Pennies (Dollar #1)

I tumbled sideways, shaking away throbbing stars, forcing my body back onto my knees before he kicked me to regain my pose. Ignoring the sudden headache, I catalogued his mood. Everything spoke to me these days—not just his demeanour but his chosen wardrobe, selected watch, even the way he styled his hair. Each was a clue to his disposition.

As he strolled around me, prattling about how his drive into the city was good and whatever business he concluded went in his favour, I looked at his shoes (black loafers meant he was carefree and confident). I glanced at his trousers (light denim indicated his visit to town wasn’t entirely work related). My eyes trailed to his wrist and the gaudy gold Rolex (he wanted to show off today and flash his superiority). Finally, I snuck a look at the baby blue long-sleeved shirt (relaxed but preppy). However, the unbuttoned linen jacket was not part of his usual repertoire (he wanted to impress but still show indifference).

To who?

I didn’t like things I couldn’t understand.

Had he dressed up for our ‘anniversary,’ or did he have guests coming tonight?

My heart curled into its shell at the thought. When he’d first given me to his friends, Darryl, Tony, and Monty, I’d thrown up not only from the horror at being used by four men, but also from the repeated blows to my belly.

Ever since then, the sharing was often. I didn’t have a choice. But at least his arrogance and those of his friends gave me a shelter in which to shut down and hide in. They could have my body, but while I floated in a world, not quite here and not quite there, I was able to keep my soul intact, and my voice forever denied to them.

He yanked a hand through his spiky blond hair. “Were you a good girl while I was gone?”

You know the answer to that, you bastard.

I glowered at the wall.

For some reason, whenever he left on errands, he was so sure I’d never find a way out, he didn’t bind me like he did at night. The first few instances he’d left me alone, I’d commandeered the knives in the kitchen, even scurried a few blades away with hope of killing him in his sleep.

But when he’d returned, he’d known exactly what I’d done. Fisting my hair, he’d dragged me through the house, collecting the three butcher knives I’d tucked in secret places. After rounding up my arsenal, he’d carted me to a private security room in the garage hidden behind a piece of drywall and revealed how he’d known.

Every inch of his property was recorded.

How had I not seen any cameras?

Not one blind spot or unreported room.

At the time, my heart had grabbed a spade and dug a hole so deep and cavernous inside, I feared I’d never climb back out.

But I had. Because I had no choice.

“Ah now, Pim, don’t be like that. I’ve been gone for three hours…surely, you must’ve missed me.”

Like I’d miss ebola.

I narrowed my gaze, risking a look at him.

The moment we made eye contact, he smirked. “Still refusing to speak, I see. You can clamp your lips together, hell, you can rip out your tongue, but I hear you screaming at me. I hear your retorts even if you don’t say them aloud.”

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hoped he’d heard those; the decibels vibrated through my body for any deaf or blind person to feel.

He chuckled, ducking to my level on my knees. His fingertip traced the line of my jaw, deliberately pressing the bruise he’d left there last night. “You know…if you’d just spoken to me from the beginning, I might’ve been a little nicer to you.”

Bullshit.

I wrenched my face away from his touch.

He sucked in an angry breath. His hand dropped to my naked chest, pinching my nipple. “I might’ve given you clothes, at least.”

I don’t believe you.

He wouldn’t. He had no compassion and only lived to hurt.

The morning of my welcome, he’d stripped me of my white dress and never given it back. Once stolen, I had nothing. No clothes existed for me in any of the wardrobes of his twelve-bedroom estate. When I’d tried to commandeer one of his t-shirts, he’d beaten me so black, I avoided all the bathroom mirrors for weeks. Feeling him abuse me was one thing. Seeing the ownership and betrayal on my skin was entirely another.

After that first initiation, I’d gone crazy. I’d flown around his house like a psychotic bird trapped in a cage. I’d rattled every door, clawed every window—I’d searched and searched for a chink in the house’s fortress, looking for something, anything to free me.

I’d failed.

However, my fight hadn’t faded.

He’d tried to make me talk. He’d become…inventive with persuasion.

But I hadn’t faltered.

If he spoke to me, I stared at a wall. If he took me to bed, I shut down my mind. If he threw things or beat me, I curled tight around my soulcase and held on until it was over.

And each time, I got back up.

One step in front of the other…until one day, I would stop.

But that day wasn’t today.

Or tomorrow.

“Do you know what special thing I have planned tonight?”

Is it your death? That’s the only gift I want from you.

“It’s gonna be a doubly awesome night for me.” Patting my head, he grinned. “First, I have a very important visitor who I expect you to entertain if requested.”

I froze.

“Second, once he’s gone…we’ll have our own celebration to mark two years.” He smirked. “Oh, while I was out, I went shopping. I picked up a new gag and fresh rope. I’m so generous when it comes to you, Pim.”