Dollars (Dollar #2), Page 2

Will it ever be more than a useless lump in my mouth?

  Am I a bona fide mute, after all?

  He stood watching, shifting uncomfortably as the silence lingered. Once again, my power over quietness prevailed. I found sanctuary in the pause; I could live in its peace forever.

  The only man who turned silence against me was Mr. Prest.

  And he’s not here.

  I didn’t know why my pulse quickened with anticipation then slowed with a thread of disappointment.

  Why is he not here?

  The doctor cleared his throat. “My name is Andrew Michaels. I’m the onboard surgeon. I oversee the small medical team here on the Phantom.”

  Onboard? So I’m not at a hospital? Not…free?

  Instead of worrying about my captivity, I focused on the name that’d sprung up before.

  What is Phantom?

  I stared harder into his eyes, ignoring the padding wedged beneath my chin to catch any drool and the awful steady throb in my mouth.

  Not noticing my mute request for more information, Michaels stepped around my recovery bed and pulled open a drawer to my right by the IV.

  His hand disappeared inside, yanking free a pad of paper with the crest of some smoky ghostly design. His fingers vanished again; rustling sounded, followed by the appearance of a pen. Holding both, he turned to me then awkwardly tried to place them in my possession.

  I didn’t move.

  Not because my body ached and cried for all the abuse it’d suffered, but because I honestly didn’t remember how to accept a gift that wasn’t going to hurt me the moment I reached for it.

  “This is so you can talk. I’m sure you have questions.” He tried again to pass me the notepad and pen.

  I gritted my teeth, amplifying my swollen tongue. The sensation was foreign and so, so wrong. The tickle of stitches itched my palate as I swallowed a rank metallic taste of old blood.

  I shuddered.

  A panic attack billowed just out of calming distance…a tempest growing with forked lightning and gales.

  My soul grew claustrophobic, as if it could shed this old carcass and find a newer, less broken one. I felt dirty and used and useless and not just because I hadn’t showered in forever. The past few years clung to me even though Master A was dead.

  The memory jolted me.

  He’s dead.

  I killed him.

  The quickly forming panic attack paused, swirling with knowledge that I’d finally won. I hadn’t had to die to be free of him.

  He died.

  Goosebumps careened down my spine as I remembered the heavy squeeze of the trigger and the splash of red. If I was strong enough to kill the man who’d done this to me, then I was strong enough to remain brave and figure out what this new future meant.

  Wait…

  A new memory superseded the murder—something about an ocean and a boat and him. Mr. Prest.

  Well, that answers that question.

  I wasn’t free. I was still in the custody of the man who held my life in his palm.

  Elder Prest was a lot of things, but he’d taken care of me, given me medical support, and left me in the care of a normal human being who didn’t expect sex or screams.

  That was enough for now.

  I’m lucky to be where I am.

  If a half-severed tongue was the price I had to pay for it, then fine.

  I reached out and took the notepad and pen. The needle in the back of my hand stung as I curled my fingers around the first ordinary things I’d been allowed in so long.

  There was no strike or fist. No laugh or threat. Just a kind smile and nod of encouragement.

  The moment the welcoming papyrus filled my touch, I had an unbearable desire to write to No One. To reveal what’d happened and why my future notes would be on paper and not toilet tissue.

  He still has my other letters.

  My eyes flew around the small, nondescript room with no windows and artificial light feathering up the walls to make it seem day rather than luminescent bulbs. Where had Mr. Prest put his blazer with my stolen stories?

  Elder.

  He told you to call him Elder.

  But why?

  He’d been so adamant about Master A not using his first name, yet he’d given me carte blanche to use it how I wanted.

  I didn’t understand.

  “You do know how to write, don’t you?” Andrew Michaels cleared his throat. “Judging by your injuries, you’ve been mistreated for a long time. Did anyone teach you to read? To use a pen?” He cocked his head at the door. “I can get a female to help if you’d prefer? Just occurred to me you might not want a man around.”

