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.
“You’re right.” Master A unlocked his fingers, removing his resistance.
I ricocheted forward, tumbling against Mr. Prest’s sculptured body.
The moment I smashed against him, I recoiled.
He wasn’t different.
He was the same.
And I had no wish to be close to him or any man.
Master A puffed out his chest, crossing his arms. “Is sharing an official requirement to complete our deal?”
My mismatched hair hung over my face as Mr. Prest manhandled me around his body, placing me behind him. His arm clamped tight, keeping me wedged against his hard back. “You really are a sick fuck.”
Energy and untapped power siphoned down his spine as he chuckled, infecting me with whatever insanity he suffered.
Because he had to be insane.
He protected me from Master A, all while discussing sharing me to complete a business transaction.
Who does that?
No one I wanted to be around.
A year ago, I might’ve struggled—bit his wrist for the chance to be free. But just like I’d evolved in obedience to survive, I learned that antagonising for no reason wasn’t smart.
Master A spread his hands. “Rather offensive thing to say. I’m not judging you. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t judge me.”
Looking over my shoulder, my skin crawled to find Darryl, Tony, and Monty had repositioned themselves to stand behind Mr. Prest, ready to maim or kill him if he threatened their friend.
I squeezed my eyes, deliberately avoiding what would come next.
However, I’d underestimated Mr. Prest.
Almost as if he sensed the imminent attack, he stepped back, forcing me to move with him until he entered the lounge and spun to face the three men, pinning me against the wall.
He faced them all as Master A stalked to stand with his evil accomplices.
Mr. Prest clenched his jaw, his eyes hooded and dark. “Let’s start this again. With the fucking truth.” Yanking me from behind his back, he placed me beside him. “She’s a whore.”
I jolted at the word.
I hated that word.
It conjured such sad and broken things. But I wasn’t that. I was a daughter, a student, a friend. I was smart. I’d been pretty, once.
I meant something.