Chapter Twenty-One

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Elder

 

 

* Ten Years Ago *

 

 

 

LIFE HADN’T ALWAYS been this way for me.

I hadn’t always been respected for my wealth or shunned because of my unsavoury background. That was entirely new.

Three weeks to be exact.

Twenty-one days ago, I was invisible. I got by with pickpocketing the rich who now knocked on my fucking door to be friends. My fingers that’d been taught to be nimble at snatching a wallet after being a maestro with a cello were now imprisoned with more money than I could ever spend.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?

And why did people care what existed in my damn bank account when deciding if I was a good or bad?

I was bad.

Through and through.

I’d stolen this life, not earned it. It wasn’t luck or karma or any other happy circumstances. Only Selix knew the truth, and the truth ate me up inside until I was riddled with more holes than I could bear.

I already had far too much guilt to carry. This? It just added another world of hurt.

I’d wanted to give it back.

All of it…every penny.

But that was before Selix took thievery and twisted it into a more acceptable concept.

A loan. A helping hand. Borrowing from someone to fix my past, absolve my sins, and ensure my family was never in danger again because of me.

So here I fucking was.

Swallowing my shame, going by a new name, and doing my best to keep the truth locked deep down tight and lie to everyone. I lied to the station producer. I lied to the news anchor. I lied to every useless person watching this program.

It was a goddamn shit-show. And I was angry. So damn angry.

These ingrates wanted to know me. They pretended to like me so they might stand a chance at stealing what was now mine. But they would never know me. I would never let them get close to knowing me. My value of the human race had been low before this had started. Now it was in the fucking gutter.

“Mr. Prest.”

I pulled at the collar of my shirt, hating the tight confines of expensive blazers and ties. Before, I’d lived in hoodies and jeans—things I could move fast in, run quick in, and vanish into crowds without being caught.

Now, I was adorned in appropriate rich-man’s wardrobe, and it suffocated me.

These people wanted to know me? Well, tough shit. I’d never tell them about my days on the streets, the worry of not being able to afford healthcare for myself or my mother, and the god-awful truth that I was the reason we were homeless.

Not that those circumstances had mattered when I’d stolen the one thing that’d changed my life faster than a fairy fucking godmother and ensured I’d never be alone again if I didn’t want to be. I could buy affection, bribe friends, and pay for anything I wanted.

I had money, and people loved money even if you were a liar, a cheater, and a con-artist.

Turned out, the only thing it couldn’t buy was family.

And I knew…I’d tried.

After I grew used to the idea of borrowing the money instead of outright stealing it, I decided to give most of it to my mother. I envisioned her welcoming me back, letting me resume my place, and forgiving me.

She’d merely spat on me and told me never to call her Mother again.

“Uh, Mr. Prest?”

I jerked as some idiot tapped me on the shoulder.

“Are you ready?” she asked with beady, jealous eyes. Jealous that I’d won and not her. Jealous that I got to live the life everyone dreamed.

Having money meant my entire world had changed. Including who I was, my name, and every other identifying piece of me. I needed to learn my new address before I got caught and the sham came tumbling down.

Clearing my throat, I nodded. “Yes…fine.”

“Right this way, please.”

Swiping a hand through my hair, I tried to tame the thick black strands courtesy of my heritage and reluctantly followed the organiser hugging her clipboard.

She moved briskly but with a sexy sway. No doubt for my benefit. Not because she wanted me but because she wanted the pennies and dollars that’d magically appeared in my life.

“Right through there. You’re on in three minutes.”

Not replying, I marched onto the set, fighting the urge to tuck my hands into my pockets. My hands were my prized possessions. Every thief knew that if his fingers were hurt, there went his livelihood and any chance at surviving. I had another reason…my fingers were priceless because they gave me music to calm my chaotic thoughts and somehow connected me to my dead father, keeping his kindness alive.

I missed him.

I missed Kade.

I missed a simpler life where lies weren’t the only things keeping me from going to prison for a very long time.

Christ, why am I doing this again?

Because it was the rule.

