My brain was muddled. I didn’t understand what he meant. He wanted me to become a criminal? To use another’s possession to purchase my freedom from him? What sort of sick stupidity was this?
Elder didn’t care I bristled. He moved toward the cursed cello, picking up the bow from the chair and caressing it as he sat down. “Now that I know what to do with you, let’s discuss the reason why you exploded into my room half mad in the middle of the night.”
I had no intention of discussing that.
He pointed with the bow at the small tray with tea and a packet of headache pills along with a white robe draped over the back of the chair. “I ordered up some tea for your nerves. If your arm hurts, take a pill.” Feathering the bow through his fingers, he murmured, “And I suggest you put the robe on. If you run again, you might want to be dressed this time.”
I eyed him warily.
Why would I run?
He saw my question. “Because I’m going to play.”
Before I could bolt, he positioned the cello between his legs, bowed his head so a lock of black hair fell over his eye, and strummed the sharpest, soul-skimming note I’d ever heard.
My ears rang. My heart bled acid tears. And my knees wobbled, threatening to chase me to the floor.
He stopped as quickly as he’d begun, cocking his chin, waiting for his previous instructions to be obeyed.
I had two choices.
Yet more damn choices.
Return to my rooms and forget everything that’d happened, or do as I was told and be brave enough to face such an inconsequential but terrifying thing such as music.
“Drink, dress, and sit down in that order, silent mouse.” Elder smiled. He looked like a king about to play to his lucky court, his cello a sleeping gargoyle waiting to come alive between his thighs.
Deciding to see how far I could push before my mind snapped once again, I obeyed.
With trembling hands, I poured a cup of fragrant green tea, popped a painkiller even though I didn’t need it, and swallowed both.
“And now the robe.”
I gritted my teeth against his commandment. Not only was he about to torment me with melody, but he also wanted to torment my body with clothing confines.
Scrunching up my face in disgust, I draped the heavy cotton around my shoulders and slowly tied the belt. Loosely. Not tight. Gaping enough to flare open if I ran. Loose enough to shrug it off if I panicked.
“The hot water bottle is if you’re cold. But I have a feeling adrenaline will keep you warm.” He pointed at the bed. “Sit. Listen. I want to watch you.”
My bones were glass as I shuffled unwillingly to the mattress and sat.
“Tell me why you hate music so much.”
I sneered, reminding him in a callous way that I wouldn’t speak to him. Especially when he made me sit in the same room as that instrument. I couldn’t untangle my fear from reality. It made me jumpy and snarly and afraid.
“Is it because of something he did?” Elder’s fingers feathered over the strings, spreading wide and elegant over a silent note. “Did he play it while hurting you?”
I hated that he could guess so eerily right.
“I heard it when I arrived that second time. A Chopin piece if I’m correct.” His eyes blackened as he played another note, his fingers shifting almost erotically on the cello. “The volume was a tad too loud, not background symphony but a more intolerable interruption.”
Alrik always played it loud. Too loud to filter out. But not loud enough to drown the beating he played on my body.
I balled my hands, refusing to look at him. I glared at the carpet, wishing I’d smashed that cello to pieces and Elder agreed to either never have music on the Phantom again or let me rob a bank right now so I could afford whatever ridiculous payment he expected in return for my freedom.
Why does he want me to steal?
Doesn’t he have enough wealth?
He couldn’t possibly need the money.
It’s not about him. It’s about you.
It’d been about me for too long. Something sparked inside to fight back. To make this about him. To make him face his horrors as surely as he’d made me face mine.
“Don’t run, Pimlico. Music can’t hurt you.” He kept staring while my gaze came up despite myself, locking onto his fingers. I’d never watched a man play an instrument. I’d never gone to lessons or been in a musical family.
Watching Elder stroke his cello was one of the most sensual things I’d ever seen. The way he held it like a lover, so soft and respectful. The way he touched the strings with passion and possession but also gentleness, as if he knew that holding too tight wouldn’t deliver the purity he craved.
He consumed my mind. Switching my hatred of what he was about to create into a hypnosis that belonged entirely to him.
My teeth locked together as he shifted in the seat and brought the bow to hover over the strings.
Never looking away, he played a lingering note.
I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t care. All I cared about was the ghostly fingernails scratching down my back and the bleeding in my heart for every abuse I'd suffered on the frequency of that decibel.
That wasn't a C or D or B flat. That was a rope or chain or whip.
Music wasn’t a collection of notes to me. It was a collection of punishment forever wrapped up in an awful tune.
I was glad he’d made me sit. If I were standing, I would’ve collapsed as memory after memory battered me.
The fists.
The kicks.