  I let him prattle on all while my fingers stroked my pen and paper gift.

  “I was the surgeon who worked on you. I ensured your tongue was repositioned correctly and sutured with internal and external stitches—don’t worry, they’ll dissolve on their own in a week or so.”

  A week?

  That wasn’t long enough, was it?

  “Tongues are the fastest part of our bodies to heal. You should have full mobility back very soon. The pain and swelling will decrease every day. However, I can’t guarantee you’ll have full use of your taste buds and heat sensitivity. That is out of the realms of my expertise, I’m afraid.”

  My mind whirled with information and questions.

  Will I be able to talk?

  Will I be allowed to go home once I’m better?

  “I also took the liberty to ensure your other injuries were tended to while you were unconscious.” He pointed at my plastic cast and bandaged hand and another bandage that tightened around my ribcage every time I breathed. “You had a few heavily bruised ribs, and obviously, you knew the bones in your hand were broken.” His smile was gentle but full of authority—just like other doctors in my past. “I did my best to tend to you, but you have my oath, I didn’t touch you anywhere else.”

  If I wasn’t so shocked to have a man doing his utmost to assure me no untoward attention was given when I wasn’t awake to even notice, I might’ve smiled.

  I might’ve reached out willingly for the first time and patted his arm with gratitude.

  But all this attention—kind, healing attention—made me nervous. I couldn’t stop searching for the underlying hellion who would make me pay for such kindness by beating me bloody.

  I dropped my gaze. I wanted solitude so I could investigate my body and patch together the missing pieces of the past few hours.

  All I could think about was Elder as he held me tight in his car. He hadn’t cared about the blood or the fact he’d committed a crime for me. He’d just given me permission to use his name and then deposited me here.

  What does he expect in return?

  Nothing was free and killing to give me life was the biggest debt of all.

  Dr. Michaels didn’t look away as I opened the notebook and clicked the pen to reveal the nib. My brain hurt with unanswered questions and fears. No One was my outlet for such worries. The only one I could turn to.

  My fingers itched to write; to scribble as fast as I could and demand freedom and food and fantastical things like my mother to find me and my friends to welcome me back to life. But all I could do was stroke the pristine lined paper and sniff silently as tears slowly spilled from my eyes.

  I didn’t mean to cry—I didn’t even realise liquid had formed until tears tracked unpermitted down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop the droplets, just as I couldn’t stop the throbbing of my tongue or the battering memories of what I’d endured at the hands of that sadistic bastard.

  Long minutes passed where I forgot about the doctor and spiralled into myself. The silence grew too much for him; he cleared his throat again. “I’ll leave you to rest. I have no doubt you’ve been through a lot.”

  He lowered his voice. “Whatever happened is over now. Don’t let the memories haunt you, okay? You’re safe.”

  Patting my hand, he smiled softly. “As long as you’re on the Phantom, Mr. Prest
will take care of you.”

  “SIR, THE GIRL is awake.”

  My head wrenched up from the glowing screen of my laptop. Selix stood over the threshold in a fresh suit with his long hair neatly tied. Whether it was a casual day at sea doing office work or tearing through the city with a dying girl in the backseat, his look didn’t change. It never had—even our days on the streets he’d been the same. Perhaps, not in a suit, but identical in calculating intelligence and uncut hair.

  I respected him for that.

  I just wished I exuded the same calm he did. My insides were a tangled mess. My temper harsh with crippling need to tear apart those animals again and again, then force Pim to speak to me as payment.

  I’ve earned it, goddammit.

  The silent treatment wouldn’t work now she was in my domain. It couldn’t. I’d claimed her. My requirements would only get stronger and harder to ignore—only her voice would offer temporary relief.

  Reclining in my chair, I gave Selix my full attention. Ever since we left port, I’d used the satellite internet to check the police scanners and crime network for any hint of the blood-bath at Alrik’s home.

