Pennies (Dollar #1)(13)

And he will pay.

I’ll make sure of it.

It’s taken a long time but he doesn’t suspect me of treason anymore. I stopped outwardly fighting, I…obeyed. But not because he broke me.

Oh, no.

I obeyed because I’m smarter than him. I’m patient enough to bide the perfect time.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve become a master of sleeping while chained, breathing while bound, and living while beaten.

I’ve done things I’m proud of. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But ultimately, none of it matters.

I felt things before, No One. I still believed in fantasies like hope and home and happiness. Now, all I believe in is numbness, the clinical assessment I manipulate my master with, and the ticking time bomb inside me that could detonate at any moment.

Gone is the vain teenager who thought she would rule the world. My bones do their best to tiptoe from my skinny flesh. My eyes vacant and cold. The hair-cut he gave me has grown back tattered as a rag doll.

I don’t care that he’s taken everything. There’s still one thing he’ll never have.

Two years without a word.

My voice is his holy grail and my ultimate f*ck you. He will never earn it. Not that he’ll stop trying.

Nine months ago, Master A broke my leg just to hear me scream. He earned that one. I couldn’t stop it. And yes, you heard that right. I stopped calling him Alrik when he…you know what? It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is today is our anniversary.

Two years.

It will be our last anniversary.

That I promise you.

*



“GET ON YOUR f*cking knees, Pim.”

My bruises bellowed, but I wouldn’t give him another reason to hit me. My kneecaps popped as I gingerly did as I was told.

Living in this house with him? It was perpetual purgatory.

I hated every damn second, but I hated waking up the most. At least asleep, I had some freedom. Free to be outside again. Laugh again. Run far, far away again.

He was a bored * with nothing better to do than torment me. He didn’t go to work. He didn’t have staff apart from a cleaning crew that came once a week and a chef delivery service at six p.m. every day. His funds were unlimited. He had the power to get away with everything.

In the beginning, I had no idea what made him tick or why he treated me so terribly. But two years was a long time, and I’d learned quickly. Every strike, every lash, every horrendous night spent beneath him gave me clues on how to survive.

Answering back was not an option. Running, screaming, disobeying—they all earned me more pain than I could stand.

But observation.

That was my arsenal.

At first, knowing his gait changed from smooth to choppy meant he’d rather whip me than f*ck me didn’t help in the slightest. I couldn’t avoid whatever he had planned. It didn’t matter if his voice told me his mood or what torture recipes he plotted.

But as time crept onward, it forewarned me. I fortified myself better, numbed my body, and won just by breathing. I began to understand who he was past the whips and chains and found him incredibly lacking. He was the epitome of a disgusting, spineless coward who kept me in line with violence.

I’d entered his home believing I could remain strong.

That was before the first rape.

The first beating.

The first kick and punch and whipping.

My disobedience lasted longer than I thought, but it all screeched to a stop when he showed me the photos of what happened to his last girl.

Dead.

He killed her.

However, as he wrapped yet another rope around my body to hold me down, he murmured that I wouldn’t end up the same as her. He’d paid quadruple for me what he’d paid for her. I truly was his most expensive toy, and even though he wanted to destroy my spirit and shackle me to his soul, he wouldn’t kill me.

I was worth more alive than dead.

It was a horrifying conclusion. And my defiance quickly switched from blatant to hidden. When I averted my eyes in submission, I really denied him the right to read me. When I pre-empted him by dropping to my knees, I refused him the chance to beat me.

And while he made me do tasks completely naked, my mind wrapped itself in clothing full of retribution and revenge.

I’d have one shot at killing him. Just one.

And even if I did succeed, I had no guarantee I could escape without being smart. Everything in this house was on an electronic system. If I killed him without learning that code, I would die here. I refused to share a crypt with this rapist.

“We have something to celebrate. Don’t you agree?” He stalked around me with his narrow chin held high. “Two years, my dear. I can imagine at your tender age that’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had.”

This isn’t a relationship, you pig.

My upper lip twitched in disgust as I dropped my gaze to the sheepskin rug.

Unfortunately, he’d seen my facial slur.

His fist struck the side of my head. “Don’t f*cking give me attitude, Pim! Not on our anniversary.”

I tumbled sideways, shaking away throbbing stars, forcing my body back onto my knees before he kicked me to regain my pose. Ignoring the sudden headache, I catalogued his mood. Everything spoke to me these days—not just his demeanour but his chosen wardrobe, selected watch, even the way he styled his hair. Each was a clue to his disposition.