Pennies (Dollar #1)(45)

Nothing was sexy about stealing from her.

Nothing was right about what I was about to do.

So f*cking stop it and just go.

I ignored the thought because that was impossible.

I had to get her behind closed doors. I had to remove her from my thoughts if I was to find peace again.

Already, I felt the corruption inside me clawing for more. One taste, one touch, one kiss, one f*ck.

One was all I was permitted.

And if I wanted to use my allotment tonight, that could happen. Because I had no plans on ever setting eyes on her again.

Alrik pecked her forehead like a father would his daughter heading to something she feared. “Behave but don’t make me jealous. Otherwise…remember my previous promise about the past few nights being easy.”

My gut clenched.

He was so f*cking deluded; he didn’t even try to hide that her multi-coloured bruises were from his fists. Some, however, were from other wounds…a shoe, perhaps?

My gaze dropped to my own ludicrously expensive footwear. What colour would her skin paint if I used such craftsmanship in the same way? Would her bruises be pretty or uglier? Would I be kinder or more brutal?

So many things to find out.

If I let myself be a monster like him.

Which I wouldn’t.

I think.

I’d hurt many people before but never for selfish pleasure. Would punching her feel different from punching a man trying to hurt me? Would sleeping with her be any better than paying a high-class escort who generally enjoyed her job when treated right?

So many questions that I needed answers to so I could move the f*ck on with my life. And once I’d gained those answers, I’d end it for her.

Death would be the kindest gift I could give.

However, could I take her final fight, knowing I’d kill her in return? Was I that cold-hearted? Or was I a selfish f*cking bastard who would use her without the stomach to murder her afterward?

I guess time will tell.

Alrik clapped his hands. “Go get the door, Pim. Don’t make me ask twice.”

The girl immediately shot from my hold, dashing from the lounge and into the corridor where I’d given her my jacket and seen her mistreated tits for the first time.

“I suggest you follow her.” Alrik smirked. “She’s small, but she moves fast. You don’t want to lose her. Lots of rooms in this place to get lost.”

My eyes narrowed, hearing the threat but not taking the bait.

Without a backward glance, I strode after the slave I’d bartered to spend the night with. I’d been interested in this girl since the second I noticed her. I only grew more curious the longer I followed.

Heading down the corridor, she turned left before entering an internal garage, darting around a white Porsche, and moving toward the back of the space.

There she waited with her eyes downcast, her body facing a locked cage where three doors, knickknacks, cardboard boxes, and other paraphernalia rested in the gloom.

“That’s the door?” I asked, passing her the keys to undo the padlock. My question hung unbelonging, dangling unanswered.

I didn’t get a reply.

Not that I expected one.

Hesitantly, she took the offered keychain, careful not to touch me.

Turning her back, she tried a few before finding the right one and cranking open the gate. Her eerie silence was even more pronounced in the lifeless garage.

No sound came from her bare feet, no rush of breath, no rustle of clothing. It was as if I stood there by myself.

If I couldn’t reach out and touch her—to make sure she was flesh and bone—I would’ve juggled with the idea of her being a ghost.

My mother would f*cking love her.

Not because of her beaten, broken aura but because it was so rare for someone to be utterly silent.

My cock hardened as the girl strode toward the three doors resting like retired guards by the wall. I didn’t know what the other two were from, but she stood beside a white lacquered thing with axe marks and scrapes along both sides—most likely from her barricading from the inside and her master doing his best to get to her.

Images of what that experience must’ve been like swarmed me. Had she huddled and screamed as Alrik fought his way to her? Or had she waited on the bed already dead from terror?

Fuck this.

I stalked forward.

My hand came up.

The urge to soothe her catapulted my fingers to her cheek. My skin erupted from her delicate heat. I’d already had my single touch when I’d petted her hair. I wasn’t permitted a second.

But it didn’t stop me.

One moment, she stood close, arching her chin at the door.

The next, she was across the cage, flying into a stack of boxes that tumbled in a clatter of butcher knives, butter knives, and sharp forks.

Her eyes turned luminous in the gloom, locking on mine with rage.

Shit.

I’d forgotten myself by feeling sorry for this beaten wraith, but she hadn’t forgotten her overwhelming hatred of men.

I didn’t look away. But I didn’t explain myself, either.

I’d borrowed her for the night. If I wanted to touch her, I could. The fact that she’d leapt away meant I could report her to her master and have her punished.

Or you could punish her instead.

The distance between us grew thicker as we breathed.

I waited…wanting to know just how deep her education in pleasure flowed.