Win this big, and you were subjected to a televised interview. Mostly for the public’s benefit, so they could see the system wasn’t a scam, and everyone would keep playing, keep spending, keep stupidly dreaming.

One day, if they were lucky, they could be here…in my shoes.

Not my torn and dirty Adidas from my days on the streets, but the expensive, pretentious loafers by some prick called Givenchy.

“Take a seat, Mr. Prest.” The interviewer smiled, pointing at a red velvet chair next to him. It would just be us on that stark white space with the backdrop of the lotto logo bearing its celebratory colours and floating dollar bills.

I sat, fighting every instinct to run. A pickpocket never showed their face. That was why we never hit the same place on consecutive days. We followed the tourists, careful never to be pegged by an overzealous local or donut-loving cop.

A cameraman stepped into the harsh lights with a snap board showing my name and the episode number.

How many idiots had done this before me? How many of them still had the money? No matter that I already had grand plans for my stolen winnings, I refused to be a dick with it. I would use it to make more. I would formulate everything I needed to have my revenge.

And then it would be all over.

I would beg for forgiveness and ensure I paid every penny back.

“On air in three, two, one.” The cameraman mouthed, snapped the board, and vanished into the darkness past the recording lights.

Fuck, this was truly happening.

My host didn’t look at me, staring with a bright, idiotic smile down the lens at an audience I didn’t want to see. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the weekly interview of our lotto millionaires. Let’s begin by welcoming Elder Prest and giving him a warm congratulations on his recent win.”

I wanted to rip the cameras apart. To tell everyone in their homes to stop watching. They didn’t need to know who I was. They didn’t need to see a shame-riddled liar.

The presenter, with his over-hair-sprayed brown pompadour—and holy shit, is he wearing mascara?—smiled in my direction. “First, tell us, Elder, how it feels to have won such a large amount?”

I balled my hands. What was I supposed to say? It’s amazing, and it’s changed my life, and I’m ever so fucking grateful?

Those were lies, and I’d had enough of them.

I wouldn’t bow to these assholes. If I was a pickpocket, then they were involved in a larger theft. The lottery was a Ponzi scheme, and somehow, I’d become the head of it.

When I didn’t answer, the presenter prompted. “Eh, how about you tell our viewers your first thought when you were informed that the lotto ticket you’d purchased was worth seven hundred and ninety-eight million dollars?”

Shit, those numbers didn’t seem real. They still didn’t—even though they’d appeared in the hastily created bank account under my new false name. Getting the forgeries to do such a thing had been yet another headache-inducing story.

I muttered, “It took a lot of getting used to.”

And I didn’t buy the ticket, you asshole, I stole it from some poor guy’s wallet.

The win had a sour taste because it was destined for someone else. Did they need the money? Did they even know what they’d had?

The poor schmuck’s license sat in my pocket even now. Ever since I walked into that convenience store with his stolen wallet, wanting to buy a bottle of water to slake my day-old thirst, I’d carried the license around as a good luck charm and a reminder of what a bastard I was.

I’d paid for the drink with a five-dollar bill from his wallet. Along with the bill popped out a scrunched-up lottery ticket. The perky attendant had snatched it up before I could stuff it back into the well-used leather and squealed as she scanned it for me. Bells rang, lights flashed, she bounced up and down like a moron.

I almost fled the scene, thinking I’d been set up and the cops were on the way. Only for her to shove the monitor in my face and reveal all those terrifying numbers.

I was the winner.

Of the biggest jackpot in years.

I’d won.

No, he’d won.

And I, the thief, had stolen it.

I’d torn away any chance he had of quitting his job, spoiling his wife, and giving his children the kind of future only a select few could dream of.

I’d not only stolen his wallet.

I’d stolen his life.

And shit, that guilt? It was just as bad as killing my father and brother because I’d killed an alternative life for my victim—a life he would never know thanks to me.

That night, I’d become blind drunk and spilled the news to Selix. If it wasn’t for him, I would’ve ripped up the winning ticket instead of officially lodging it the next day. Only because we’d fought as enemies for so long did I listen to his friendship and sage advice.

