Pennies (Dollar #1)

Sobs wracked her body as adrenaline quickly switched to stupefaction.

She’d pass out any second—I was shocked she hadn’t dropped already—but I didn’t want her to black out without seeing him dead.

She needed to see that.

I refused to let him haunt her.

Moving around the couch, I kneeled beside her and took her trembling hands in mine.

“Here, I’ll help you.”

Alrik garbled, “No! Do—don’t!” Blood spewed from his cheek as he did his best to hold both wounds.

His pleas didn’t register as I guided Pim’s rapidly failing strength and pointed the gun directly at his forehead. “Go ahead, silent mouse.”

Her body jerked at my nickname for her, but her finger latched onto the trigger for a third time.

Bang!

Thrice was the charm.

There were no screams, no begs—nothing but throbbing silence and the steady drip, drip, drip of her blood raining on the couch.

Alrik turned from rapist to corpse, doing the world a favour by no longer breathing.

She didn’t gloat over her kill.

She didn’t cry or question.

And I didn’t let her wallow in what she’d done.

I had more important things to worry about—not about police or witnesses or other trivial things. No, much more important than that.

The woman I’d come to claim was dying.

I couldn’t permit that until I’d taken what I needed.

Almost as if on cue, Pim dropped the gun by Alrik’s cadaver, toppling spent and fading over the settee.

“Shit.” I caught her, bundling her into my arms and climbing from the furniture.

Her skin no longer held pigment, looking blue and bloodless as I strode from the room. I gave no heed to the three men turning the lounge into a lake of gore. I only focused on the tiny but formidable woman in my embrace.

“Stay with me, Pim. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t respond as I marched through her prison and carried her over the threshold, stealing her from the white mansion into freedom.

IT HURT.

So much.

It was all I could think about. The only thing I could focus on.

I washed in and out of blackness.

My body wanted to sink and sink…to shut out the pain. But my willpower had waited too damn long for this.

He’s dead.

I killed him!

I couldn’t sleep now.

I’m free!

But, oh my God, the agony.

Mr. Prest’s arms around me couldn’t compete with the excruciating stinging of my tongue. Fresh air after two years of being locked away went unnoticed. The world and everyone in it were nothing as I lived in a torturous hell of warm oozing blood choking me and more pain than I thought possible.

I couldn’t understand what was going on.

I was outside!

Away from the white mansion for the first time since Master A outbid my one million to buy myself.

The crunch of pebbles beneath Mr. Prest’s shoes were muffled. The view of Master A’s house perched high on the cliff with ultimate sea views was hazy. I wanted to kiss the concrete of the driveway and dance in the soil where bright green bushes slept.

The breeze. The salt. The screech of seabirds. So much chaos after so much silence.

And I was too swaddled in agony to enjoy it.

He’s dead.

Darryl, too.

Tony.

All dead.

Mr. Prest did what I’d dreamed of for years.

Even that knowledge was muted and not quite real. I needed my tongue to stop drowning me in blood, so I could focus on this new reality.

I just witnessed a murder. A gruesome, awful murder.

I just committed murder. A cold-blooded revengeful kill.

And I rejoiced!

I didn’t suffer sadness for the deaths they endured. It was their karma. If anything, they didn’t endure enough. However, I couldn’t figure out what came next. Would Mr. Prest slay me, too? Why had he returned? What plans did he have for me to pay him back for his rescue?

Should I run, scream, beg?

I couldn’t do any of those things with my body quickly dying, but I needed to know, to prepare…what is my new fate?

Along with a constant wash of copper, I struggled to breathe. My tongue had swollen to the size of a cruise liner. It didn’t listen to my commands to move. It merely sat, partially severed and agonising, distracting me from everything.

Mr. Prest carried me to his car, ignoring the shocked look from a man with dark hair standing motionless, his eyes dancing up and down the driveway as if expecting law enforcement to appear at any moment.

“Sir…”

“No questions.” Mr. Prest waited until the man opened the vehicle then jumped inside. He didn’t speak again as he manhandled me, sitting down all while keeping me in his arms. My blood decorated his cheekbone where he’d smeared it as war paint, daubing him as the devil I suspected while fresh crimson soaked like oil into his clothing.

I shivered from pain and cold.

Understanding without asking, Mr. Prest slid me across the black leather (no longer white and white and more white) and wrenched off his blazer. Draping it around me, he tucked in my arms, not caring my blood saturated his clothes and car.

How much had I lost?

How much could I afford to lose before I died?

Already, I was light headed and wispy. My tongue continued to swell, blocking ability to swallow.

For so long, I’d begged for death.

And now that I was only heartbeats away from it, I didn’t want to go.

I was free.