  It bothered me that nothing had been reported even six hours after the incident; and it fucked me off that the third friend who’d been at dinner that first night hadn’t turned up to be murdered, too.

  He was still out there.

  Raping and hurting—polluting the world with his defilement.

  I’d track him down eventually and put him out of his misery, but for now, more pressing things needed my attention.

  “Was Michaels able to save her tongue?” My voice resembled scratchy granite. I hadn’t spoken for hours, and the effects of no sleep made me rough.

  “I believe he wanted to give you the report himself.” Selix stood to the side, welcoming the onboard doctor into my office. The moment Michaels appeared, Selix nodded and vanished through the door, closing it quietly.

  “I trust you’re relaxing now you’re back home?” Michaels came forward.

  “It’s preferable to the squalor on land.” I jumped to the true reason for his visit; I didn’t have time for chit-chat. “So? Tell me the girl’s status.” I closed the laptop, hiding the software I used to hack my way to illegal answers. I trusted my staff, but they didn’t need to know anything more about me than I paid their salaries and expected exemplary service in return.

  Michaels clasped his hands over his fresh black shirt and slacks. He must’ve changed after dealing with Pimlico. “She’s awake and lucid. She obviously can’t talk, but I’ve given her a notepad and pen to communicate if she wishes.”

  “And has she?”

  “Has she what?”

  What did he think? Flew? “Communicated?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, no. Not as such. She accepted the paper but hasn’t written anything yet.” He coughed. “I don’t know where you found her, but the abuse her body has been through has aged her considerably. Her spine is that of a forty-year-old, not a girl in her early twenties. Her teeth need care, and some of the bruises have caused internal damage, not just surface discolouration.”

  “Will she survive?”

  “It's hard to say. She’s survived this long. She’ll have help and nutritious food and medicine, but she’ll never be able to do rigorous sports or strenuous exercise without discomfort. She’ll most likely endure early-onset arthritis from her injuries; she’ll need to be monitored for any signs of stiffening and bone heat.”

  Fuck.

  Not only had years of her freedom and happiness been stolen but she’d suffer long-term damage, too. Hadn’t she paid enough?

  Shit, life isn’t fair.

  “And that isn’t the worst thing,” Michaels added.

  I froze. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…how old was she when she was taken into captivity?” He held up a hand to signal he wasn’t done talking. “And you don’t need to confirm or deny if I’m right. I’ve seen enough cases like this to know she’s been a slave.”

  My breathing turned shallow. I’d enlisted Michaels because he was the best. But being the best meant he was smart. And he was too fucking smart for his own good.

  “It’s not your business.” I crossed my arms. “Let it go.”

  “I know it’s not my business, but I’m aware you’ve made it yours. It would be wise to know her history, her family—hell, it would be better if you dropped her off at the nearest cop shop.”

  Not even Selix would dare be so presumptuous with suggestions.

  My hands locked into fists. “Like I just suggested, let it go. She’s none of your concern.”

  “Wrong. She is my concern. Her health, at least.” His face darkened with curiosity. “Do you know anything about her? The way she stared at the notepad makes me think she can’t read and write. She’s a starved, broken thing who has no tools for life or much of a future.”

  My vision hazed red. “She’s not broken.”

  “Well, I beg to differ. She has a few bones—”

  “Bones don’t make her broken.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “And she’s not illiterate.”

  Michaels paused. “How do you know?”

  Because I’ve read her letters—glimpsed her secrets.

  “Again—seeing as you’re making me repeat myself—none of your goddamn business.”

  My temper didn’t scare him. He’d worked for me for years and knew how far to push. Cocky bastard.

  He continued. “Okay, so at least we know she can talk—or at least write—when she is ready. However, I think it might be best if—”

  I swallowed my growl. “If what?”

