Pennies (Dollar 1)

My knees wobbled as his attention remained on the usual gang of assholes who took advantage of me at Master A’s discretion.

He hadn’t seen me, hovering ghost-quiet against the wall.

The interloper sat tightly wound like a sword waiting to leap from its sheath, glaring at the three men on the opposite couch.

Master A had never fully introduced me to the animals who’d abused me, but I knew their names. I knew their barbarous tastes. And I knew they were as bad as the rest.

Darryl, Monty, and Tony all discounted me the second they sneered in my direction. I was nothing to them. Just like the crystal chandelier above the dining room table was nothing or the vase on the sideboard in the entrance hall.

They saw me, might even appreciate me for a brief moment, but then I was unimportant.

I just wished I were unimportant enough not to entice sexual interest when alcohol flowed, and Master A gave the order to do whatever the hell they wanted.

The sick prick got off on his friends hurting me three at a time. He sat there masturbating while they—

Stop!

I stuffed each awful memory deep, deep inside. It was the only way I could endure more on top of a mountain already scaled.

Besides, it doesn’t matter.

I was far more interested in this foreigner in my nightmare midst.

Who is he?

My fingers twined in the ugly skirt, seeking refuge from their cold fragility. It’d been so long since I’d been dressed; I’d forgotten how comforting a simple covering could be.

Not that it protected my body.

Every part of me was still visible, just…shadowed. The white material didn’t hide my nipples through the tightness, and the skirt hinted at secret, violated places between my legs.

I vaguely remembered my mother saying sometimes clothes were more provocative than downright nakedness. Maybe that was what this was? A tease? A reverse strip show?

Master A noticed me, striding from the kitchen with a glass of champagne. He didn’t drink it often, and I almost backed away in surprise as he passed the delicate stemmed flute to me.

Kissing my cheek, he looked at the stranger before hissing in my ear. “Our guest isn’t aware of our little games okay, my sweet Pim? And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t give him any reason to find out.”

Facing away from his guest, he subtly drew a line over his throat in a threat.

I didn’t know if that meant he’d kill the newcomer or me.

Stealing the champagne from my fingers without a single drop splashing my tongue, he wrapped an arm around me and carted me toward the man.

The closer we drew, the more intrigued I became.

Unlike Master A and his similar blond counterparts, this man was a black stain in the middle of European fair complexions.

His hair was blacker than black, looking like an ink spill on the death of a perfect night. His gaze matched the coal depths, hiding so much but taking everything in.

I guessed he’d given up adolescence a while ago and bordered late twenties, early thirties. He was what my mother used to call ‘confused ethnicity.’ He wasn’t like me, who could track her roots back to Anglo-Saxons and Vikings. He was a mismatch of origins—enticingly exotic.

He was handsome and staring right at me.

Staring as if he didn’t expect a girl to be here; a slave who’d well and truly forgotten the outside world.

I dropped my gaze, encouraging a sheet of hair to obscure the remnants of bruising on my cheekbone.

I hadn’t been anywhere or seen anything new in two years.

Until this man.

Stopping before the stranger as he stood stiffly from the couch, Master A grunted, “I thought I’d add one more to our dinner arrangement if you don’t mind.” Digging his fingernails into my elbow, he smiled cordially. “This is my girlfriend, Pimlico.”

The man raised an eyebrow, drawing my attention from his hair and eyes to the rest of his symmetrically masculine face. His nose held just enough authority without being too big. His chin was square enough to expose every clench of his teeth, and his throat powerful enough to reveal every swallow, rippling with sinew and muscle.

My eyes followed his neck, following the contours of his flawless skin until it disappeared beneath a dark grey shirt with the collar unbuttoned. He wore a casual black blazer as if he’d shrugged into it at the last minute while shopping at Armani or Gucci, and his long legs put him half a head taller than Master A, who already towered over my shorter frame.

Only, where Master A made me feel small and defenceless, this new man…didn’t.

I couldn’t describe it.

I’d often heard my high school friends mentioning some sort of kismet reaction when they met their boyfriends, but I’d never felt it.

My heart turned traitor as the man tilted his head, his eyes never leaving mine. He moved like liquid as if he held the power to drown everyone with a mere drop or eradicate entire landscapes with a tsunami.