Almost as if he sensed the imminent attack, he stepped back, forcing me to move with him until he entered the lounge and spun to face the three men, pinning me against the wall.
He faced them all as Master A stalked to stand with his evil accomplices.
Mr. Prest clenched his jaw, his eyes hooded and dark. “Let’s start this again. With the fucking truth.” Yanking me from behind his back, he placed me beside him. “She’s a whore.”
I jolted at the word.
I hated that word.
It conjured such sad and broken things. But I wasn’t that. I was a daughter, a student, a friend. I was smart. I’d been pretty, once.
I meant something.
Master A shared a glance with Tony before smiling. “She’s more than a whore. I bought her. Fair and square.”
“So, she’s a slave.” Mr. Prest didn’t phrase it as a question. Somehow, he’d known all along what I was the second he saw me.
I’m his slave; it’s true.
But I don’t want to be.
Master A stared at his guest for a long moment before his shoulders relaxed and a broad smile split his face. “She’s a slave, a whore, a slut. She’s whatever you want.” Coming forward, he held out his hand a second time. “Meet Pimlico…my possession. And you have full invitation to use her.”
No…
My eyes flew to Mr. Prest, hoping like hell the proposition abhorred him. That he’d rather walk out the door than deal with such awful people and take me with him.
But the tense standoff ended as he accepted Master A’s handshake, smiling coldly.
“That’s more like it.” Breaking the introduction, Mr. Prest slung his arm over my blazer-cloaked shoulders. “Why didn’t you say that before?”
Don’t…
“That makes this evening a lot more interesting.”
THIS PLACE STANK of lies and deceit.
And that said something, seeing as I was the one who usually had the most to hide.
This asshole had cleared most of my vetting channels, but my research hadn’t revealed a live-in girlfriend.
Definitely not a mute girlfriend.
Yet she’s neither of those things.
She was a beaten, broken whore.
A slave.
I’d seen some shit in my past. I’d committed crimes. I’d done my fair share of filth. But I’d never met someone who thought they could own a human soul before.
Part of me wanted to unleash every wrath he had owing. But the other…a stronger part was intrigued.
Distancing myself from Pimlico, I couldn’t deny my flesh heated at the fragility of her bones. I couldn’t look away from the translucency of her skin with its map of blue veins and red arteries.
Balling my hands, I took another step.
Her breathing fluttered, not as a flirt but in fear.
That was not a good thing.
Not where I was concerned.
Over the years of my dominion, I’d earned a name that’d paved the gold-brick road into the underbelly of this sick and twisted world.
Kaitou.
Phantom Thief.
First, because I was a pickpocket, robber, and five-fingered master.
Second because, instead of stealing objects, I started stealing lives.
But only those lives owed to me or those too feeble to be of any use.
What category does she fall into?
She was feeble but not useless.
Something about her got under my skin, itching with an intolerable curiosity.
Where did she come from?
How long had she been here?
And just how long had she wanted to die?
The look in her eyes was a classic invitation for death.
I took another step away from the slave girl.
Just in case.
I saw strength in her, but I also tasted the yearning for her end. Once someone enticed thoughts of suicide into their soul, it was there to stay, slowly corrupting them until they found their way back to life or gave in and let demise claim them.
I’d underestimated Alrik Åsbjörn.
He’d kept this woman alive for who the fuck knew how long, even when her wish to die echoed with every heartbeat.
That was impressive.
The sharp thrill knowing I could do anything I wanted to this girl with no repercussions disgusted me. I could hurt her, fuck her, treat her with no bloody respect. And she could only accept it because that was her place. Her bought and sold place.
I could kill her, and she’d probably thank me for setting her free.
Maybe I should.
Perhaps I will.
Depending on how the evening and our transaction went, I might steal her life and keep it as a trinket, a token, for yet another shadowy deal struck with monsters.
“Let’s eat.” Alrik grinned, strolling toward the eight-seater table positioned beneath a generic chandelier.
His house irritated me. The stark white. The impersonal walls and sterile furniture. I preferred personality in my décor. Why live in a box this soulless? He might as well live in a fucking coffin.
Alrik’s friends took their seats, not waiting for the guest of honour—me—to sit first. My lips tightened at the lack of courtesy and respect.
My culture demanded such things.
Even when I lived on the fucking streets as an unwanted rat, I’d remembered what my elders had taught me.
Reverence for those wiser, older, and smarter than you. Appreciation for those kinder, gentler, and nicer than you. And utmost worship for those who could fucking annihilate you without a single thought.
Grasping the back of the chair, I looked over my shoulder at the wraith of a slave as she faded into the background.
Judging by her current well-being, I’d say she’d become a master at accepting pain. She was like me in that respect. And because of that, she earned my interest. She wasn’t just a possession, but a puzzle, ready to be deciphered.
Sinking to her knees on the hard white tiles, she bowed her head.
Even with my blazer covering her stark skeleton, her malnourished body imprinted beneath it. My jacket looked five times too big for her. Her hair was a disgusting brown mop with no style. Her green eyes resembled a swamp, and her skin hinted as if she bordered scurvy.
