Pennies (Dollar #1)(76)

Now that choice would be forever taken away.

How could I tell the police what’d been done to me if I couldn’t speak? How could I beg another to help?

My body quaked as I silently sobbed, tossing my head as much as I could in the confines of Master A’s knees.

For a few hours, I’d been in the safety of another man’s control. A man who put even Master A in his place. Why, oh why, didn’t I talk to him when I had the chance? Why was I so damn stubborn? So afraid?

I deserved this.

I’d been so stupid.

And now, I would never utter another word for the rest of my life.

At least I still had my fingers. I could write. I could tell my tale.

But my tale has vanished!

Years of stolen memories.

Perhaps this, right here, was the point where I gave up. Where I admitted I was broken and done. Maybe once they cut out my tongue, I would die from blood loss, and it would finally be over.

Please, be finally over.

It might not be as painless as the gun, but it would give the desired result.

The fight in my limbs faded. Not from accepting the inevitable, but because I literally had nothing left. I couldn’t win. I’d never been able to win. All I could do was stop and accept.

Finally accept that Tasmin was dead and Pimlico would be, too.

The moment I ceased thrashing, Darryl laughed. “Finally realised you can’t stop this, huh, pretty whore?”

You’ll rot in Hell.

My eyes narrowed as he yanked on my tongue, pulling it further from my lips.

He smirked. “How about one word for your master? One little word…”

Master A chuckled. “Yes, go on, Pim. One word and I’ll reconsider not cutting out your tongue.” He bent and kissed my forehead, his hair tickling my nose. “If I like your voice, I’ll let you keep it.”

The dilemma sat heavy.

If I did this, he’d finally won. My imprisonment would include willingly screaming or answering his torturing questions. If he broke me down to utter one word, he could do two and three and four.

He would never let me be silent again.

Or I could take my self-imposed silence for real. Like a devout religious follower denouncing all monetary wealth and entering a nunnery, no longer just practicing their faith but becoming their faith.

I would be mute no longer by choice but by disability.

Was I vain enough to hate the thought of not being perfect anymore? Or strong enough to accept that it was the price I had to pay to win?

Master A’s fingers pinched my cheeks. “Make up your mind, Pimlico. You have ten seconds to decide.” He looked at Darryl. “Cut on one. If she tries to speak, let her have her tongue to do so.”

“Got it, A.”

My heart started a countdown, marking each second with dynamite as Master A said, “Ten…”

Should I speak?

“Nine...”

What should I say?

“Eight…”

What word will keep me safe?

“Seven…”

Do I truly want him to win this way?

“Six…”

How quickly will I die if I refuse?

“Five...”

Will I drown in my own blood?

“Four…”

Make a decision!

Darryl’s fingers tightened, the faint taint of copper filled my mouth as his nail dug deeper, pulling my tongue out as far as possible.

Do it!

One word.

How about: Help. Or mercy. Or please.

“Three.”

I saturated my lungs with oxygen, inhaling hard for the first time, knowing I would finally transform air into sound waves through the magic of human engineering.

“Two…”

I shook my head, eyes wild with promise that I’d talk.

The men paused, eyebrows arched, but Darryl didn’t release my tongue. “Go on, Pim…one little noise. Show us you’ll obey before you get your tongue back.”

A noise was easier than a word. He’d torn worse from me before.

I obeyed.

The tattered moan rose with rust and misuse, vibrating strangely in my chest.

Master A smeared terror-soaked sweat from my skin. “Good girl. You finally obeyed.” Kissing my forehead, he whispered, “Pity for you…I don’t really like the sound of your voice.”

Slapping my cheek, he nodded at Darryl. “One.”

He cut.





THE CAR STOPPED.

I climbed out.

The front door was locked.

I used my skills as a burglar to gain entry within seconds.

The instant I entered, the alarm shredded my eardrums with a shrill alert.

I ignored it, stalking forward through despicable corridors.

The white house mocked me as I erupted from foyer to lounge.

And then suddenly, I no longer saw white.

But red.

Lots and lots of red.

I didn’t pause to think. I didn’t second-guess. I let the instincts I’d spent years trying to dull rage into being; muscle memory took over.

Along with my sordid past, I’d done things that’d evolved me from thief to killer, from killer to assassin, from assassin to heartless stealer of souls. Fighting had always been more than just a hobby. It’d been in my past for generations. And because of my unique personality flaws, I’d become a master at it.