He was the reason I was dressed like a fucking peacock and accepting false congratulations. And the bastard refused to take half. Hell, I’d even slurred around the cheap vodka that he could have it all. That my karma was too sullied to accept another false achievement.

But he’d flatly refused.

Some noble reason he never told me and still to this day kept secret. He preferred to be second, not first, but without him…I doubted I’d still be alive to even think about accepting almost one billion dollars.

After that fateful night, my life had been a whirlwind of executive meetings, form signings, and limelight interviews that I cursed to the depths of hell.

I’d never had money. I’d been happy in my family of lower means with my beaten up cello, annoying little brother, and strict but doting parents.

Everything I ever loved was gone.

And who was to blame?

The Chinmoku.

The TV interview suddenly went from fakery to full of purpose.

I’d been burning with the need to extract revenge and honour the deaths of my family for years. Now, I had a way to bring that revenge to fruition.

In a fit of rage, I decided to use this fleeting fame to my benefit. Glowering down the camera lens, I answered the questions the presenter asked. I preened for the suckers at home wishing they were in my shoes and dreaming of the day they’d have such a stroke of luck.

Meanwhile, I placed gauntlet after gauntlet on the Chinmoku.

I’d changed my name but not my face.

If they were watching, they’d know I wouldn’t give up. It was them or me. And eventually, they’d hunt me down. I’d buy every weapon I could and learn every skill there was so I could murder them one by one when they finally did.

Revenge and payback—two things I’d dedicate my life to.

One of death and one of debts.

After that night, I kept Oliver Gold’s license in my wallet, and paid an private investigator to hunt down his address, social security, and bank account details, and sent him thirty million dollars.

The rest of the money had a job to do—earn itself three times over so I had funds for my revenge, my family, and to pay back my debt.

A few weeks later, after extensive research into what fields would pay best dividends, I decided to purchase a super yacht business. The numbers thrown around by billionaires for flashy toys was obscene.

I’d invest the first five hundred million into making the best yacht I could. I’d sell it for profit. I’d earn a reputation. I’d do it again and again until everything was back to rights.

The moment I decided Monte Carlo was the place to reinvent myself and plot my enemy’s demise, I turned my back on America and boarded a plane to Monaco.

“Elder? El…you’re scaring me.”

I blinked.

Pim slowly came back into view. Her eyes strained; mouth pinched in pain. Looking down, I snatched my hand from hers. I’d squeezed her so hard her fingertips were white from blood loss. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She rubbed her fingers, half-smiling, half-grimacing. “You disappeared on me there. Are you all right?”

Was I all right?

I’d thought I was. It’d been years since I fully relived where the money had come from. I’d even managed to live with the guilt—justifying it because I paid Oliver Gold and still managed to build my yachts to earn more.

Touching the money to give Pim the origami lesson had somehow shot me down bitter memory lane.

Why? What was on my mind?

Fuck, everything is on my mind.

Perhaps, it was because I was sick of waiting for the Chinmoku to make the first move. Perhaps, I was over begging for a fresh start with my family. Perhaps, I was done trying to hold myself back where Pim was concerned.

Selix had told me once to go easier on myself. To accept the good as well as the bad. I’d been fighting Pim since the day my heart first took notice of her. She was the opposite of me. She was everything good, and the more I fell for her, the worst I dragged her into my world and made her bad.

Goddammit, I’m exhausted.

Jamming my elbows onto the table, I held my head in my hands. My mind formulated lies and discarded them. Only the truth tasted decent on my tongue. “Everything you see? Everything you know…it’s all a lie.”

She froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the Phantom, the submarine, the warehouse in Monaco…it’s all fake.”

“What do you mean fake?”

“I mean I stole it.”

Pim fell silent for a moment before she lowered her voice. “How do you mean stole it?” She shook her head. “That can’t be possible. I saw your logo on the wall in that warehouse. I saw how the staff loved you. I saw your house on the hill where your mother stayed. I saw—”

“You saw nothing. It’s all stolen.”