She wasn’t healthy.
Why didn’t she speak? And why did her defiant thoughts scream so much louder than words? How could she remain so impertinent when she rang the doorbell of death with eager fingers?
Tearing my gaze away, I glared at the unwanted guests around the table. Alrik assured me, when we set up the meeting, that it would just be him and me. Not three other bastards and one silent girl.
I’d put up with it through dinner because I refused to talk business while eating, and never when drinking, but the moment the food was consumed, they had to fuck off.
My back stiffened as precautions filled me.
Could he have poisoned the meal?
Thanks to my tireless research, I knew he didn’t cook—that his chef service provided delicacies every night. I had to trust he wouldn’t slip ricin into my main course purely because of his ego and what he wanted from me.
If Alrik did, by some imbecile decision, try to dispatch me rather than do business, I was ready.
He wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me.
And he wouldn’t be the last.
However, the trail of cadavers left in my wake would steadily grow longer as I proved I was invincible.
Sitting down, I readjusted my silverware, running eager digits over the serrated knife. I could murder everyone in this room before one scream was uttered.
Perhaps I should.
Maybe I will.
Before the night was through.
Alrik remained standing, opening bags of gourmet food and serving us with each element: bok choi with oyster sauce, Peking duck, Singapore noodles, and wontons.
The scents replaced the blandness of the
monochromatic space with welcome.
Finally, he sat at the top of the table and smiled. “Eat. Enjoy.”
As he arranged his napkin, I looked once more at the girl.
She hadn’t budged. Her head remained bowed, her eyes locked on a speck in front of her.
Picking up my fork, I pointed at her. “You don’t feed your slave?”
Alrik slurped a mouthful of noodles, no longer trying to hide the truth. “She gets fed when she’s behaved. She knows that.” He raised his voice so the girl could hear. “And tonight, she didn’t. That unsightly episode before is not tolerated.” He grinned, stabbing a piece of duck. “She’ll eat tomorrow.”
I agreed.
A naughty pet ought to be punished.
But she wasn’t just a pet.
She was a human being, and I wasn’t done inspecting her.
I need her closer.
I ordered, “Invite her to eat with us.”
Alrik and his friends froze, food half-chewed or dangling on their forks. “What?”
“Invite her to eat. She’s hungry.”
“But this is a business dinner. I won’t have it sullied by her—”
“This is not business. This is merely a social nicety to feel as if we’ve bonded before our transaction is concluded. If it were up to me, I would’ve arrived to find you alone, as per our discussion, and left a few minutes later, rather than this fucking spectacle.”
My chin lowered as my temper siphoned through my veins. “You’re the one who changed the rules. Now, I want to change them for my benefit. Let her eat.”
Alrik’s fair skin turned puce with anger.
I smiled, just waiting for an outburst, any outburst. I’d happily teach him a lesson that he would never win with me.
Ever.
Slowly, he put down his utensils and looked at his whore. “Pimlico, grab a plate and join us. I’ve changed my mind. You can eat tonight.”
I didn’t turn around, but her gasp trickled down my nape, making me shiver. It was too easy. Hunting was a lot of fun. Just like thievery. The trick to pulling off a great heist was to gain the trust of your intended victim first.
Trust me, Pim.
Let me steal your secrets.
Alrik had tried to do that by luring me to dinner with his friends. But he couldn’t mask his eager greediness for what I could offer him. Pimlico, on the other hand, bought my sanctuary with every heartbeat, hauling herself into a standing position and shuffling into the kitchen.
I didn’t move as the sounds of collected crockery and the clink of knives and forks echoed in the white space. Her footfalls were as quiet as a shadow as she hesitantly approached the table.
I narrowed my eyes as she kept her vision on the floor, holding her plate like a shield.
Alrik’s friends snickered, sucking on beer bottles, enjoying her discomfort far too fucking much. I didn’t need to ask to know they’d taken from this girl, too. They were responsible for some of the bruises and scars decorating her body.
Alrik sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “Well, sit, Pim. Fuck, don’t just lurk there like a freak.”
Instantly, she darted forward and slipped gracefully into the chair beside me.
Either deliberate or subconscious, the fact she’d chosen to sit so close did strange things to my insides. Half of me wanted to stroke her cheek and promise that as long as she wore my jacket, I’d protect her. While the other half wanted to see how pretty her tears would look falling into her dinner.
Tearing my gaze from her sad face, I stole her empty plate and replaced it with my untouched, full one.
She sucked in a breath as I nudged the delicious smelling food closer.
I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to.
She knew what I offered, and she’d accept—if she knew what was fucking good for her.
Alrik’s fork clattered to the tablecloth, smearing garlic sauce and oil. “Wait…she can have a sandwich. There isn’t enough for—”
I held up my hand with a sharp glare. “I’m not hungry. She is. Problem solved.”
Besides, there was power in not eating when everyone else was. I had the freedom to stare and calculate. I could ask questions and probe all while they swallowed inconvenient mouthfuls, scrambling for lies.
