Dollars (Dollar 2)

I was intrigued enough to fight the shivering need to run far away. I’d never been in this room before, and now it was tainted with notes and pain.

Common sense knew Elder wasn’t the one who played when I was raped and beaten. I knew he didn’t intentionally rip me to pieces and make me bleed every time he strummed a chord. But I also knew that when it came to my hatred of music, I had no rationality left.

I wanted to burn every violin and rip apart every piano.

I wanted to destroy that cello sitting smugly mocking me. I wanted to throw it overboard and let the sharks devour it.

No, that’s too good for it.

I wanted it to burn and burn.

But for the first time, Elder had drawn a line. He’d shown me something he valued enough to raise his voice and put a hand on me. Something that evoked passion in him, revealing a single secret from all the rest that were locked so deep down tight.

He was a mystery, but now I knew his weakness.

His weakness is my weakness, just in different ways.

He had to conjure music. I had to run from it.

Two polar extremes that couldn’t survive the other. Was that an analogy for our twisted relationship? Were we too different—from too contrasting worlds to ever find neutral territory?

I didn’t have the answers, so I stood, waiting, ignoring the belittling statement and cursing his music and watching him with murderous eyes.

He stuck his hands into his denim pockets, looking like a murderer himself in a black t-shirt and bare feet. He paced in front of me; whatever idea he’d gathered grew and changed with every breath.

“I’m going to give you tasks. Each one will be worth a different value.” His voice was hypnotic as he continued to pace. “Each one will push you to take back what he’s stolen. Each requirement will force you to find who you truly are beneath your self-imposed silence.”

He stopped.

I balled my fists, enjoying the ache for once from my healed bones. What are these tasks? And why did I fear them already when he hadn’t hinted at what he’d make me do.

His smile was wicked. “You saw who I was in Morocco. You know how easy it was for me to steal that man’s wallet. There is freedom in theft, Pimlico. Anxiety and guilt, yes. But an insane rush, too. The power to take what doesn’t belong to you and make it yours. There’s no greater thrill.” His face darkened. “Apart from making music, of course.”

I ignored that.

He was deranged. I would never accept his addiction to such disgusting pastimes. Then again, I would rather be a thief for the rest of my life than ever learn to play music.

“The thrill was part of the reason why I stole you. I wanted you, and he wouldn’t give me the option to pay.” His body tightened. “But I also stole you because it was the right thing to do. Sometimes, stealing is wrongness wrapped up in right.” His eyes tightened with age-old despair, dragged into his own black memories. “Sometimes, being bad is the only thing you can do to save the good in your life. And sometimes, no matter how bad you are, even wrongness can’t fix it.”

Everything he just said was a direct contradiction to the speech he gave when he robbed the Chinese traveller. Could he switch his arguments as he saw fit or did he honestly see the yin and yang of each consequence?

My toes dug into the carpet, not daring to move a millimetre in case it interrupted his trip to his past and forbade me from glimpsing more of him. The longer I spent in his company, the more I witnessed a man I never suspected.

Physically shaking the recollections away with a toss of his head, Elder drew to a stop in front of me. “I’m going to teach you to steal.”

What?

“I’m going to teach you how to become invisible, ruthless.” His grin grew. “With each task, I’ll reward you. With each steal, your value will increase until the next person you’re sold to is yourself.”

I blinked.

“Get it, Pimlico? You’re going to buy yourself back penny by penny, and I’m going to be there every step of the way, no matter how long it takes.”

My brain was muddled. I didn’t understand what he meant. He wanted me to become a criminal? To use another’s possession to purchase my freedom from him? What sort of sick stupidity was this?

Elder didn’t care I bristled. He moved toward the cursed cello, picking up the bow from the chair and caressing it as he sat down. “Now that I know what to do with you, let’s discuss the reason why you exploded into my room half mad in the middle of the night.”