Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Mr. Prest slowly exhaled, his temper overshadowing Master A’s, turning the white blizzard into a dark typhoon. “Speak.”
Master A chuckled. “I tried to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“She doesn’t talk.” Master A waved in my direction as if I were faulty goods and only good for the torture he put me through. “She’s mute.”
“Through choice or medical condition?”
Whoa…what?
The personal question hacked through the silence like a machete.
Master A grinned, slowly gaining control of the situation now attention was back on him. “Ever since we got together, she’s been mute. You see, when I found her, she was so broken, she didn’t know how to act normally. I thought it endearing, and I’ve done my best to help heal her.” He ran his hand over my scalp, petting me with false affection. “But of course, these things take time and a lot of patience.”
What a load of utter bull—
“Bullshit,” Mr. Prest barked.
The fact he’d stolen the word from my mind and delivered it with as much contempt and disbelief as I would have made my heart hop with a pink skipping rope.
Laughing coldly, Mr. Prest added, “Heal? Those scars and cuts on her skin aren’t old.” Stalking forward, he towered over Master A. “They’re recent. Care to lie about how that happened?”
Master A shrugged, doing his best to come across as unruffled. “A number of things are wrong with her. Being mute is only one of them.”
Wow, he’s claiming I hurt myself now?
I wanted to get angry, but I had nothing but disgusted acceptance left.
Would Mr. Prest believe him if I tore off his blazer and revealed my whipped back, bruised inner thighs, and cigarette burned ass cheeks? Or would it take deeper evidence such as the god-awful internal injuries I’d sustained from non-consensual items being thrust into my body?
Mr. Prest paused, looking me up and down. “I don’t believe you. No one would self-harm to that extent.” His face blackened. “And believe me, I know.”
How does he know?
Was that a veiled hint that he self-harmed? Beneath his expensive tailored clothes, was he as scarred as I was?
Somehow, I doubted it.
However, his hands did hold injuries—both new and old. Overhead lights flickered over silver wounds and knuckle bruising. He used them for business other than introductions with assholes.
Master A’s temper gathered ferocity. “Well, you don’t have to fucking believe me. She’s my girlfriend. I figured you might like some female company because I heard you’ve been at sea for months. But this is fucking ridiculous. I don’t need the third degree.” Waving his arm, he growled, “She’s mine, got it? Not yours. Forget you ever saw her.”
Directing his wrath on me, he ordered. “Upstairs, Pim. Now!”
The obedience he’d beaten into me kicked in. Turning on the bottom step, I grabbed the banister to climb away.
Only, Mr. Prest snapped, “Stop.”
Storming forward, he snatched my wrist and yanked me down the stairs.
No!
I didn’t want to be in the middle of whatever power trip this was. I wanted to bolt back to my room and tell No One of how confusing this meeting had been. I wanted to inhale Mr. Prest’s blazer in private and give in to the scalding tears left over from my panic attack.
But it didn’t matter what I wanted.
It never did.
I became the rope in a nasty tug-of-war.
His fingers were just as cruel as Master A’s as he tightened his grip and pulled me close. Too close. Far too close. The mint decadence of his breath smarted my eyes. “Tell me your story. Now.”
I looked at the floor.
Master A abducted me from his guest’s hold. “What the fuck is your problem? She’s mute. I just told you.”
Mr. Prest shoved a finger in Master A’s face. “My problem is I don’t do business with people I don’t understand.” His eyes narrowed. “And I don’t understand where she fits in.”
Master A shoved me against the wall. He did it in a way that spoke of authority and almost protection from an aggressive stranger in our supposed happy home. However, Mr. Prest saw the truth as I wobbled, reaching for something firm for purchase.
Grabbing my free arm as I fought to stay standing, Mr. Prest growled, “You. Start talking.”
Master A struggled to hold me, a battle of possession on my flesh. “Let her go.”
“If you want to complete our transaction, you’ll shut the fuck up.” Mr. Prest’s voice dropped to a scary whisper. “Think hard, Alrik. Is sharing your girlfriend too much to pay for what you truly want?”
Slowly, a calculating gleam filled Master A’s watery blue gaze. “Share?” He chuckled, raising an eyebrow in my direction.
To someone unknown, that look would hint at undecided decisions. To me, who’d been shared every damn day for years, it was a threat. A forgone contract that before the night was over, Elder Prest would have sampled me, used me, and ultimately destroyed me with hate as much as he had with kindness.