Mr. Prest came forward a few steps, planting his long, powerful legs where I wished he wouldn’t.
Legs weren’t so bad.
I could handle his legs…ankles really.
That was fine.
But anything else, I didn’t want to see.
“I did. I sent you the schematics and in-depth blueprints in return.” Rustling sounded as Mr. Prest pulled something from the leather binder in his hands. “Here.”
How do you know it’s a binder?
Shit, my eyes had steadily crept upward.
Up his broad thighs, past the slight bulge in his trousers, up the svelte lines of his chest, to the sharp ridges of his throat.
Drop your head!
My command made my shoulders roll as I bowed deeper into the floor. I couldn’t meet his eyes. That was where the danger lay.
If I slipped and looked up, I doubted I’d live to tomorrow if Master A deemed I had some sort of sick fascination (or was it attraction?) toward this monster I couldn’t stand.
No, it isn’t attraction.
It couldn’t be.
After losing my virginity to sexual slavery, I’d been cured of finding anyone pleasing to the eye or connected to my soul.
I doubted I’d ever find anyone like that.
My fate was different to my friends who would live long lives and give birth to kids with boys they’d fallen in love with.
I wanted to be alone.
Safe.
Far away from men.
The two villains talked in low murmurs about delivery dates and inspections.
I didn’t bother straining to hear. I didn’t care.
My skin prickled as Mr. Prest’s voice mingled with Master A’s. The awareness of both of them watching me wrapped a plastic bag around my heart, suffocating me slowly. I didn’t dare move; I could barely breathe. Mr. Prest somehow stole every sense keeping them zeroed in on him.
The battle to keep my eyes down and head ducked became harder and harder to win. Every shuffle of his feet and rustle of his clothing whispered for me to indulge in just a peek.
One peek.
I can’t.
Taking a deep breath, I did what I never thought I’d do and focused on the classical music rather than my abhorrent fascination with our visitor.
I willingly let stringed instruments distract me, even though they only brought nightmares.
That was what Master A was: a nightmare. And one of these days, I’d wake up and this would be all over.
Wake up, Pim…wake up.
After ten minutes or so, Master A snapped his fingers, ceasing their conversation. “Get Mr. Prest a drink, Pim.”
Get up?
Move?
Run the risk of stealing a glance I wasn’t allowed to steal?
My spine rolled in disobedience.
When I didn’t leap into action, Master A lowered his voice. “Did you not hear me?” Nudging my knee with his toe, he grunted, “Get!”
My body snarled with aches and pains as I scrambled to my feet, skidding into the kitchen. Miraculously, I kept my chin tucked and eyes down. However, even without eyesight, I saw Mr. Prest. Felt him watching me. Heard him thinking about me.
His shadow lurked in my peripheral as I scurried around the countertop.
Not once had Mr. Prest addressed me. Not once had he tried to engage me in pleasantries—not like the first time when he’d shortened my name with familiarity.
He hadn’t been threatened by Master A not to speak or look, so why hadn’t he been as strangely kind as he was in the beginning?
I didn’t want to admit it, but the cold shoulder hurt more than a kick from my bastard owner.
Something was to be said about cruelty. Give nothing but barbarity and that was all that was expected. Give tenderness mixed with persecution and the fall from hope hurt far, far worse.
Was that Mr. Prest’s agenda from the start?
Keeping my face covered by my hair as much as possible, I headed into the walk-in pantry where a small cellar was located in the floor.
Pressing a silver button by the shelf housing condiments, the trap door opened and the current bottle of bourbon Master A had selected shot to the top on an automatic delivery system.
Grabbing the expensive liquor, I trembled as I carried the blasted liquor back to splash generous amounts into crystal goblets.
My pour wasn’t neat; a few droplets landed on the bench.
My back turned rigid. I waited for reprimand.
I’d dropped a bottle once.
I’d only been with Master A for a month, and my rebellion hadn’t fully stopped. I didn’t remember if I dropped it by accident or on purpose.
But I did remember the punishment very well. It involved shards of the broken bottle and generous pouring of spoilt liquor on the open cut he’d adorned me with.
I’d cried soundless tears.
But I hadn’t given him what he wanted most—my voice.
Not that it mattered. He’d cured me of my butterfingers with one incident.
Ignoring the scar on my forearm from the horrendous memory, I quickly wiped up the small spillage and stoppered the bottle.
Replacing it back in the cellar, I set the glasses on the coffee table where both men had retired in the lounge and returned to my post by the wall, dropping to my knees with an ill-concealed wince.
Mr. Prest murmured something like gratitude, his eyes tracking me even as the soft clink of toasting goblets sounded over the music.
But he said nothing else. No barb about my wardrobe or fishing hook to taunt me to speak.
His body language shut me off, focusing on Master A.
For the next thirty minutes, I zoned out.
Listening to men—rather than granting forced blowjobs—was a much happier alternative. However, after the past few sleepless nights, I struggled to fight the heavy cloud of drowsiness. I battled drooping eyelids, pinching my inner wrist with demands not to fall unconscious.
I’d done that once: slithered from my bow into a full fetal position on the floor.
