Pennies (Dollar 1)

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 was 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.

“Leave what isn’t yours alone, Mr. Prest,” Master A threatened. “She’s mine. Direct your questions to me and only me.”

Mr. Prest didn’t move. “Why?”

“Why?” Master A spluttered. “Why should I command you to stop talking to my slave?” He stood up with his fists on the table. “Because she’s mine and whatever answers you think you see are lies.”

“You’re afraid she’ll tell me things about you that will stop this business arrangement.”

Wrong. He’s afraid I’ll tell you that I want you to kill him.

He’s afraid I’ll give you the final piece of me that I refuse to give to that bastard.

“She will tell you nothing—either good or bad.” Forcing himself to relax, Master A slid back into his seat. “But that’s beside the point. You’re right. I offered Pimlico in friendship, and you have full right to do what you want. Whatever ensures our mutual interest in business.” His smile was a shark. “Nothing else matters.”

For five achingly long seconds, Mr. Prest didn’t accept the olive branch. Testosterone swirled across the table. At least Darryl, Tony, and Monty stayed out of it.