Pennies (Dollar 1)

Master A snarled, “It’s not just a boat. It’s a floating city. No, it’s more than that. It’s an ark, you idiot. And I need fucking protection.”

Darryl smirked. “You finally run out of money, A? Loan-sharks gonna come knocking?”

“None of your damn business.” Master A suddenly laughed. “Let’s just say, the only sharks I want around me are the ones beneath my fully armoured yacht where I can nuke the shit out of them.”

“Good one.” Tony guffawed.

Their voices were as nauseating as razors on glass.

I hated this part. The anticipation of what they’d do. The ease of conversation between friends before they hurt me just for fun.

I looked behind them, tensing for Monty to join in. But there were no more visitors.

I should be glad. Today, I only had to entertain three instead of four.

You can do this.

You’ve done it a hundred times before.

So why did this feel so much worse?

“Right, enough chit-chat. Let’s get started.” Undoing the rope from around the coffee table leg, Master A hoisted me upright with a yank and a well-placed kick to my thigh. The moment I went from ball to straight, he let the rope dangle between my naked breasts. “I can’t believe that bastard. He touched Pim. He touched my Pim. He was about to fuck her, the cunt.”

That’s not true.

And I couldn’t unscramble why I was frustrated with that. Why did he threaten me with sex but never follow through? Had I failed in some way? Did he decide I was too high risk to sleep with?

If he was wary of sleeping with a slave girl because of diseases, he didn’t have to worry. I’d lost my virginity to this ogre and his friends all underwent tests before Master A let them near me.

“He’s gone now. It’s time for her to pay.” Darryl licked his lips, pacing away with Master A and Tony, their heads bowed together, discussing my punishment.

They loved this part—making me stew, building my terror.

They muttered and cursed too low for comprehension. Occasionally, a loud swear rent through the room, widening my eyes. Finally, when the itch of the coarse rope around my neck became too much to bear, and my fingers turned white protecting my dollar butterfly, Master A slapped Darryl on the back. “Yes, you’re right. I didn’t want to, but I’m sick of giving her so many chances.” His gaze met mine, dark and depthless. “She doesn’t want to talk? Let’s give her that wish.”

What?

What does that mean?

Tony stood back, crossing his arms as Darryl smirked. “Hear that, girl?” Pacing to the couch where he’d placed his black duffel, he unzipped it. “How cool is that?” Tugging something free, he kept it hidden as he moved toward me. “You’re the one who decided we’re not worthy of your voice. I think it’s only fair others aren’t privy to it, either.”

Master A stuck his face in mine. “You spoke to him last night, didn’t you? You whispered to that fucker as he thrust his fingers inside you. You begged for more and pleaded for him to rescue you.” His hand shot into my hair, tearing a few more stands in his outrage. “Answer me, Pim. You’ll speak to him but not to me!?” A maniacal laugh fell from his lips. “Well, not for long. That Prest bastard is gone. Our contract is signed. And he’ll never see you again and for sure never hear you again.”

Cackling like a mad beast, he snapped his fingers.

Darryl came forward instantly.

I jerked, looking between the two men and the horrendous item in Darryl’s hand.

Large shears.

The kind to cut bolts of fabric or slice through pieces of metal.

I gulped.

No…

Squirming, I tried to wriggle away, but Master A punched the side of my head already swollen and tender. I fell to my knees, clutching the carpet as the room yawed and swayed. While my kneecaps hollered and my skull fought against cracking, I was helpless to prevent anything else.

I was hopelessly lost as hands rolled me onto my back.

Knees pinned my hips.

And cold laughter filled my ears as rancid fingers pried open my mouth and pinched my tongue.

Master A’s voice whispered around me. “You refuse to talk, my dear sweet Pim? Now, you’ll never talk again.”

DEAR NO ONE,

Is it wrong that I still hate her?

After a year of being someone’s toy, I should harbour no ill feelings to those who never hurt me. I should be grateful to my mother for giving me life—even if I hate it.

I was lucky before I was sold. I had smiles and school and safety.

But that’s gone now. And I hate that I didn’t appreciate what I had before it was stolen.

He took my virginity without any pre-sex whispers with my mother or giggles over silly boyfriends. Not that she would’ve indulged me in such things. But now, we will never speak again. She doesn’t know me anymore. She has no idea what I’ve lived through. I hate that she isn’t there for me. I hate that she hasn’t searched and found me.