No, this was perfect.
I got to do a good dead—something I was sorely lacking—and I also got to put these men on the back foot.
Let the interrogation begin.
I COULDN’T LOOK up.
Whiffs of delicious food made eternal hunger snarl.
Is this real?
Was I truly sitting on a chair at the table with a plate in front of me? Was it a cruel joke where Master A would snatch away the meal as he sometimes did for spite?
I shuddered, remembering last month how he’d made me crawl after him for miles, up and down the stairs, along tiled corridors, taunting me with my dog bowl full of spaghetti carbonara.
I’d wanted those rich, creamy noodles more than anything and hated what I did when he finally stopped and demanded I suck him in return for my dinner.
The flavour of his cum had ruined the reward.
I never wanted carbonara again.
My fingers shook around the utensil as I forced myself to recall the mechanics. How could I forget something as simple as using a fork? And if I couldn’t remember, what would Mr. Prest think of me?
He’ll see a whore and a heathen.
An untrained slave with awful table manners.
Why did I suddenly want to be noticed instead of forgotten? Recognised instead of alone? Why did this man make me come more alive than I had in years?
Fighting my tremble, I raised a mouthful to my lips.
The food tasted like cardboard even though I knew from eating scraps off Master A’s plate that the ordered menus were five-star gourmet.
My taste buds were in shock.
My mind, my body…everything in tentative anticipation thanks to the stranger beside me.
I couldn’t breathe without inhaling Mr. Prest’s heady, exotic scent. I couldn’t move without brushing against his powerful arm or teasing myself with his warm blazer draped over my shoulders.
I couldn’t blink without thinking all of this would disappear, vanish, poof. I’d never been allowed at the table before. Never been given a fork or knife or plate. And definitely never been treated as a person by a man who overshadowed Master A in every way.
I was grateful.
I felt alive.
I both hated and thanked Mr. Prest for it.
Every mouthful, I expected Master A to scream and throw something at me. I already felt the kick and the coldness of the floor pressing against my cheek as he held my face down.
The awful games he played. The demeaning tasks he forced me to do. This was just a minor blip of kindness in a world of torture.
The food slid tastelessly into my belly, but the decadent richness made me feel sick. My system wasn’t used to such opulence.
But I wouldn’t stop eating.
I couldn’t.
I would devour every piece, slurp every noodle, and then lick my plate if I could get away with it.
My mouth watered as a faint memory interrupted. Of Japanese sushi and soy sauce; of cheeseburgers and french fries. It seemed so long ago.
Had I truly been allowed to go where I wanted whenever I pleased? Did I really laugh and find happiness?
I was so naïve.
Master A lifted his wine, toasting Mr. Prest. “Cheers to exciting business ventures and new friends.”
Ugh, what an ass.
I didn’t blink or frown, but inwardly, I stuck out my tongue and gave him the finger. The smarminess, the fake charm. He was a reptile and utterly cold-blooded.
Only, Mr. Prest didn’t return the toast; merely tilted his head, leaving Master A hanging and forced to take an awkward sip of alcohol.
Tony cleared his throat as everyone focused intently on their food. The clink of knives and forks w
as the only noise apart from the classical music raining from overhead speakers.
Master A liked music. Considering just two of us lived here, it was never quiet.
I. Hated. It.
My synapses had associated classical notes with torture, and I couldn’t listen to a piano or violin without reliving his cock driving inside me or his fist pummelling my skin.
Master A sneered in my direction, slurping a mouthful of noodles. His rage at my position beside his guest hissed down the table.
The fork shook in my hands. I’d lived here for so long, yet I couldn’t predict my jailer. My imagination painted countless punishments for defying him, but I’d be surprised. Like always. Master A liked to think outside the box where I was concerned.
“How long has it been since you ate?”
The question wrenched me from my thoughts. I blinked, stupidly forgetting myself and turning my head to the source.
Mr. Prest stared back. His dark eyes didn’t budge, doing their best to tear every secret I had left. Pointing at my plate, he said, “You eat like a bird, yet I know you’re starving.”
My heart breathed into a paper bag with worry. It’d been so long since someone looked at me as a person rather than a doll. But it was too late. With far too many witnesses. I was more possession than anything else these days.
My gaze flickered to Master A. The outrage on his face wasn’t because of something I’d done but because I’d attracted the attention of someone he wanted to deny.
“Don’t ask things you’re not privy answers to.” Master A slammed his knife onto the table. “I take care of her. That’s all you need to know.”
My blood incinerated with hatred for the history between us. For all the monstrous things he’d done.
Took care of me?
What a crock of shit.
Mr. Prest froze, his straight spine vibrating with ruthless energy. “I asked her a question. I don’t need you replying for her.”
“And I told you before, she will never answer you.”
“She answers me just fine.”
Wait, what?
My gaze danced between the men.
How had I answered him? And why would he say such things? Couldn’t he see my refusal to communicate drove Master A berserk? He’d kill me if he thought I spoke to another and not him.