I shivered for an entirely different reason.
Master A choked. “No fucking way.”
Mr. Prest’s touch returned to my scalp. I swallowed a moan as he once again stroked me. The way he fondled me wasn’t like a man with a woman. More like a hunter with its prey; a ruler with its defeated quarry.
“You offered to share her. You said I could do whatever I wanted.” Gathering more of my hair, he tugged a little, forcing my body to rise from the floor and sit up straight for the first time in months. My ribcage decorated the tight dress like a xylophone as my nipples hardened beneath the fabric.
He held me there like a statue. “I want to take you up on the offer.”
Master A’s temper swirled hotter, thicker, crazier with every second. “That part of the deal is no longer on offer—”
“It is if you want it to continue.” Mr. Prest’s voice resembled an axe, hacking through the air. “I want her all to myself. And I want her for an entire night.”
An entire night?
Air vanished in the room. I entered some vortex where panic ruled with cymbals and hurricanes.
I’m…Oh, I can’t breathe.
My unbroken hand soared to my throat, clutching at the tight muscles as they prevented me from sucking oxygen. Another panic attack swooped from nowhere as my eyes bugged with disbelief.
He can’t be serious.
I expected one hour. A request to fuck me then leave.
Not an entire night.
Black spots danced as I fell deeper and deeper into hysteria.
Mr. Prest didn’t offer any condolences, merely held me by my hair. His attention was on Master A, waiting for approval.
What will he do to me?
As my fingernails scrabbled at my aching throat, I did my best to settle my drum set bashing heart. It didn’t matter. It would never happen. Master A would never let him claim me for a full night.
No one had done that.
No one.
I was borrowed for brief interludes. Not rented for negotiated periods.
He won’t let it happen.
I’m okay…I’ll be okay.
I had no explanation for the swirling attack I suffered. I’d endured so much worse than Mr. Prest. Yes, he was the devil dressed in angel wings, but he had a refined venom that other monsters lacked.
He was terrifying.
“No fucking deal. I’ll find someone else to build what I want.”
“No one else has the contacts, and you know it.”
Master A snarled, “You’re not fucking my slave.”
“She’s a slave for that reason.” Mr. Prest’s voice never rose, staying royally calm and melodic. “And I will have her…if you want what I have to give.”
My body spasmed as I sucked in a noisy breath, hating the way my skin heated at being fought over. I never thought I’d be so wanted, so desired—even though it was for terrible reasons, I was priceless for a fleeting second.
“I’ve paid you a fucking fortune!”
“And I want something more.”
“No way.”
Mr. Prest’s fingers clamped around my nape, hoisting me unceremoniously to my feet. I couldn’t fight the pressure of his strong grip, shackled entirely to his mercy.
Standing didn’t help my impending panic attack. I wobbled in place as Mr. Prest forced me to look at him. My watering eyes wrenched up, drinking in his face as if he held the future not the end.
His hair glossed so blue-black and thick, it looked like tar pits—ready to snuff out my life. His gaze flashed with ebony rage. “Yes. And I’ll tell you why.” His voice dropped to a hiss. “I know you’re the one who beat her. I know her hand didn’t break from falling down the goddamn stairs. And I know you punished her for things I did last time I was here. I want her. You treat her like shit. The least you can do is give her to me so I can do the same.”
My knees buckled.
My girlish whimsy of actually being treated cordially pulverised.
He wanted…not to sleep with me…but to hurt me?
That was how he got his kicks? By beating already beaten women?
My anger pushed back my panic attack, giving me a pillar to hold onto while dragging air into unwilling lungs.
How dare he!
How damn dare he barter for my body, knowing full well he’d ruin it more than it already was.
Fuck you!
Master A straightened his shoulders, still fighting an already lost battle. “Are you forgetting what she is? She isn’t human. She’s a possession. My possession. I paid for her. She’s mine to do what I want with—including loaning her to those I approve and denying her to those I don’t.”
“I suggest you change your mind about denying me. Just because she’s yours doesn’t mean I won’t take her if you won’t give her to me.”
Dragging me forward, he encroached on Master A. “I’m a thief, Alrik, before I’m a deliverer of war. I could steal her, and you’d never know. But I won’t out of respect for our agreement.” He narrowed his eyes. “Deal or no deal. Either way, I’m not leaving without tasting her.”
Tasting me?
Master A knew he was beat. His gaze fell on me, turbulent and possessive. “You’re not leaving the premises with her.”
“Fine. I’ll stay the night here.”
“Where?”
“Does she have a room?”
Master A sighed. “Yes.”
“Private?”
He shrugged. “There’s no door but yes, private enough.”
“Put the door on, give me the key so we won’t be disturbed, and you have your agreement.”
I wanted to shout and demand they see me as a human. A woman. Not a transaction to be beaten for the night.
They wanted to hurt me.
That was all I was to them.
They both deserved to die.
Keeping my lips pressed tight, I curled my arms around myself, protecting my brittle chest and broken hand.
I’d be having sex tonight.
I’d be hurt tonight.
By Master A or Mr. Prest.
It no longer made any shred of difference.
.
