Pennies (Dollar, #1)

by Pepper Winters

Silence was a weapon I could wield better than panic. And if it meant I never uttered another word until I found freedom, then so be it.

This wasn’t a simple cleansing or preparation. This was a baptism into Hell.

Money was just money. Pennies added to dollars and dollars added to hundreds.

My life, on the other hand, would increase in value, growing wiser and richer in experience the longer I survived. I was an investment, not a liability. And I would invest everything I had into giving myself a future.

He called me his prized possession. I’m not. I’m his trophy to be tarnished and dented and then put back on a mantel to fade from gold to dirty bronze before being shoved in a box and forgotten about.

There is power in listening, watching, observing.

When does living become the wrong choice and death the right one? When does taking your own life become wiser than letting someone else destroy it?

I’m strong enough to obey. That sentence had become a war cry, a lullaby, a prayer. I reminded myself constantly that it was true. It didn’t matter if some days it was a lie…I was still here.

His hair was blacker than black, looking like an ink spill on the death of a perfect night. His gaze matched the coal depths, hiding so much but taking everything in.

Once someone enticed thoughts of suicide into their soul, it was there to stay, slowly corrupting them until they found their way back to life or gave in and let demise claim them.

Reverence for those wiser, older, and smarter than you. Appreciation for those kinder, gentler, and nicer than you. And utmost worship for those who could fucking annihilate you without a single thought.

The world had two types of people. The first were the takers. They only noticed those who could help them, offering friendship for false reasons—their egos preventing improvement of their superficial interest. The second were the givers. Those who knew they were being taken advantage of but couldn’t stop it. They’d give and give until they had nothing left. But by giving, they saw things, watching silently in the shadows. This girl was a giver.

If my nickname were Kaitou for Phantom Thief, hers would be Mokusatsu. Kill with Silence. She absorbed everything, just waiting for her opportunity to end his life. Good luck to her.

The fact she didn’t talk fuelled my interest—not because I wanted her silent secrets but because she challenged me to do what my teacher had taught a decade ago: ‘Listen with your entire body, not just your ears. Watch with your entire being, not just your eyes. And judge with your entire soul, not just shallow perception.’

I wasn’t a nice man. I was a tormentor. A killer. A thief. And I wanted to steal her courage drop by fucking drop.

Sex was revolting. Sex was sickening. Sex was not something I would ever grow to love.

Something was to be said about cruelty. Give nothing but barbarity and that was all that was expected. Give tenderness mixed with persecution and the fall from hope hurt far, far worse.

Could a woman be called pretty down there? Addictive and bare, yes, but pretty? I didn’t fucking know,

beauty did not hide a beast,

He’d saved my life by giving me a second of happiness. I wanted him to remain in my life. But I knew that wasn’t possible.

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. I’m sorry for what I am. You’re worth pennies, but I’ll make you worth fucking millions. However, what I expect in return will be unpayable.”