“Fine!”
We stood glowering. More juvenile arguments burned my tongue. I wanted to grab her arm and drag her back into my room. I wanted to snag her hair and kiss her stupid.
But with a condescending sniff, she glanced once more at the pounding erection extremely visible in my track pants, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and padded down the corridor without a backward look.
I slammed the door.
And didn’t sleep a fucking wink.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Pimlico
ENGLAND.
The land of my birth.
The land of my parents—one dead, one in jail.
The land of my death and slavery.
Sailing into South Hampton filled me with dread rather than homecoming. Why was I back here when my childhood apartment had been sold, my mother was locked up for twenty-plus years, and I had not one friend to stay with?
Elder joined me on deck as the Phantom slowly traded open seas for the gloomy shore of an industrial city. A light drizzle fell from the grey clouds above; a perfect memory of the mercurial moods of England. I already missed the gentle swell of the ocean and the unhindered sunshine dappling the yacht with sunbeams.
Ever since our argument two days ago, Elder had studiously avoided me. I’d caught him smoking a joint outside his room the night after. We’d shared a very stilted dinner, and I half expected him to find me on a lifeboat and star-gaze once he’d finished smoking and was mellow enough to be near me without wanting to yell at me.
But he hadn’t.
I’d star-gazed on my own.
And my anger and hurt grew from an annoying pinprick to a throbbing bruise.
We’d had our first argument, and neither one of us had apologised or moved to end the residual feud.
I wasn’t above being the first to admit defeat and withdrawing my threat to test my inconclusive theory. That was—if Elder stopped avoiding me or, when he was in my presence, stopped filling up the awkwardness with mundane comments about seagulls, yacht maintenance, and upcoming shore endeavours.
He’d said he was exhausted living the way he did. Well, I was exhausted begging him to lean on me a little and forgive me for wanting to be beside him when danger called. I wouldn’t apologise for disobeying him, and I definitely wouldn’t apologise for running to his side.
It should make him feel loved, not smothered.
My blood iced over again with annoyance, coaxing me to give him the cold shoulder, but England spread before us. Conversation would have to be indulged in and token sightseeing endured.
Whatever happened in the future, today had to be the moment where we ripped off the Band-Aids from our mutual wounds and cleared the air.
Something would snap if we didn’t.
Something was already fraying.
I couldn’t continue to wave the white flag without moving forward because we couldn’t continue to coexist this way. The barricades and distance had only worked when I was still healing mentally, physically, and sexually. Elder could endure me on his boat because I hadn’t healed enough to tell him who I truly was.
Hell, until recently, I’d forgotten who I was. Or perhaps I’d been stolen too young to ever fully develop into who I should’ve become.
I might never know who Tasmin might’ve been. Now, I’d been shaped by those experiences that’d fractured the old me. I’d persevered and matured and found I had a temper to revile his. I had dreams to challenge his. I had needs that ran parallel to his if only he trusted that I could cope with whatever it was he gave me.
Stealing a glance at him, my heart swooned a little as the sea breeze tangled in his blue-ebony hair, and grey drizzle added severity to his already severe face. His nose, his cheeks, his stubble-covered chin—all of it screamed the same message as his eyes: tread in my stead and don’t deviate. Do not make my life any harder than it is even if it could be made great if I actually gave in and tried.
Just tried.
If he was so terrified of sleeping with me with no end barrier, then tell Selix to stand by with a tranquilizer gun. Have safeguards in place to experiment with different methods because the one he was currently using....It wasn’t working.
For either of us.
I’d healed enough that his distance was no longer welcome, and pity for him, I’d learned how to read him and knew he didn’t want to be estranged from me either.
For a girl who’d begged for a life of no physical connection after rape, I’d changed my mind quickly where he was concerned. My adaptability surprised even me. My tenacity to keep forging ahead, leaving the darkness behind where it had no power over my future was my true strength.
I might not have muscles to overpower evil, but I did have a strength of mind that ensured I wasn’t beaten. I no longer wanted to be Pimlico, the mouse. The girl who might have teeth but was still happiest not using them.
I wanted more than that.
My teeth had grown to fangs.
And although I was free from my past, I was still trapped.
Elder was now my master, and I was still in a cage.
I want out of that cage.
I didn’t know how we’d taken on the roles we’d been custom designed for, now that I’d opened my eyes, it was painfully obvious.
I might be in a cage of his doing, but he was in a cage of his own making. A cage he was born into just from the way his brain had formed from the womb. It wasn’t his fault, and I had to remind myself not to take his surliness or pig-headedness personally.
My theory that he thought in threes—my concept based on watching his fingers dancing and the common waltz whenever he did something...was dying to be tested.
If he’d just heard me out, I would’ve given him my hypothesis. I would’ve listed all the reasons why I thought it would work. I would point out that whatever he was doing was discounted easily the moment he hit that magic number.
Obsession had laws too.
I just needed to learn more about his to convince him.
“Over two years and you’re finally home,” Elder murmured, his shoulders rounding as he sank deeper into the moleskin jacket he’d thrown on. The tan material turned darker with little circles as the mist steadily turned to rain.
I’d also dressed in a jacket—mine down to my thighs with a large wraparound belt and oversized buckle. Clothing was no longer optional but wanted—especially to ward off the familiar chill in England.
“Yet it doesn’t feel as if I’ve been away a day.” I kept staring at the horizon, refusing to look at him. My heart hiccupped at the truth. Everything that’d happened and the reason I’d been away for so long was suddenly nothing more than a single paragraph on a long letter of my life.
Two years was nothing.
It could be scribbled out or erased or torn from the page and burned.
England meant nothing to me because it had taken everything I’d cared about and cast me out. The only thing I wanted here was locked away out of reach.