“FUCKING FINE.” Alrik glared with all the hate he could conjure.
He had an obsession with his slave. Unhealthy. Dangerous. An obsession that deleted rationality.
And I’d just directed that possessive idiocy onto myself by demanding the one thing I swore I wouldn’t.
You weren’t strong enough.
I’d come here promising myself I wouldn’t fucking do this.
I’d vowed over and over again that I wouldn’t look at her, talk to her, even notice her. For the first part of the meeting, I’d succeeded.
But then my mind wandered to the quiet bruised mouse in the corner. Her silence tugged me, forcing my attention to wander back to her every time I yanked it away.
Now, I’d done something I already regretted.
What the fuck am I doing?
This would not end well. I was supposed to get the final paper copies signed, Selix to post to my lawyer, and set sail in a few hours.
I wasn’t supposed to be spending the night with a girl who almost hyperventilated herself into a coma because I’d claimed her for a few hours. I couldn’t trust myself. I’d already gone too far by touching her.
A man like me had rules for a fucking reason.
My fingers pressed together. I forced myself to forget about the silky strands of her hair against my skin. Her skull had been so small beneath my touch, imprisoned by claws that’d murdered men for my gain and stolen from those who’d wronged me.
Scrubbing his face with both hands, Alrik muttered, “Give me twenty minutes to find the door. It’s up to you to reattach it. I won’t fucking help.”
“I can manage.” I swallowed my temper. “And don’t bother searching. I don’t want you to claim you can’t find it and for us to battle again.” Looking at Pim, I smiled thinly. “Tell me where it is and
Pimlico will help.”
The slave girl stiffened, her shoulders stark and sharp.
Once again, her silence was full of sound. If I closed my eyes and listened with every sense rather than just my ears, I might be able to pick up the general curse words she no doubt hurled and the pleas for compassion she tried to hide even from herself.
Pleas didn’t work on me.
Never had.
Never would.
Alrik huffed, pulling a few keys on a silver ring from his back pocket. “You don’t give up, do you? You want a night with her? Fine. Get it fucking over with.” Tossing the jangle of metal at me, he snarled, “She knows where the door is. It’s in safe keeping with a whole bunch of stuff she’s lost the privilege to use.”
Closing the distance between himself and Pimlico—still swaying in my grip—he grabbed her cheeks, pinching hard.
Her lips formed an innocent bow as he glared into her eyes. “Now, sweet little Pim. Mr. Prest is gonna have his fun with you. Just like all our other friends, got it? I don’t want this to happen, and neither do you. So think of me, and don’t you dare fucking enjoy it.”
Her body jerked as she fought the instinct to bolt and obedience to stay.
I looked away in disgust.
Why the fuck had I argued for one night with this girl? She’d been abused far too much to want me. It didn’t matter I would treat her better than the assholes who’d ruined her. In her mind, I was just the same: someone to tolerate, fantasise about their death, and turn off her soul while they thrust between her legs.
Nothing was sexy about stealing from her.
Nothing was right about what I was about to do.
So fucking stop it and just go.
I ignored the thought because that was impossible.
I had to get her behind closed doors. I had to remove her from my thoughts if I was to find peace again.
Already, I felt the corruption inside me clawing for more. One taste, one touch, one kiss, one fuck.
One was all I was permitted.
And if I wanted to use my allotment tonight, that could happen. Because I had no plans on ever setting eyes on her again.
Alrik pecked her forehead like a father would his daughter heading to something she feared. “Behave but don’t make me jealous. Otherwise…remember my previous promise about the past few nights being easy.”
My gut clenched.
He was so fucking deluded; he didn’t even try to hide that her multi-coloured bruises were from his fists. Some, however, were from other wounds…a shoe, perhaps?
My gaze dropped to my own ludicrously expensive footwear. What colour would her skin paint if I used such craftsmanship in the same way? Would her bruises be pretty or uglier? Would I be kinder or more brutal?
So many things to find out.
If I let myself be a monster like him.
Which I wouldn’t.
I think.
I’d hurt many people before but never for selfish pleasure. Would punching her feel different from punching a man trying to hurt me? Would sleeping with her be any better than paying a high-class escort who generally enjoyed her job when treated right?
So many questions that I needed answers to so I could move the fuck on with my life. And once I’d gained those answers, I’d end it for her.
Death would be the kindest gift I could give.
However, could I take her final fight, knowing I’d kill her in return? Was I that cold-hearted? Or was I a selfish fucking bastard who would use her without the stomach to murder her afterward?
I guess time will tell.
Alrik clapped his hands. “Go get the door, Pim. Don’t make me ask twice.”
The girl immediately shot from my hold, dashing from the lounge and into the corridor where I’d given her my jacket and seen her mistreated tits for the first time.
“I suggest you follow her.” Alrik smirked. “She’s small, but she moves fast. You don’t want to lose her. Lots of rooms in this place to get lost.”
My eyes narrowed, hearing the threat but not taking the bait.
Without a backward glance, I strode after the slave I’d bartered to spend the night with. I’d been interested in this girl since the second I noticed her. I only grew more curious the longer I followed.
