Master A breathed hard, his chest working with anticipation of my mouth. “Who the fuck is that?”
How the hell would I know?
Rearing back, I thanked whoever it was. They couldn’t stop this from happening, but at least they’d given me a small reprieve—enough to swallow back my lunch and mentally shut out the classical music, so I might be able to do my task while blank and numb.
Shoving me away, he didn’t care I sprawled on my hands and knees as he clambered off the couch, quickly tucking himself into his jeans and wrenching up his fly. “If that’s fucking Darryl, I told him tomorrow.”
I hope all your friends rot.
Master A looked over his shoulder, pointing at the wall. “Kneel. Behave.”
The doorbell rang again as he vanished from the lounge.
Fuck you.
I stuck out my tongue. It was juvenile and ridiculous, but it made my heart lighter in a teeny-tiny way.
With the small second alone, I glanced at the windows to my left. The sun had dipped below the sea, extinguishing itself in a bonfire of pinks and oranges. The view from the white monstrosity never held beauty, no matter if the sun set or rose. It was merely a vista of my prison.
I hated it.
I hated many things these days.
Tearing my eyes away from falling dusk, I crawled toward the spot he’d told me to wait.
Cradling my bandaged hand, I glanced up as Master A stalked back into the lounge. His face had lost its lust from before, replaced with stark annoyance. He threw something soft and white at my naked body.
“I fucking forgot he was coming today.”
My heart bucked like a bronco until I promised I’d wrap it in a noose to perform the gallows’ jig if it didn’t stop.
Who?
Who’s coming?
Ducking, he shoved a finger in my face. “Get dressed. Now. Keep your eyes down, obedience high, and if I fucking catch you looking at him, the past few nights will be considered preschool before heading to boot camp.” Tipping my chin with his biting finger, he kissed me hard and sloppy. “Got it? You’re mine. Not his. Mine. Now, cover yourself and don’t dare move.”
Not waiting for me to obey, he stormed toward the foyer, leaving me to stroke the white sweater dress he’d given me.
Clothes.
The last time he’d given me clothes…
Oh, my God, he’s come back.
Elder bloody Prest.
The man who’d provoked my master. The man whose fun almost cost me my life. The last few days, he’d probably counted his millions and forgotten all about me while I suffered broken bones and agony.
Now, he was back for more.
My skin broke out in fire and frost, battling for supremacy. I didn’t know why Master A wanted me covered for this guest when he allowed others to stare, but I didn’t hesitate in slipping my hands into the long sleeves and pulling the stretchy material over my head.
My shoulder blades screamed. My elbows popped. Every inch of me bellowed as I stood on my knees and shimmied into the dress. It came to my calves—not enough to hide the bruises on my lower legs, but enough to cover everything else.
He’s here.
I couldn’t soothe my heart, no matter how soft I petted or whispered for it to calm down. It no longer listened to me after I’d threatened to hang it.
Mr. Prest was just a man. A man I didn’t like. A man who brought more pain into my world simply by visiting.
But still just a man.
I’d survived living with one for this long…I could survive another.
Heavy footfalls sounded in the foyer as I sank back onto my knees and ran my good hand through my hair, deliberately shielding my face from seeing too much. He’d returned, but it didn’t mean I would look. If Master A wanted me to be invisible, listen to their business conversation, but not pay any attention to Mr. Prest, I would do every instruction.
I guess the command to obey Mr. Prest is revoked.
Resting my sore hand on my lap, I sighed into the clingy material of the given gown. Once again, claustrophobia clawed, whispering of panic attacks and weakness.
I clenched my teeth.
You’re stronger than that. You’re better than all of them.
Breathing hard through my nose, I dared believe my lies and forced my blood to calm.
The hard flooring chilled my knees as low murmurs came closer. My ears pricked as the gentle click of men’s dress shoes filled the stark space. My chin begged to rise, to give me a postcard-perfect view of Mr. Prest as his scent and presence surrounded me.
I forbid it.
Instead, I locked my gaze on the grout line between tiles, following the softer grey from the lounge rug to the dining room table.
“I trust you received payment okay?” Master A asked.
Mr. Prest’s legs came into my vision.
I dropped my head further.
He’s not here.
He’s not real.
Don’t look or listen or linger.
My heart chugged with steam and coal, but I won the war. My eyes remained steadfast on the floor.
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, Maste
r 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 forward, 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 droppe
d 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.”
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