Thousands (Dollar 4)

I hated myself.

And her.

I despised both of us for letting emotions ruin a perfectly acceptable arrangement.

She should be here with me instead of by herself where I couldn’t touch, talk, or guard.

Needing to keep myself focused on why she’d left and why I’d sailed away, I spent most of my time on the phone with the leader of the mercenaries who stood guard, unwanted by my family.

He gave me hourly reports and increased his team’s size to spread out and protect even the furthest blood relatives. People I’d never even heard about, let alone owed any kind of allegiance to.

I knew that, once again, my addiction had taken something pure and sullied it.

My duty was to my mother, uncles, and aunties and approximately six to seven cousins.

That was all.

In reality, the Chinmoku probably didn’t even care about the third cousins and in-laws who’d become one of us over the years.

But I did.

Not because I had a sudden craving to keep strangers alive but because of the goddamn obsession in my head.

They were mine—regardless if we had anything in common or a connection. They were linked to the web of my kin, and my brain switched from protection into something bordering old-world possession over tribe and pedigree.

I tried to stop it.

I did my best to order the leader to pull back from scouting outside homes of people who didn’t even know my name.

But I couldn’t.

If I wasn’t allowed Pimlico, then I would do whatever was in my power to watch over everyone—regardless if it was an addiction, obligation, or appropriate.

I stood on the deck staring at the pink horizon and rubbed at the spot where my heart used to be. No seagull squawk or midnight swim could fix what I feared would forever be broken.

I should be sick with worry at the thought of my mother in danger and riddled with nerves at the impending family reunion where no one wanted me.

But all I could think about was Pim.

Pim.

Pim.

I clutched the phone, willing it to ring, so I had a distraction from the way my heart thumped lifeless and accusing, hanging itself on a gristly rib.

Every beat made me growl with guilt. Every palpitation a reminder of no more dinners or pickpocketing lessons. No more falling in love.

Where was she now?

Had she found someone to help?

Was she on her way to England?

Was she already there?

I liked that most of me hoped she’d already found her way home and was back where she belonged. However, I hated myself because another part of me—a dark, disturbed jealous part—hoped she hadn’t.

That she needed me even after walking away.

That she hurt just as much because we were apart with no way of contact. No cell phone. No email. No physical way of tracking the other down.

You sailed away.

You chose blood over heart.

And for what?

To be cursed all over again and ordered to leave? To be kicked out and called No One? To remain lonely for the rest of my days?

Shit!

My free hand curled around the banister, wanting to wring the wood and brass for its hypocrisy. For my hypocrisy. The awful conclusion that I’d sailed away under the guise of doing the right thing…when really, I’d done the fucking opposite.

She. Left. Me.

She’d decided that in order for us both to survive, we had to end whatever was building between us. She was the courageous warrior in this scenario, and I was the spineless wretch who would never forgive himself for taking the easy way out just because he was scared fucking shitless of hurting her.

Goddammit, what have I done?

The phone rang in my hand as the emotional landslide slammed into me.

I owed Pim just as much as my family.

If not more.

She’d given me love when all the others had taken it away.

And what had I done? I’d allowed her to take that love away under pretence of saving me from myself.

Fuck that.

And fuck her.

I shook with rage as my heart finally started doing its job and woke me up after three and a half days of grief-stricken listlessness.

Selix’s voice ripped into my thoughts, echoing through the phone. “Ready for our sparring session?”

I blinked, slamming back into my body. Seeing the waves and clouds and glinting yacht around me. We’d arranged to fight until we either passed out or someone was seriously injured.

Last night, when we’d made the appointment, nothing had sounded better because even my cello couldn’t stop my thoughts from returning to Pim.

I’d hoped pain would do the trick.

But now, I knew better.

There was only one way that pain would go away, and it wasn’t through fighting or killing or being the perfect son to a mother who’d cursed me.

It was by being the perfect man to a woman who loved me regardless of who I was. A woman who said yes when everyone else had said no—including myself.