Heading down the corridor, she turned left before entering an internal garage, darting around a white Porsche, and moving toward the back of the space.
There she waited with her eyes downcast, her body facing a locked cage where three doors, knickknacks, cardboard boxes, and other paraphernalia rested in the gloom.
“That’s the door?” I asked, passing her the keys to undo the padlock. My question hung unbelonging, dangling unanswered.
I didn’t get a reply.
Not that I expected one.
Hesitantly, she took the offered keychain, careful not to touch me.
Turning her back, she tried a few before finding the right one and cranking open the gate. Her eerie silence was even more pronounced in the lifeless garage.
No sound came from her bare feet, no rush of breath, no rustle of clothing. It was as if I stood there by myself.
If I couldn’t reach out and touch her—to make sure she was flesh and bone—I would’ve juggled with the idea of her being a ghost.
My mother would fucking love her.
Not because of her beaten, broken aura but because it was so rare for someone to be utterly silent.
My cock hardened as the girl strode toward the three doors resting like retired guards by the wall. I didn’t know what the other two were from, but she stood beside a white lacquered thing with axe marks and scrapes along both sides—most likely from her barricading from the inside and her master doing his best to get to her.
Images of what that experience must’ve been like swarmed me. Had she huddled and screamed as Alrik fought his way to her? Or had she waited on the bed already dead from terror?
Fuck this.
I stalked forward.
My hand came up.
The urge to soothe her catapulted my fingers to her cheek. My skin erupted from her delicate heat. I’d already had my single touch when I’d petted her hair. I wasn’t permitted a second.
But it didn’t stop me.
One moment, she stood close, arching her chin at the door.
The next, she was across the cage, flying into a stack of boxes that tumbled in a clatter of butcher knives, butter knives, and sharp forks.
Her eyes turned luminous in the gloom, locking on mine with rage.
Shit.
I’d forgotten myself by feeling sorry for this beaten wraith, but she hadn’t forgotten her overwhelming hatred of men.
I didn’t look away. But I didn’t explain myself, either.
I’d borrowed her for the night. If I wanted to touch her, I could. The fact that she’d leapt away meant I could report her to her master and have her punished.
Or you could punish her instead.
The distance between us grew thicker as we breathed.
I waited…wanting to know just how deep her education in pleasure flowed.
Tearing her gaze from mine, she swallowed hard. Piece by piece, she hid her loathing, replacing it with reluctant acceptance.
Inching closer, her toes nudged aside sharp blades as she made her way to me and fell to her knees on the cold concrete.
Half of me jolted with insane lust. Most of me shied away with repulsion as her straggly hair covered her face but not before I saw the twisted disgust and echoing despair.
“Get up,” I murmured. Even though my voice was low, the cavern of the garage amplified it, layering it with bite.
Instantly, she swooped up. The crackle of her joints and misused cartilage in her bones sounded like tiny gunfire.
“Don’t kneel. Not in here.”
Her chin bowed as she swayed in place. Awkwardness fell between us. I wasn’t used to this. I hadn’t bought a slave before. I was used to people doing what I wanted without
me telling them. I was too fucking busy to micromanage.
Having this girl linger for a command—any command—showed me I wasn’t as much of a devil as I thought. I didn’t want to give her a task that she had no choice but to obey. I wanted her to use her free will and choose me, regardless of other options given.
Sighing heavily, I broke the tension by raising an eyebrow at the scattered utensils by her feet. I didn’t care about the mess. I only cared about this crazy girl and the livid rage in her gaze.
She did fear me. It stank the cage we stood in.
But she hated me more.
Did she think I would do to her what Alrik had done?
She was right to think that.
I still wasn’t sure why I’d requested the night with her.
Her eyes landed on the large butcher’s knife by her foot.
My lips curled, following her thoughts. “Have you ever tried?”
Her shoulders stiffened.
“Have you ever tried to kill him?”
An audible gasp fell from her lips. Her face tilted to look, but she kept her eyes down.
Ducking, I picked up the knife, holding it by the blade rather than the hilt. Pressing the wooden handle into her stomach, I whispered, “Touch it. Go on. Have it for all I care. Hide it and do whatever you want with it.” My other hand wrapped around her neck. “Use it on him but don’t you dare fucking use it on me.”
Her unbroken hand didn’t claim the weapon. I snatched her fingers, wrapped them around the hilt, and let go. The moment the weight transferred from me to her, I turned and grabbed the damaged door. Not saying another word, I carried it from the cage.
Pimlico sucked in a deep breath, trembling where I’d left her. Lust showed on her features—not for me or sex but for the knife. A few footsteps guided her forward before whatever discipline she’d endured overrode her desire.
A single tear rolled down her cheek as she turned to pick up the scattered knives and forks, tucking the one I’d given her into the box. When the space was tidy, she padded toward me, fumbling with the padlock.
Goddammit.
Of course, she wouldn’t take the knife. Who would after years of abuse, knowing full well what would happen if she was caught? Was it kinder to ignore the fact she was too weak to take it or accept that she was strong enough not to steal it? No doubt logistics had filled her head. She had no way of hiding it. No way of carrying it unseen into her bedroom. We were probably on camera in every place we went.