Thousands

by Pepper Winters

  The thought of unknown strangers.

  A faction filled with heartless slavers.

  Ripping me from Elder’s safety.

  Selling me to yet another life of misery.

  I almost passed out from sick, icy fear.

  My heart stopped beating.

  My throat closed up.

  Elder and Selix continued to speak, but I couldn’t listen anymore.

  I was seconds away from collapsing to my knees and having a full-blown relapse.

  Using the wall as support, I half-stumbled, half-bolted toward the elevator. There, I punched the button while clawing at my throat for air as the silver doors slid open and I threw myself in.

  Please, please, please.

  Breathless, careless, I barely managed to press the floor number before my knees gave out and I landed on them with a painful crunch.

  I didn’t know if the lift moved or if the doors closed or if I was still alone.

  All I knew was Alrik

  and classical music

  and whips

  and chains

  and blood

  and agony

  and begs

  and the knowledge that if anyone, anyone, tried to do that to me again, I wouldn’t hesitate to see how bad my fate would be.

  I would slit my wrists, eat a bullet, jump into the vast, vast ocean and be done with it.

  I would say no.

  No to the Chinmoku.

  No to evil.

  No!

  My lungs struggled to convert air into oxygen, granting a much needed gulp, mixing with suffocation. My back rounded as I landed on all fours, gulping for more, noticing tears dripped down my cheeks, landing on the floor. My recent bruises from Harold’s kicks and fists swelled into an orchestra of old injuries—reminding me all over again that just because I ignored the pain didn’t mean it wasn’t there...haunting me.

  The elevator opened, revealing the rose-gold accents of my corridor, beckoning sanctuary.

  Hauling myself to my feet, I swiped at the tears, opened my mouth wide for scraps of oxygen, and hugged myself as tremors and shivers added to the quick attack.

  I thought I was through with them.

  That every day away from such events patched up the final holes in my damaged psyche.

  I hated that I was so weak the very thought of going back to where I’d come from was enough to shove me straight into suicide all over again.

  I entered my room, closed the door, and collapsed on the floor against it. I gave into the sobs and allowed the rest of my attack to take me.

  I wasn’t weak knowing I would rather die than survive that again. I was selfish because I understood what life and love should be like. I was grateful to have a comparison.

  It wasn’t weak to know my limits.

  It was strength because now I knew where the lines were drawn. How far I could be pushed and how far I could bend before I broke.

  If what Elder suspected was true, I wanted every last Chinmoku to die the most horrific, agonising death. In a way, I wanted Elder to pay for the small part he’d played as their errand boy, no matter how young and naïve he was.

  Guilt infected me at the thought.

  The Chinmoku had stolen his life just the way they’d stolen mine. They’d taken his brother and father and banished him from his family. They’d taken my mother and made me vanish from girl to toy.

  If what Elder said was true, we both had a reason to fight.

  One thing was for certain, I wouldn’t let him go to battle on his own, and I wouldn’t waste any more time pining for something he wasn’t ready to give.

  Worst things still existed out there.

  Leaning against the door, my eyes climbed upward until I stared at the new lock above my head.

  I would never use it to lock Elder out.

  I would never treat him with suspicion or coldness.

  But for now...I reached up and turned it.

  The soft click of the barrier helped eradicate the rest of my panic attack, and I inhaled a shaky breath.

  The lock was both symbol and real.

  I didn’t lock out Elder.

  I didn’t lock out bad memories or future perils or any other nightmare the world had to offer.

  I locked out my fear.

  I locked out my panic attacks.

  I finally managed to say...no more.

  I’d had enough.

  If the Chinmoku were hunting us...let them come.

  They would be the ones dying, not us.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ______________________________

  Elder

  SHE DID AS I asked.

  Locked.

  Sighing, I pressed my forehead against her door. My fingers trailed from the unturnable handle and up the lacquered wood, wishing it was Pim I touched.

  What did I expect?

  Three a.m. and I hadn’t been to see her all day. After hours of strategizing with Selix, I wasn’t good company. It was out of chivalry that I kept my distance. She didn’t deserve my strung-out temper.

  Were the Chimmoku involved in her selling or had my mind finally cracked—running around a maze with no answers, bumping into theories, ricocheting off dead ends.

  I honestly didn’t know anymore.

  It didn’t mean I wasn’t desperate to see her, though.

  The wood of her door was smooth beneath my fingers as I rested my forehead against it and breathed for the first time all day.

  I let go of my stress and worry and guilt and stood outside her room, finding a scrap of peace just by being near her.

  Ever since my brain decided to figure out who had accessed her police record, I couldn’t think about anything else. I couldn’t stop searching with binoculars to see if the Chinmoku sailed behind us. I couldn’t stop checking the weapons cache, ensuring guns and other firepower were in good working order in case of an ocean siege.

  I was fucking exhausted from patrolling the Phantom and seeking out any weaknesses. The hull was enforced with carbon fibre. The framework with titanium. Bullet-proof armoured plating encased each of the bedrooms, and the missile defense system was top of the line. If it was a war they wanted, my yacht would stand up to whatever weaponry they had. But if it was Pim they wanted, then I would rip them limb from fucking limb.

