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But why would I buy her when I could take her?
I shouldn’t.
I should leave before I hurt her more than Alrik ever could. But I’d lied when I’d folded the origami butterfly with my note inside.
I couldn’t forget her until I’d taken what I needed from her. And what I needed wasn’t fulfilled yet.
I want to fuck her.
Once.
A single time.
Then, I could either sell her or free her. One thing was for sure, I wouldn’t keep her for long. It wasn’t possible for a man like me.
But for a short while…
“Yes, I’m sure. Turn around.”
“Right away, sir.”
Screw keeping business separate from pleasure.
I was a thief.
And I would steal the silent girl and make her talk.
MY HEART RELOCATED into my mouth, bouncing on my tongue like it was a damn trampoline, uncaring that the sharp shears would soon cut off the one piece I desperately wanted to keep.
Was it odd that I wanted my tongue over a finger or toe?
Was it wrong that thoughts of bargaining and offering up other parts ran riot in my mind?
Take my pinkie.
No, my index finger.
Wait…take my big toe.
Just don’t touch my tongue!
I thrashed beneath Darryl’s weight as Master A moved over my head to hold me down. Wedging my skull between his knees, he stared at me, his face upside down.
His lips moved, melding with the agony inside me.
“I promised you what would happen if you didn’t talk to me one day, Pim. This is what will happen.”
My broken hand flared as I pounded the floor and tried my hardest to squirm away. The dollar in my other palm wasn’t enough to bribe my way free.
My struggles turned violent. But there were two men and one of me—men who’d eaten in the past twenty-four hours and had muscles that weren’t atrophied from malnutrition.
I didn’t stand a chance.
Darryl grinned as he opened and closed the shears with a flourish. The blades scraped together in a sinister hiss. “You ready?”
No, no, no!
His nails cut into my tongue as he held it firm, not letting my saliva lubricate his fingers. The piece of muscle grew dry the longer he kept it from my mouth.
Don’t!
The part of me I hadn’t used in so long was on death row. My silent curse would become reality.
Even if I wanted, I’d never be able to speak again.
I’d gone into this as silence being my weapon. A choice not to talk.
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?
