Dollars (Dollar #2)(40)

So your kiss would’ve been a charity?

Yes.

No.

Ugh, I don’t know.

It would’ve been a token of my gratitude. A kiss—no matter how chaste or half-hearted—was an agreement that I trusted him enough to get close, press my mouth to his, and let him hold me.

He could so easily have pulled my hair, forced me to speak—drowned me, for all he cared.

But he didn’t.

He’d held me safe with no pressure, even though his erection pressed against my belly, hard and throbbing with things I wasn’t strong enough to survive.

Unable to withstand my colliding thoughts, I whipped out the notepad and pen.



Dear No One,

Is this my life now? Riddled with questions and doubt?

I thought the moment I was away from Alrik, things would be easier, not harder—



A loud clunking noise wrenched my head up.

My heart donned her sneakers and took off sprinting. I dropped the pen as a lifetime of worry and self-preservation kicked in, expecting the worst. Whatever progress Elder had made with me was deleted with that one sharp bang.

Alrik’s face sprang into my head, laughing and cruel.

It took all my willpower to stay seated on my bed and not hurl myself to the floor and my knees.

It came again—clunk, clunk, clunk.

Clutching the sheet, doing my best not to slip into a panic attack, I glanced around the room. There was no tyrant ready to beat me, no werewolf in the shadows.

Wait…

I tilted my head.

I recognise that noise.

A chain.

The metal links clinked together in an awful remembered time when something similar was used to string me up. Only, this wasn’t a small chain but massive and lots of it.

The anchor maybe?

Climbing out of bed, I darted to the door only to notice I was naked (like normal) and not suitable for gallivanting around in investigation. Jogging back to the haven I’d just climbed from, I grabbed the sheet, not caring my unfinished note to No One scattered on the floor, and wrapped it around me.

Racing back to the exit, ensuring my temporary clothing covered the right places and didn’t flutter open, I charged down the corridor and up the flight of stairs rather than take the lift.

I’d been on Elder’s ship for over a week. In that time, I’d battled against recovery then given into it. Once I rested and ate correctly, my body had taken full advantage. The bruises were still there, only now more green moss rather than purple thunderstorm. My broken hand was still bound with a plastic cast and bandage that I’d replaced after my swim last night. However, I hadn’t tethered my ribs again, and a minor twinge let me know I probably should have.

My muscles had regained enough mobility to propel me upward—not just skin and bone anymore—but tentatively filling out as if afraid the slight curves would be punished for showing health.

I panted and puffed by the time I climbed onto the top deck and squinted in glorious early morning sunshine, but I didn’t collapse in a broken heap.

I was getting stronger every day.

Thanks to him.

As if thinking about him, Elder materialized, standing on the deck with a cup of coffee in his hands. He wore faded jeans with a white t-shirt and casual linen blazer slung over his shoulders.

My gaze drifted down to his feet where masculine toes were free thanks to thin black flip-flops.

He didn’t notice me. Or then again, maybe he did but enjoyed me staring at him as much as I enjoyed doing it.

What time had he woken to be showered and dressed and so damn immaculate?

Striding forward, my sheet billowed behind me, doing its best to snap and vanish in the warm breeze.

Stopping beside him, he glanced in my direction. “Morning.”

I merely widened my eyes and gawked at the view. He was no longer the centre of my attention. The open sea had miraculously changed from open horizon to busy, dusty port.

“Morocco,” Elder said, offering me his coffee.

I held up my hand, automatically refusing his gift. My tongue was feeling much better, but I didn’t want to undo that healing with scalding coffee.

He smirked. “You’re getting more comfortable with me, Pimlico.”

I gulped. He’s right. I hadn’t thought twice about reacting. Breathing through my cymbal smashing heartbeat, I ignored him as the sun glittered on trucks and cranes and the mania of a working harbour.

He chuckled quietly. “First, you’re disappointed I didn’t kiss you last night, and now, your body language speaks before you can censor it.” Raising the mug to his lips, he deliberately licked them before sealing them around the porcelain. His throat contracted as he swallowed a mouthful of caffeine. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re beginning to trust my promise.”

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I kept my eyes glued on a crane hauling a container into the sky.

It didn’t stop him from muttering, “My promise that I won’t hurt you.”

I didn’t know if he’d ever hurt me, but with fresh energy came clear-headedness and confidence to face whatever came next. My anger had given me a backbone, but his peace had given me sanity.

I turned to face him. I didn’t know why. To finish what we started last night? To surprise him that maybe I was disappointed and ready to play his game.