friends snickered, sucking on beer bottles, enjoying her discomfort far too fucking much. I didn’t need to ask to know they’d taken from this girl, too. They were responsible for some of the bruises and scars decorating her body.
Alrik sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “Well, sit, Pim. Fuck, don’t just lurk there like a freak.”
Instantly, she darted forward and slipped gracefully into the chair beside me.
Either deliberate or subconscious, the fact she’d chosen to sit so close did strange things to my insides. Half of me wanted to stroke her cheek and promise that as long as she wore my jacket, I’d protect her. While the other half wanted to see how p
retty her tears would look falling into her dinner.
Tearing my gaze from her sad face, I stole her empty plate and replaced it with my untouched, full one.
She sucked in a breath as I nudged the delicious smelling food closer.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to.
She knew what I offered, and she’d accept—if she knew what was fucking good for her.
Alrik’s fork clattered to the tablecloth, smearing garlic sauce and oil. “Wait…she can have a sandwich. There isn’t enough for—”
I held up my hand with a sharp glare. “I’m not hungry. She is. Problem solved.”
Besides, there was power in not eating when everyone else was. I had the freedom to stare and calculate. I could ask questions and probe all while they swallowed inconvenient mouthfuls, scrambling for lies.
No, this was perfect.
I got to do a good dead—something I was sorely lacking—and I also got to put these men on the back foot.
Let the interrogation begin.
Chapter Twelve
Pimlico
I couldn’t look up.
Whiffs of delicious food made eternal hunger snarl.
Is this real?
Was I truly sitting on a chair at the table with a plate in front of me? Was it a cruel joke where Master A would snatch away the meal as he sometimes did for spite?
I shuddered, remembering last month how he’d made me crawl after him for miles, up and down the stairs, along tiled corridors, taunting me with my dog bowl full of spaghetti carbonara.
I’d wanted those rich, creamy noodles more than anything and hated what I did when he finally stopped and demanded I suck him in return for my dinner.
The flavour of his cum had ruined the reward.
I never wanted carbonara again.
My fingers shook around the utensil as I forced myself to recall the mechanics. How could I forget something as simple as using a fork? And if I couldn’t remember, what would Mr. Prest think of me?
He’ll see a whore and a heathen.
An untrained slave with awful table manners.
Why did I suddenly want to be noticed instead of forgotten? Recognised instead of alone? Why did this man make me come more alive than I had in years?
Fighting my tremble, I raised a mouthful to my lips.
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