Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
That I currently lived with the man, who only two days ago, forced himself on me? That that same man helped sew my tongue back together and kill the master who’d abused me?
I’d be thrown in an asylum and Elder into a cell.
People would say I was screwed up. That my fragility had given way to irrationality. Elder would be tried for kidnapping and rape while I fruitlessly explained it was neither.
No. I couldn’t leave yet, and he couldn’t be taken from me.
Not yet.
My heart nudged in warning as Elder placed one black shoe in front of the other, coming to claim me.
I didn’t know what he’d planned next or where we were going, but I did know I needed to complete his task—not for him but for me. I needed to prove I could do this on my own. I didn’t need him near me all the time. I was strong enough to do what he requested.
Darting toward a nearby work-station and the multiple tools scattered on the table, I lost sight of Elder as I scurried around the back of the partially built yacht.
A name whispered on my mind for the elegant sea craft. Something that could fly. Something that was strong enough to endure tidal waves and rain needles.
Don’t you dare.
You are not the owner, and you have no right to name it.
I kept my eyes focused on bric-a-brac and workers as I weaved around bodies and skilled hands. And there, on a trestle table with wood shavings and discarded nails, hid a small silver frame with oval photos and little claw legs keeping the images of a pretty woman and a young girl in a purple pinafore upright.
A family.
Someone’s family.
I paused, running my finger over the dusty, smiling faces. I didn’t know where the husband was or which worker returned home to this wife and daughter.
I wanted to know. I wanted to find out the names of his family.
But another part of me didn’t want to let Elder down. This token was small enough to fit in my palm and light enough to be carried with no effort.
It’s not yours…
It almost stopped me.
Almost.
Scooping up the photo frame, I froze. The epic disgrace at touching something that didn’t belong to me filled me with remorse. I waited for a hand on my shoulder or growled command to put it down.
I almost wanted them to, so I wouldn’t have to go through with this.
But neither of those things happened.
The sanding continued. The gossip remained.
And guilt swarmed me as I hid the silver within my hands and slinked away to steal something that monetarily had barely any worth but for one man was incalculable.
After ten steps, I couldn’t breathe through my regret. How could I take something like that? What possessed me to steal something that meant so much to someone?
I turned to replace it.
Screw Elder’s command.
Only, he materialized from the side of the yacht, holding his hand out as if he’d witnessed my theft and wouldn’t let me deny it.
With heavy contrition forming a lump in my throat, I stepped toward him and handed over the photo frame.
Our fingers touched.
Hot to cold.
Man to woman.
I hung my head as Elder peered at the family. Once upon a time, I’d been stolen just like I’d stolen this photo frame. I’d been taken callously with no thought to how my mother would cope with my disappearance or any apology.
Now I’d done the same.
I refuse to be like them. To be like Elder as he smiled and nodded in approval.
“Wait!” Snatching it back, I hugged the pictures close. “I-I changed my mind. I’m not stealing this.”
His head cocked, his actions slow and refined. “You already did. It’s not yours, yet you’ve taken it. It belongs to you now.”
I back stepped, trying to remember what workstation I’d taken it from. “No. It’s worth too much.”
His eyes narrowed. “Worth too much? I doubt it would fetch a few dollars on the street. Hollow silver is worth nothing, and no one wants pictures of another’s loved ones.”
My mouth hung open. “You’re thinking of selling it to make money?”
“Isn’t that why anyone steals?” He shrugged, defiant and indifferent. “Either to benefit themselves or trade for cash?”
“It’s wrong.” I shuddered. “No one should profit off another.”
I struggled to keep the conversation on the stolen photo frame and not my own plight.
“Wrong or right, it’s happened.” Elder held out his hand. “Give it to me. It’s mine.”
“No, you can’t have it.” I placed it behind my back.
“Too late.” Elder stalked toward me and plucked it from my fist as if I hadn’t been holding it at all. “You chose it. You have to live with the guilt. No one told me that when I started stealing, Pim.” He bent closer, his face ardent but vicious. “The guilt eats you alive. The shame of taking what doesn’t belong to you is never worth the cost.” He chuckled, but it echoed with wounded despair. “Believe me.”