Darryl had been the one to punish me that night. Master A had goaded him, saying how undisciplined I was and needed a harsh lesson.
I hadn’t been able to move for a week.
The low hum of voices suddenly stopped.
I panicked.
Had I dropped off and they’d noticed? Had I been requested to serve and had a micro nap instead?
My heart did its best to flee. Only, Mr. Prest ensured it stayed in my ribcage with a soft curse. My shoulders rolled even more as he finally chose his moment to undermine my conflict not to watch him.
“At least your dress fits you better than that ugly skirt.” His voice acted as scissors, slicing up the dress he’d complimented, licking over my skin with sharp threats.
Inching along the couch, his shadow came closer as the automatic lights clicked on now the sun had well and truly gone to bed.
Don’t look.
Do. Not. Look.
He perched on the end of the settee like a black crow of intrigue.
“Let’s get back to signing the final contract, shall we?” Master A muttered, nursing his drink.
“In a moment.” Mr. Prest waved him away impatiently.
Even with my hair obscuring my vision and my steadfast obedience at keeping my gaze locked on the floor, I couldn’t stop myself straining to feel and hear and stare.
I hate you for what befell me.
So why was I still drawn to him?
Magic?
Fate?
What?
Sensing I was listening, Mr. Prest inched closer. Leaning over the end of the couch with his fingers linked around his goblet, his eyes resolutely locked on me. “Still silent, I see.” He chuckled, his body violin-string tight with inquisition rather than giving his attention to Master A.
Don’t do that.
Don’t you see what you cost me?
Look at him, not me.
Tipping forwa
rd, he placed his untouched alcohol on the coffee table before training his gaze on my head.
My scalp prickled beneath his stare, heating in degrees the longer we stayed trapped in whatever game he played.
“Mr. Prest…” Paper crinkling and a pen tapping on glass signalled Master A’s none-too-subtle attempt at interruption.
It didn’t work.
Mr. Prest merely stared harder, as if he could crack open my skull and drag out my thoughts without having to go through my mute mouth. Shifting slightly, he reached into his pocket.
Don’t be a penny.
Not again.
The soft ping of battered copper bounced on the tile by my knee, spinning with a dull bronze glitter before falling face up. “A penny for your thoughts, silent one. Perhaps, today you’ll speak.”
Stop doing this to me!
Damn him and his pennies.
I didn’t want to be paid for words I’d never utter. How about he gave me a penny for every kick I’d endured, every broken bone, every rape, every tear?
I’d be a damn millionaire with the means to run far away from here.
Master A stood.
My teeth clamped onto my bottom lip as I folded into myself.
I didn’t do anything!
Hurt him, not me!
But instead of swatting me around the head or kicking me into pieces, Master A wedged himself between Mr. Prest and me. The distance from my position by the wall and the end of the couch wasn’t much, and Master A’s trousers granted a whiff of the frangipani laundry detergent he insisted I wash his clothes with.
He smelled so different from Mr. Prest, who reeked of power and ruthlessness. I didn’t know what flavour those two traits had, but Mr. Prest swam in them, permeating every space he entered.
“Stop giving my slave money.” Plucking the penny from the floor, Master A clutched it tight in his fist. “In this business arrangement, I’m the one who pays you. Which I have, as you well fucking know. I transferred the full funds as per our agreement. I’ve signed the additional contract for final acceptance. Our meeting is over.”
I sucked in a breath as Master A blocked me from seeing. With his back to me, I permitted my gaze to climb, just a little.
The standoff lasted a few heavy seconds.
Instead of rising to leave, Mr. Prest reclined comfortably on the settee. The squeak of expensive leather acted as a chorus bar on the appalling music still raining. “I’m not leaving. Not yet.”
What? Does he have a death wish?
Just go!
I caught movement between Master A’s legs as Mr. Prest raised his arm, pointing at me. “What happened to her?”
“What the fuck do you mean, what happened to her?” Master A crossed his arms, not returning the penny or stepping away. “She’s none of your concern.”
I froze as Mr. Prest’s accusing finger dropped to my broken, badly bandaged hand. “How did she do that?”
An odd bubble of laughter tickled my insides.
Who cares?
Why did he insist on nettling my owner? He didn’t care about me. It was all an act to rile Master A and somehow get better terms for whatever deal they’d struck.
“She did it to herself.” Master A planted his legs wider in a threat. “Don’t worry yourself over a small accident. Worry yourself over delivering my yacht on fucking time.”
“Oh, I don’t worry about things like that.” Mr. Prest stood too, squaring off with him. “I have utmost belief that your purchase will be the best quality, highest specifications, and delivered perfectly on time.”
Master A had no retort.
“So, seeing as I guarantee to uphold my end of the bargain, how about you indulge me in a simple question?” Looking around Master A, Mr. Prest caught my gaze. “Tell me.”
Shit!
I’d looked up, forgetting myself.
The moment we made eye contact, my breath evaporated, and every vein attached to my heart popped free like a hose, spraying heated blood in scattered rivers in my chest.
“Tell me how she hurt her hand.” His jaw hardened, his eyes like onyx gemstones, far more priceless than any penny he could give. “Lie to me about why she’s black and fucking blue.”
