Dollars

This was the fourth in a long day of directing my life rather than having it puppeteered for me. How different would it have been if I never said yes to coming into Morocco? Could I have sun-baked on the deck and people watched as the port went about its daily bustle?

I could’ve avoided the almost kiss, the conversation with Dina, and the awful awakening that’d been prodded to open its blurry eyes inside me.

But I’d made those choices, and I had to live with them—just like I had to live with myself with whatever choice I made with the wallet.

Dammit.

Pirouetting, I broke into a jog, cursing the way my lungs wheezed and sweat rolled down my spine. I couldn’t call out for the tour group to pause and clambered back the way we’d come, trailing after them.

Not only had Elder given me the choice to steal or not steal and then the task of chasing after a wronged man with his robbed dollars, but he now forced me to break my silence for the second time in a matter of minutes.

Not trusting my tongue to form cohesive words, I swallowed hard, gathered my courage, and tapped the third man from the end on his shoulder.

He turned around, blinking with his camera in his hands ready to capture another picturesque memory of Morocco.

I held up his wallet.

Immediately, rage filled his face. His eyes narrowed, his tanned skin pinking with anger. He shouted at me in a language I couldn’t understand. Snatching his money, he waved at his friends, blabbering in animation.

I held up my hands, saying in unknown sign language that I’d found it in the gutter and returned to him.

A lie.

My badly orchestrated articulation didn’t work.

His friends joined in, pointing fingers, getting louder with their blame. One reached for my shoulder, yelling for the tour leader to bring reinforcements.

Terror unlocked the preservation gates inside me. I did the only thing I could.

I turned and bolted.

I ran, ducking around children and animals, weaving around women with shopping bags and men selling their wares. My knees bleated like massacred livestock; my tongue twinged from bouncing in my mouth.

But I didn’t stop.

Part of the tour group gave chase. Their foreign voices angry and whipping my back with memories of being punished. Of blood dripping, of tears falling, of silent screams shredding my throat.

My past blended with my present, and I didn’t just run from them; I ran from him.

Alrik.

My heart yelped, grabbing bellows to force more oxygen into my almost crippled limbs. Stumbling, I never gave up until I skidded to a stop beside Elder.

He didn’t flinch, merely glanced at me as if I’d been there all along.

I was safe with him, but the chasing stampede continued. I looked over my shoulder, fear once again ransacking my stomach.

Elder stopped and spun in place, dragging me behind him with a firm grip.

The men locked their knees, turning their jog into a standstill. They glanced from me to Elder who stiffened with frost then crossed his arms in predatory invitation.

For a second, they sized him up, their desire to punish me willing to earn a few bruises in a fight. But as Elder took a heavy step in their direction, they decided it wasn’t worth it and turned around.

A few pissed off glances sailed over their shoulders, interlaced with angry grumbles.

As the distance between them and us widened, I gave into the residual pain and hugged myself, breathing hard.

Elder interrupted my recovery with a harsh snip. “How does it feel to be punished for doing the right thing?”

I threw him a withering look.

He gave me a raised eyebrow.

I glowered at him the entire way back to the Phantom.

“SIR? YOU WANTED the car again?”

I looked up from my email as Selix entered my office.

After returning to Phantom yesterday, I’d left Pimlico to her own devices. I had too much work to do to spend yet more energy on her.

I’d forced her to take responsibility for herself and her choices. I wouldn’t say my method of teaching had backfired, but she hadn’t forgiven me for stealing or for making her give it back.

As we’d boarded the yacht and gone our separate ways, her temper crackled so fierce it lashed my skin long after I’d said goodbye.

I’d witnessed her wrath hidden beneath servitude at Alrik’s, but this was the first time I’d seen it uncoil and silently rage against my actions. She wanted a fight—her tone of glances and language of harsh sniffs said as much.

And as much as I’d like to argue with her, to engage in a battle of wills—to prove once and for all she couldn’t fucking win, I couldn’t.

I had to keep my distance because, fuck me, that almost kiss.

That moment of sheer insanity in the middle of a dirty street.

The moment I caught her, I’d grown hard. The closer I’d dragged her, the harder I got. And the longer we played whatever bloody game we played, the more I craved a release.

She’d decimated the rickety foundation I’d created after losing everything. She had the power to make me lust far more than a master should his slave.

She’s never been a slave.

That was true. But now was not the time to admit it.

She wouldn’t push me so much if she knew how graphic my thoughts had become. How salacious and explicit.

I’d seen her naked often enough that my fantasies had become far too realistic. I’d done things to her that I could never do thanks to her history carving great scars into her.

I kept my distance for both our sakes.

“Yes.” I closed my laptop. “His Royal Highness has been called away to a diplomatic meeting. He would like the original blueprints delivered in A5 before he leaves.”