“How can you say that? I can feel your sweat and blood in everything around us, Elder. I know how hard you work. How meticulous your designs are. How many clients you’ve delivered product to. Something like that can’t be faked or stolen.”

Sitting taller, I forced myself to be rational and start at the beginning. “The warehouse, the company…you’re right, those are real. I created those from nothing, and they generate incredible wealth. I am the reason that company exists.”

“Then what do you mean—?”

“I mean I could never have afforded to buy that house or the warehouse or the lumber and staff and machinery required to build such vessels without first stealing the money from someone else.”

Taking her hand again, I begged her with my eyes to let me touch her. She didn’t shy away—if anything, she leaned forward with no judgement or criticism on her face.

If I didn’t already love her, I’d love her for that alone.

Her gaze turned forest green with earnest acceptance. “Tell me.”

The only way to do it was to spit it all out. “I stole a man’s wallet in New York. Inside was a lottery ticket. It turned out to be a jackpot of over half a billion dollars.” My head hung. “I kept it when I should’ve given it back.”

She fell utterly silent. She stared gobsmacked, her head shaking slightly.

My heart died, believing this was the point where it was all too much for her. Where she finally said…’thanks but no thanks.’

Instead, she blinked as things shifted over her face, solidified in her mind, and were once again accepted with no questions asked.

Who the hell was this girl? How could she be so kind and generous with her boundaries of right and wrong? How could I ever repay her?

Squeezing my fingers, she murmured, “This makes so much sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“The guilt you carry. The shame I don’t understand. You’ve never accepted the crime, so you pay for it constantly.”

I didn’t admit she was right on every level or tell her that in another few years, I would’ve paid off the man I robbed in full. I’d turned his winnings into double the amount. Soon, my debt would be clear, and I could finally admit I used him as an interest-free loan to get ahead, provide for my family—even if they didn’t want to be provided for—and right the sins of my past.

I inhaled deeply, ready to deliver my final confession. Weren’t revealing truths you’d harboured for years supposed to leave you light-hearted?

Somehow, I felt heavier, more tired than I’d ever been.

Bringing her hand to my lips, I whispered against her knuckles, “The man who saved you is a fraud doing his goddamn best to make up for all the shit he’s done. But…it’s never enough.”

Tears sparkled in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but I cut in, needing to finish, needing to end this. “Even my name is a lie.”

She gasped.

“You are Tasmin Blythe. That is your true name even if you don’t want it. I understand that more than you know. Ever since I met you, I’ve done my utmost to steal your letters, rob your past, and learn everything about you. Yet, I’m a fucking hypocrite.”

“El—”

“No. Listen, Pim. I get that you’re not ready to use your old name. Just like I’ll probably never use mine. I’m no longer that boy. And good fucking riddance.”

Cupping her cheek, I couldn’t tear my gaze from her lips. I wanted so badly to kiss her but after this confession—this completely unplanned and shockingly stupid confession—I had no willpower anymore.

All it would take was for her to lean forward and press her mouth to mine.

And it would be all over.

The dishes would be on the floor, Pim would be on the table, and we’d have an entirely different dinner than the one we’d come here for.

My voice tore with a growl as I fought myself yet again. “I demand to know everything about you. Every scrap of thought and fragment of memory I want to hoard. I need to make it mine. But to balance such a demand, I should be willing to share myself. But I’m not ready. I might never be. I have so much I wish I could erase. So many things I never want you to know. And because of that, whatever we have will forever be unequal. I’ll always demand more from you than I can give, and that is yet another debt I’m struggling to bear.”

I needed to leave before I told her anymore incriminating failures.

Letting her go, I stood and kissed the top of her head, lingering over the soft scent of vanilla and sea salt. “I need to be alone, Pimlico. Don’t come find me.”

I left before I could change my mind.

Before I could drag her into my lap, beg her for forgiveness, and bury myself inside her.

I left before I could create any new mistakes when I was trying so fucking hard to rectify my old ones.