His rage grew until his face darkened and forehead furrowed into furious lines.
He intoxicated me.
His fury was a hot blanket, reminding me briefly what it was like to be looked at with worth rather than bankruptcy.
My chin tilted higher, my mouth parted as we stared and stared.
He licked his lips as something unspoken and unrecognised arched from his body to mine. I had no choice but to let its corrupting electricity spark through my veins before shattering from my chest back to him.
The longer we watched, the thicker the connection grew until every cell hummed for something bigger than me, something stronger, scarier, safer than I’d ever been given.
Look away…
Look away!
I’d stared too long. I’d jeopardised my pain for too little.
My neck argued as I forced my eyes to drop.
It was as hard as pulling out a fingernail, but I did it.
Just in time, as Master A swivelled on the spot, glowering at me meek and behaving behind him. “Her hand? It’s nothing. Like I said, she did it to herself.”
I would never do such a thing…
“How?” Mr. Prest’s bark was sharp and snappy.
Stupid man. You’ll never get the truth. Leave before you make me slip again.
Staring at him had somehow overridden my hatred for what I’d endured, removed my blame off his shoulders, and begged him to stay.
He was the only one with unique power over Master A. What could I do to make him free me rather than destroy me?
Master A sneered. “She fell down the stairs.”
Seriously?
God, what a cliché.
I didn’t move, waiting for Mr. Prest’s follow-up question. How did she fall? What did you do? Why should I believe your lies?
Only, there were none.
Slowly, he grunted in understanding, and that was it.
Moving around the couch, Mr. Prest balled his hands. “In that case, our deal is complete.”
What? No!
How dare he prickle with questions he already knew the answers to?
Damn you. Curse you!
Leave! And never come back!
I trembled on the floor. Filling with rage so thick and violent, I bit my tongue.
Master A laughed, instantly relaxing, sensing victory while I wallowed in defeat. “Excellent.” Striding forward, he held out his hand. “You’ll get in touch in eight months once delivery can be made?”
“That’s right.” Mr. Prest accepted the handshake, his eyes carrying the weight of Hades and heaven as he looked at me, lingering on my dress-hidden body.
I managed to keep my gaze downcast even as my mind filled with curses and slurs at his awful sport. He’d made me think he felt whatever it was that sprouted between us. He made me believe I was worth someone’s piqued attention.
Stupid, Pim.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
He felt nothing.
Nothing!
My vision turned glassy as furious tears came unbidden. I wanted this entire thing forgotten. Master A was right. I had wanted Mr. Prest more than I wanted my owner—not sexually, not emotionally, hell, I didn’t know how I wanted him.
But I had.
And now, I was cured. I knew my place. I would never be allowed to stray from it.
Sighing with all the disappointment and despair I had left, I hugged myself, resting my forehead on my knees.
I didn’t care anymore.
I just wanted to be alone.
Mr. Prest’s regal, deep voice tore through my depression. “Does she still have my jacket?”
Yes.
And you can’t have it back.
Because I’m going to burn it while thinking of you.
Master A nodded. “She does. She’ll fetch it if you want.”
I huddled deeper into my crouch.
Don’t make me, you bastard. That’s mine to do whatever the hell I want with.
“No. It was a gift.” Running a hand over his chin, Mr. Prest added quietly, “However, before this deal is one hundred percent concluded, I have an extra term to add.”
Master A didn’t tense, believing it was something he would willingly agree to. He thought he’d won. “Oh?”
I knew better.
My spine stiffened as I stopped breathing…waiting.
Mr. Prest chuckled under his breath, dragging out the anticipation. “This clause should be easy for you. Something you will have no problem with seeing as you offered such a thing when I was last here.”
No.
I dared look up, my head rising while the rest of my body sank deeper into the icy tiles.
Don’t.
“I did?” Master A asked.
Stop.
Mr. Prest made eye contact with me, knowing full well I knew what he was about to request. I had no say in this. I would have to obey, and by obeying, I would kill myself.
Why did that terrify me so?
I’d spent the past few days thinking about his death, my death, everyone’s death.
I should be glad knowing that after tonight, Master A would kill me himself. I just had to hope it was quick rather than drawn out and agonising.
Perhaps, Mr. Prest will do it?
Once he’d taken from me, I could ask one thing. I could speak for the first time in forever and beg for death so I could win at the final punishment.
Mr. Prest tore his depthless gaze from mine, locking onto his business partner. He smiled, keeping his lips tight over his teeth, unable to hide his predatory conquest from showing.
His hand outstretched, pointing directly at me. “Her.”
Master A spun around, catching my head raised and vision glued on Mr. Prest. “What?”
Immediately, I dropped my chin, squeezing my eyes as if I could convince him I wasn’t staring.
Mr. Prest went from standing to a fast prowl to my side. He bypassed Master A with an elegance and swiftness like an eagle swooping on the doomed rabbit before anyone blinked.
I jolted as his cool hand landed on my scalp, his fingertips splaying over my forehead.
“I want her.”
He tugged ugly strands of hair, combing me, petting me, preparing me for whatever he had planned.
Pennies (Dollar #1) Page 13