  I would turn savage and not just shoot them as I’d planned.

  They’d taken my family.

  There’s no way in hell they’re taking her, too.

  For the second time in days, I came face to face with the thought of not having Pim in my life. Leaving her in Monaco showed me the agony I would endure knowing she lived in the same world as me, talking to others, smiling at others, falling in love with others.

  That was brutal enough.

  But the thought of the Chinmoku taking her, selling her, hurting her....It showed me a horror I couldn’t even contemplate, let alone survive. I raged at the thought of them killing her, of her not talking to others, smiling at others, falling in love with others.

  Of not falling in love with me.

  Of blank eyes and lost soul.

  Of death.

  And that unhappy train of thought was how I’d found myself outside her door at three in the morning when I should’ve numbed myself with a joint and fallen into a fitful sleep.

  I wasn’t here to force myself on her. I wasn’t here for sex period. The images of her dead and broken did not turn me on in the slightest.

  I wasn’t here for any of the reasons why I’d installed the lock in the first place.

  I was here to stare at her while she slept—to remind myself she was still alive and safe. That she was here with me and not lost in Monte Carlo. I was here to lie silently beside her, to breathe her in, to hold her close, to bury my face in her hair and try to find some sanity.

  I’d turned to her and not the weed in my bedside drawer for comfort.

  And what had she done?

  She’d locked me out.

  On my orde
rs.

  Fuck.

  I could knock.

  I could punch the door and wake her up. I could grab her the moment she opened it, all sleep warm and dream fuzzy, and carry her back to bed. I had no doubt she would welcome me with open arms. She’d run her fingers through my hair and be both lover and mother for however long I needed. She would let me hold her until I could breathe again.

  But I couldn’t ask her to do that.

  I was supposed to be the protector in this world, not her. She was supposed to trust me to stay strong and know what the hell I was doing. I wouldn’t tell her I’d been lying to her all along.

  Lying that I had no fucking clue about any of it anymore and needed guidance. That I was willing to try whatever she wanted if it meant I could finally be normal.

  Drawing away from her door, I balled my hands.

  Earlier today, I’d made the agonising decision not to sail to America—to trust the men I’d put in charge to handle the mess over there and focus on life on this side of the globe.

  My business didn’t stop running just because I was having a crisis of identity and loyalty. Pim didn’t stop existing just because I couldn’t get my head on straight.

  Life moved on.

  I had work to attend to.

  Therefore, I’d commanded Jolfer to change our course back to the original one.

  We had a few days before we arrived in England. Not only would Pim be my plus one at the Hawk’s Masquerade but she’d also accompany me on a few other visits around town.

  But before we docked, I had every intention of finding my way back to being kind and generous. I missed her.

  I’d missed her when I left her behind, and I missed her now that she was back in my life.

  It’s ridiculous.

  Why keep myself from the one person I wanted to spend time with?

  Why believe in delusions that the more distance I put between us, the less I’d fall in love with her? That there was some possible way of revoking the fall and returning to stable ground where my heart belonged to me and not a woman who had the utmost power to shatter it?

  Stalking down the corridor and back to my quarters, I finally admitted to myself.

  No distance or avoidance could cure me.

  Because I was no longer falling.

  I’d crashed and burned and had no possible way of getting up.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ______________________________

  Pimlico

  “GOOD MORNING.”

  I glanced up, squinting against the bright sunshine. Elder’s silhouette was black and sharp against the glowing fireball behind him.

  Bringing my hand up, I did my best to block the over-saturation of light and focus.

  To study his face.

  To see if any remnants of his awful overheard epiphany yesterday still lurked on his features.

  He gave me a sad half smile. An apologetic warmth in his gaze. He stood in an open neck muslin shirt with light coloured jeans. His hair glistened with shower-droplets and the way his jaw clenched as he studied me made my heart race to eradicate the distance between us.

  To clamber off the canvas-covered lifeboat and leap into his arms.

  To tell him I’d eavesdropped on his conversation and knew everything.

  To promise him I wasn’t afraid, and I would do whatever it took to keep him safe.

  But before I could return the greeting or move from my perched spot, he moved closer and sat beside me. His thighs tensed as if ready to spring back up, his body coiled tighter than anyone should be at this time in the morning.

  “Mind if I join you?” He glanced at me; his eyes narrowed against the sun.

  His hair glittered blue-black while his skin seemed to glow. The sun wasn’t an enemy to him, painting him in warmth and sincerity while, at the same time, revealing fine lines around his mouth and stress that shouldn’t be there.

  “Of course.” I scooted sideways to give him more room so the rigging wouldn’t dig into his thigh.

  He scowled, seeming hurt that I’d moved away from him.

  Worry bubbled. Patting the canvas next to me, I murmured, “Come closer. I don’t want you uncomfortable.”

  “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

  “The rope.” I pointed at his leg where the giant salt-frosted rope pressed against his jeans. “I’m making you squish onto the end.”

