Hundreds
Page 1
HUNDREDS
Dollar Series #3
by
New York Times Bestseller
Pepper Winters
Hundreds (Dollar Series #3)
Copyright © 2017 Pepper Winters
Published by Pepper Winters
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Published: Pepper Winters 2017: pepperwinters@gmail.com
Cover Design: by Kellie at Book Cover by Design & Ari @ Cover it! Designs
Editing by: Editing 4 Indies (Jenny Sims)
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Hundreds Blurb
“I'm done hurting her. She's been hurt enough. It's time I set her free...”
Once upon a time, I wished to go home and forget.
Now, I’m strong and ready to fight.
Seduced and claimed, Elder no longer just demands my voice, he commands me to be a thief like him.
I refuse.
But he offers me things I shouldn’t want, favours I should run from.
In return for his protection, I’m ordered to steal enough pennies and dollars to buy back my freedom.
Only, we both aren’t prepared for how he changes me, evolves me.
It’s my turn to learn about him.
Until something goes wrong.
And our life together comes to an end.
Contents
OTHER WORK BY PEPPER WINTERS
Hundreds Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
PLAYLIST
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER WORK BY PEPPER WINTERS
Prologue
______________________________
Pimlico
HE’D ALMOST DESTROYED me by taking me.
He’d broken into my body, my mind, my memories, my hardships. He’d infiltrated the part of me I’d kept locked away from Alrik’s torture. He’d knocked on the door where Tasmin hid, ripping open the locks and dragging me back into the living.
Somehow, by forcing himself inside me, he’d switched awful historical memories with confused present ones. He’d shown me I was stronger than I thought. Shown me how to seek comfort after having none.
In one act of unbridled brutality, he’d awoken me to a world where I didn’t die if I had sex. I didn’t crumble if a man touched me. I didn’t break if I talked.
He’d almost destroyed me.
Almost.
But he hadn’t.
And from the ashes, I stood tall.
Chapter One
______________________________
Elder
WHAT THE FUCK was I thinking?
How could I let myself do such a thing?
I was worse than him. Worse than the monster who’d kept her.
At least his intentions were obvious. Me? I’d lulled her into believing I’d protect and care for her, only to snap at the worst possible time.
Fuck!
Dragging a hand through my hair, I cursed the shake in my fingers. I needed to get myself under control before I lost even more self-discipline. I couldn’t afford to let my mind go to the tangled place where I struggled to climb out of.
My heart raced. My blood gushed. I was wild with fucking regret.
Tracks showed on the thick carpet where I’d paced all night. Ever since taking Pimlico back to her room, I couldn’t stop.
I couldn’t get the sight of her tears or the sound of her first words out of my head.
My body didn’t know if it wanted to find a release after the worst sexual experience of my life or swear off women altogether.
Even hours later, I still felt her around me. I still suffered the soft bounce of her in my lap as she cried and punched me and demanded to know where I was two years ago.
Her tears were my dishonour. Her questions were my punishment.
I’d taken something that should’ve been healing and full of whatever was growing between us and turned it into yet another rape.
I hadn’t waited until she was ready, and now, I’d destroyed myself too.
My cello sat where I’d left it on the floor. I wanted nothing more than to choke it, murder it, and create tortured music. I needed chords and rhythm to make sense of this confounding emotion inside me. I needed the crux I always used to keep myself sane.
But I stayed clear.
I couldn’t hurt her more than I already had.
Music was my salvation but it was Pim’s absolute nightmare.
Each time I’d played, Pimlico had found me. My songs sent her back to hell while her presence in my life made me join her in the fiery pits.
I wouldn’t play because I didn’t want her to find me again. She needed to stay away for a while. I couldn’t be around her until I figured out who I was, who I wanted to be, and just how to be a fucking gentleman again.
Thoughts of getting rid of her taunted me. It would be a relief to remove her from my yacht and leave her in my wake.
That would be the right and best thing to do.
Especially now.
Now that I’d snapped.
Perhaps, I’d arrange for her freedom.
Maybe, I’d give her to another.
Regardless, the best thing for everyone would be to send her away and never see her again.
Chapter Two
______________________________
Pimlico
DEAR NO ONE,
He slept with me.
He finally showed me what he will do. What he expects. How it will be from now—
I flung the pen across the room.
Stop.
That’s not true.
Yes, he’d hurt me. Yes, he’d been inside me. And yes, he’d done what I’d always feared he’d do.
But he hadn’t been cruel. He hadn’t beaten me or called me names. He hadn’t killed me for sobbing in his arms, screaming at him, or hitting him over and over again.
He’d held me. Soothed me. Comforted me.
He’d taken something wrong and somehow turned it…right? No, not right but definitely different from every other sexual experience I’d endured.
He could steal from me so easily. He could hurt me far too simply.
Yet he hadn’t.
He’d cradled me in his arms. He’d kissed away my tears.
He let me hit him.
I shook my head at the tenderness he’d shown. He’d touched me against my wishes and entered me without permission, but he’d done so much afterward to make up for his mistake.
You’re giving him permission to rape you now?
I climbed from the bed, picked up the pen from the floor, and returned to the mattress all while trying to understand my string-knotted thoughts.