  He sighed, cringing a little as my ire thickened. “If we drop her off at the next port and be done with her—like I said, drop her off at a cop shop. Her body can heal, sure. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure she’s as healthy as possible, but even cured there’s still the matter of her mind.”

  My hands curled into fists. My patience waned. I had too much shit to do before I could visit my newest Phantom guest, and Michaels was pissing me off by assuming things about Pim he didn’t know.

  You don’t know her, either.

  Yes, but at least I planned to. I owed her for reasons I couldn’t untangle yet. I didn’t intend to throw her overboard just because she might be mentally unstable.

  Fuck, all of us were mentally unstable to a degree. I wouldn’t be a hypocrite and deny otherwise.

  She was one of the strongest women I’d come across, and she hadn’t spoken a word. That sort of strength…it did things to men like me. It made me want to break her and shelter her in equal measure. It set a war in motion between the devil and angel on my shoulders, and only time would tell what part of me would win.

  My gaze narrowed. “There is nothing to discuss about her mind.”

  “But she needs someone to talk to—”

  “If she ever talks.”

  Michaels straightened, as if I’d offended his medical expertise. “I sewed her back up. She will be able to talk. It’s a matter of if her mind is capable of speech, not her body.”

  Swiping a hand over my face, I smiled tightly. “And for that, I’m grateful. Thank you for your commendable care once again. However, you do not need to concern yourself with her mental healing.”

  “Do you intend to do it?” He crossed his arms.

  His audacity set my blood hissing. “And if I said yes?”

  “I’d say you’d be setting her and yourself up for failure.” His head bowed. “No offense, of course.”

  I glowered at his apologetic stance. “Some taken but not enough to fire you.”

  We shared a smile.

  The tension dispersed.

  He said, “I won’t tell you how to care for her. It’s not my business—like you keep reminding me—but I do know you. I know what you struggle with, and I know what we do in order to manage that. This girl…” He paused, before forcing himself to speak h
onestly even if I might not want to hear it. “This girl is damaged. And rightfully so. Whatever trick you think you can use to fix a lifetime of abuse? Well, I’m just warning you…it won’t be easy. It might not work. And you need to be prepared to get rid of her if her vulnerability makes you relapse.”

  I stood.

  This meeting was over.

  Michaels wouldn’t get near her again unless it was for strict medical reasons. I didn’t tolerate others being close to those I deemed vulnerable. Especially when I grew protective of someone. I’d already doomed Pimlico by deciding her rehabilitation was my burden.

  She was mine in both possession and obligation, which meant her health and wellbeing was my concern, no one else’s.

  No One.

  The title of her notes squeezed my gut. Each tissue-square remained safely tucked in my desk. In the six hours since we’d set sail, I’d read each and every one.

  Two years’ worth of thoughts and pleas.

  Two years’ worth of research that I would use to break, restore, and ultimately get what I wanted from her.

  Her notes made me privy to her secrets, delivering questions I had no way to ask. Yet more complications in the complex restoration of her mind.

  “Thank you, Michaels. Despite your concerns, I appreciate your expertise.”

  He nodded, knowing when to give in. “You’re welcome.” Moving toward the exit, he placed his hand on the doorknob. “She’s been through a lot. Regardless of what I said, I’m glad you found her. You saved her from a tragic situation, and I have no doubt she’ll be incredibly grateful.”

  My schooled features remained calm as he smiled once again and left, latching the door behind him. The moment I was alone, I let my true thoughts paint my face.

  Frustration, anticipation…but most of all, disgust. Not at the implied gratefulness Pimlico would feel toward me. But at the reasons Michaels urged me not to do this.

  He’s right.

  I should heal her and let her go.

  I should hand her back to the life she’d been stolen from.

  Then again, what I should and shouldn’t do had always been my biggest downfall.

  I wasn’t qualified to cure a mind, and I sure as fuck wasn’t capable of keeping my own desires from clashing with what was acceptable.