  He shook his head, his lips curling into a smirk. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

  “Okay.” I glanced away, unable to hold the intensity in his gaze for more than a few seconds. He’d replaced the sunshine with his onyx stare, and it was just as blinding.

  Despite his assurances that he wasn’t uncomfortable, he shifted toward me. His hands flexed on the canvas, hoisting his weight closer. I couldn’t look away from his perfect fingers, square nails, or the veins running along the ridges of his knuckles.

  Those hands had been on my skin.

  Those fingers had been inside my body.

  This man had touched me, loved me, and I hadn’t run away screaming.

  So why did everything with Elder now feel as if we’d reverted back to strangers? Why couldn’t I figure out what to say? How to act? Why was self-consciousness ruining this sweet, simple moment of sitting quietly in the new sun?

  Elder must’ve felt the same way as he moved restlessly, making the pulleys groan a little. He cleared his throat as he looked at the sky, a staff member buffing a banister, a seagull soaring past—anything but me. Anywhere but where I truly wanted him to look.

  The silence was no longer a visible thing; it was a wall between us—thick and soundproof.

  This couldn’t be allowed to continue.

  Turning a little to face him, I placed my hand on his.

  He jolted, his fingers curling around the edge of the lifeboat as if having me touch him was physically painful. Which could entirely be the case seeing as he fought more complicated desires than me. A simple touch for me might be a lewd promise to him and one he’d sworn never to break.

  My heart hurt as I quickly removed my hand. “Sorry.”

  He swallowed a gruff groan. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. My mind sifted through too many things he might be apologising for. But I couldn’t see anything that was his direct fault and not a combined effort on both our parts.

  “You’ve nothing to be sor—”

  “I do.” Jumping off the lifeboat, he spun in front of me. His large hands landed on my knees and without thinking, he pushed my legs apart.

  Today was the first day I’d braved a different wardrobe item other than a baggy dress. I no longer suffered claustrophobia and rather liked the idea of mixing up my style choices. Today, I’d opted for an over-size t-shirt in the softest blue coupled with a pair of grey shorts with a pleat ironed down the front.

  It’d taken some getting used to having the waistband tight around my belly, but I was ridiculously thankful I’d worn them as Elder spread my legs and stepped into the gap.

  He didn’t seem to notice I’d battled my hatred for clothing and won. He didn’t notice his thumbs circled my naked knees or that his touch tightened on my thighs to jerk me closer.

  It all happened too fast to micro-analyse, yet that was exactly what my brain did.

  It hyper focused on how warm and hard he was between my legs. How his hands drifted over my thighs and wedged themselves under my ass, squeezing me with a thread of violence. I no longer sat on the lifeboat. I sat on him, and God, the thrill that gave me, the knowledge he’d gathered me close without me fighting for it...

  It turned me to stone and jelly all at the same time.

  My heart wobbled like some ridiculous raspberry dessert while my limbs locked into granite. I wanted to melt. To throw my arms over his shoulders, cup the back of his head, and bring his lips to mine.

  Instead, I waited. I studied. I paused until he blinked hard and his nostrils flared, slowly realising how he�
�d gone from sitting beside me to wedged as tight against me as he could.

  “Ah, shit.” He exhaled heavily, his fingers loosening around my ass.

  “Wait,” I murmured as he went to pull away.

  He stopped, his eyes meeting mine in a silent plea to tell him what to do.

  That look of uncertainty when Elder had been everything but uncertain dove into my chest and took a pitchfork to my heart.

  “I don’t want you to leave.” Holding my breath, I reached up and cupped his cheek with a shaking palm. “I’ve wanted you to touch me since I saw you at the police station.”

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you at the police station.” His eyes burned into mine. “The kiss I gave you wasn’t enough. I doubt any would be enough where you’re concerned.”

  His brutal honesty tripped me up.

  “You can kiss me again...if you want.”

  “I can’t.”

  My head swam with gooey desire. “What’s stopping you?”

  “You know what’s stopping me.”

  “It’s just a kiss.”

  He licked his lips as his body gave in, all the while fighting it with words. “We both know it’s not just a kiss.”

  My hand crept up his cheek to his temple.

  He shuddered as I ran my fingers through his hair, caressing him. I had to sit higher to direct my hand around to the back of his neck. My back arched, pushing my breasts out, my position giving him all the signals he needed.

  “Kiss me.” Applying a touch of nail, I pulled his head downward.

  The strength of his neck fought me, not budging. His eyes danced over my face as if deciding how to thwart me without hurting my feelings.

  Then...it was as if something cracked inside him...as if a tiny box he kept padlocked and protected smashed beneath a sledgehammer.

  And then he collapsed forward.

  And his mouth crashed against mine.

  And his lips were so warm and wet and welcoming.

  And he kissed me.

  I’d asked for the kiss, but he wholeheartedly donated it.

  His lips kissed soft and hard. His tongue flicked over my mouth, not asking, not begging, but demanding entry to taste me.

  I let the stress-granite leave me and the lust-melting happen. I shivered as his arms wrapped around me, clutching me close as our lips fused and the kiss turned primal in its intensity.