I wasn’t giving him permission, exactly, but I wouldn’t shoulder him entirely with the blame. I hadn’t been totally innocent. I was no longer a trapped captive—used at the whims of her diabolical master. I was free—or as much as I could be on a yacht with the sea all around me. I lived with a man I found immensely attractive, exotic, and secretive.
I’d warmed to him.
I’d kissed him back.
I’d wanted him on the streets of Morocco.
Whatever was between us couldn’t be labelled but it had threaded us together, despite our uncommon introduction.
I’d never had that sort of connection with anyone. I’d never seen undiluted passion in a man’s eyes but trust him not to hurt me with it at the same time. His self-control drove me to do reckless things like daydream what it would be like to be with him with no baggage of my past.
I’d selfishly only thought about me. About what Elder was doing for my recuperation rather than what it would be like for him sharing his home with a crazy woman who didn’t like clothing, touch, or music.
My issues weren’t his fault, so why punish him?
Because you’re not well. You’re healing.
Yes, I was healing, and that was because of him. He was the reason I was alive with a functioning tongue rather than tongueless and dead.
I put too much on him—never letting go of my suspicion and fear.
I wasn’t easy to be around. Hell, I hated being around me most of the time. I hadn’t appreciated how draining it would be to live with a mute all while she struggled to return to her sexuality while abhorring it at the same time.
I’d given mixed messages.
To him and to myself.
Don’t give him excuses.
I sighed, drawing a love heart on the back of my hand.
I wasn’t giving him excuses. I was beginning to live like a normal girl again. A girl who wasn’t just wrapped up in herself and her plight. A girl who would shoulder some of what’d happened because she knew people weren’t perfect. I’d locked up so much of my previous life that it took time to open rusty lids and pull out age-covered recollections. With each memory, dust clouds fogged up the attic of my mind, blurring everything for a time before slowly settling and leaving clarity.
I was finally seeing clear after being in that dusty fog.
I’d studied psychology textbooks that’d given insights into inconsistencies and screw-ups of the human race. I’d learned from experience that the worst members of society could be manipulated through subtle body language. I’d educated myself on how to pre-empt a person’s mood by their mannerisms.
It was time I used those skills and analysed myself for a change, rather than remain unwilling to evolve.
So what if my skin crawled when I wore clothing? It made other people uncomfortable to see me naked.
So what if music made my heart bleed and my mind burrow into hiding? Elder needed to play to quieten his own demons.
So what if I was still at his mercy, dependent on his generosity for however long he’d keep me? The time he’d already given had to be appreciated and valued.
I was done being the victim.
And I was through living this way. This scared, timid, unhealing way.
Ever since Elder had let me cry in his arms—giving me a safe harbour for my tears—he’d been the utmost gentleman. Once my panic had receded, he’d slowly disengaged, leaving my body and heart empty of him.
For so long, I’d hated any form of touching. However, wrapped in my sadness with Elder’s body inside mine, something had changed. His intrusion had added an unwanted but deeper connection to our strange relationship.
Not once did he move or try to claim his own pleasure. He didn’t thrust or come or even groan in frustration when we disconnected. He’d placed me on his bed as if I’d shatter.
Pulling up his pants, he’d wrapped me in his sheets then carried me back to my quarters.
I’d tucked into his arms and let him care for me. I didn’t speak as he’d placed me onto my bed and kissed my forehead with every tenderness I’d been missing.
Stay.
I’d wanted him to stay. Despite our first sexual encounter being one-sided and rushed and full of music decaying any pleasure I might’ve found, I hadn’t wanted him to go.
My first words had been condemning and judgmental. I was afraid he’d leave, and I’d never see him again.
Stay.
But he hadn’t.
He’d given me another sweet,
barely-felt kiss, brushed aside my hair, and stared into my eyes as if searching for something—hate, loathing? I didn’t know.
His jaw had clenched. His black eyes heavy and depthless. And then, he’d gone.
That was yesterday.
I hadn’t slept all night and spent most of the morning and afternoon reliving his body inside me—the thickness, the warmness. With him filling me, I’d suffered a complex recipe of fear and power. Fear because of my past. Power because of the way he looked at me.
He’d let me drown in those emotions until he withdrew, transforming us from one person to two again.
We’d technically had sex, yet it was nothing like any previous sex I’d had. I hadn’t enjoyed pleasure—just like all the hated times with Alrik.
But that was a lie.
There had been pleasure.
Pleasure in letting go and speaking after so long.
Pleasure in crying.
Even pleasure in knowing I hurt him with my never-ending questions.
Scrambling toward the edge of the bed, I swung my legs to the floor and collected my pen and notepad. Elder had scattered all parts of me, ransacked my heart, and decimated my survival mechanisms. But what was left was so much better.
Holes, mistrust, and suicide no longer riddled me.
I was newly born and ready to be who I’d been before I was sold at that awful auction.
Composing another line to No One, I pressed pen to paper.
I’m willing to heal, No One. Will he give me that chance or will he expect to take me again next time we see each other?
The flow of ink was so much smoother than a pencil nib. The question darker and stained with permanency. I desperately wanted to know if Elder would remain courteous and give me the time I needed to willingly enter his bed or if he’d finish what he’d started last night.