Dollars

Hitting a deck above, the rhythm and classical notes reached a level higher than ever before. The instrument weaving and ducking, playing with me in its sinister way.

I couldn’t think.

My hands remained clamped over my ears. My breath sticky in my sob-coughing lungs.

Stop!

I ran down another corridor.

But instead of the music growing quieter, it grew louder, louder. It ricocheted in my ears; it reverberated in my skull.

I want it out.

I want it to stop

Please, make it stop.

My arm bled faster as my heart pumped to keep me running.

And then the corridor ended. A dead end. I was trapped.

Alrik's chuckle danced on a cello’s string.

I lost it.

Ramming my bleeding shoulder into the door at the end of the corridor, I exploded into a room.

A room where the music lived and breathed.

And in the centre of the music sat the maestro and creator of my worst enemy.

Elder.

The world went black.

SOMETHING PALE AND bleeding soared across my threshold.

Part of me noticed and twitched to stop, but the rest of me was captive to my cello. I couldn’t stop until the final beat. I couldn’t end so suddenly.

My body shook as my fingers held the sweetest note, my bow singing over the strings, the music building louder and stronger and so damn alive it killed me to murder it all in the name of a song.

But I’d reached the end.

It was over.

I tore my callused fingers from the strings; my bow hovered, barely kissing the instrument.

Silence shattered over me.

I looked up just as the midnight interloper collapsed in a jumbled pile, unconscious.

My cello twanged as I caught a string with my bow, launching from my chair.

Pim.

It took three seconds to gently deposit my cello on the floor, two to cross the suite, one to slam to my knees, and zero to gather her naked, clammy body into my arms.

What the fuck is she doing here?

How did she find my quarters? What the hell happened? Violence painted my thoughts. If any of my staff had hurt her, they’d be meeting Moby Dick tonight.

“Pimlico. Open your eyes.”

She didn’t.

Her lips were slack, her face gaunt and haunted with shadows. Her blood streaked my arm where a small graze on her bicep wept. She was as frigid as ice and as lifeless as a corpse.

“Wake up.” Keeping her in my embrace, I climbed to my feet. For a girl with long legs and such fire, she weighed next to nothing.

What was she doing here?

Did she hurt herself deliberately or was it an accident?

My heart raced as questions piled on top of questions.

Was she trying to kill herself?

I’d been an asshole to her for days but only because she’d undone me. I couldn’t look at her without feeling her warm, wet mouth or her lips on my cock. I’d told her I wouldn’t touch her, but it was for my sake, not hers. I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t have her. Because if I did, that would be the end. My issues wouldn’t let me have anything less.

But now guilt lacerated me. I’d stolen her to give her a better life. And I’d turned my back on her, telling her she was a whore and not something I wanted.

Shit.

Laying her gently on my bed, I tugged the covers from beneath her and laid them over her nakedness. Her nipples were almost the colour of her pale flesh, the shadows between her legs reminding me she was a woman but still so young. She’d been through so much already. What fucking right did I have to make her feel so belittled?

Tucking her in, I turned on the bedside light and called the kitchen. Melinda, the head chef, answered even this late. “Kitchen.”

Fuck, I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve just called Selix. I didn’t need food. Merely someone to gather things to help.

Oh, well. She’ll do.

“Please arrange some tea, a hot water bottle, and painkillers to be brought to my room. Better bring a robe from the spa deck, too.”

“No problem. Did you want food?”

No, yes, I don’t fucking know.

“Bring something that would be suitable for someone who’s fainted.”

There was no pause or questions. “Sure. On its way.”

Hanging up, I sucked in a breath and rubbed my face. What the hell was I thinking stealing this girl? She needed help. More than what I was qualified or able to deliver. I’d been a selfish bastard once again, thinking only of himself.

Leaning forward, I cupped her cheek, ignoring the cool sweat and fear still coating her skin. “You have my word; nothing and no one will hurt you. You’re safe here.”

She didn’t stir.

Not able to sit still, I stood and paced at the bottom of the bed. My room was at the front of the ship with glass on every wall. Effectively, it was a gold fish bowl welcoming sea and sky rather than walls and ceiling. Each pane was quadruple thick and strong enough to withstand pounding squalls. And with one flick of a button, the see-through crystal became shaded with a chemical reaction, blocking the sun but negating the need for curtains.

I looked at my cello.

Up until the night we left Morocco, I hadn’t played since Pim came on board. The itch had been there, the drive in my fingers and need in my heart hounded me to become a prisoner to the notes. But Pim had been a fascination worthy of distracting me from my passion. Until I’d shut her out, of course.

The first night we left port, I’d played softly for only a few minutes. The next slightly louder and longer. The next longer and louder again.