I’d accepted her death, believing it was the best thing for everyone. But she’d paid too much. She was owed something better before dying so damn young.

She was worth more than a bloody grave.

So fucking what no one was there for me when I’d been at my lowest? So what no one had helped me?

I could help her.

I could do the right thing…for the first time in my godforsaken life.

Her imaginary friend, No One, had cared for her up till now. And if I couldn’t protect her better than a fucking fictional entity, what sort of man did that make me?

A coward?

Cold-hearted?

Honest about the fucked-up nature of the world?

You could have her for yourself.

The thought wasn’t new. She was a slave, after all. And I was a rich bloody bastard. I could buy her from him. I could keep her locked away to use whenever I wanted with no distractions from my company.

The idea was far too appealing.

She’d be a pet.

An unseen, unknown pet. I wouldn’t have to take her for walks or give special treats. As long as she had food and a place to rest, she would have a much better quality of life with me than she ever would with Alrik.

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.”