Tears of Tess (11 page)

A
cannonball of a body came from nowhere, cutting off my trajectory.

We
toppled to the ground. The tarmac grated my thigh and I cried out in agony.

My
tackler sat up, straddling me. He looked like the other guards—eyes hidden
behind dark glasses, and his black suit crisp and all business.

My
chest heaved with air and regret, stabbing me with pain from my rib. I tried. I
failed. The second lot of tears burned, streaking down my flushed cheeks as the
man hauled me upright.

I
limped, wincing on a sprained ankle. I wanted to wail and shout. My body
shackled me with yet another injury; I couldn’t outrun anyone.

Head
down and hope gone, I hobbled back to the plane under the stern grip of guard
Number Four.

I
didn’t make eye contact with any of the men, and meekly climbed the steps into
the private plane. The men muttered and laughed while I plonked into a white
leather chair in defeat.

I
tried. I failed. I tried. I failed.
It repeated, over and over.

Don’t
give up. Next time, you could win. Next time, it might work.
My hands curled—I would never stop looking for a way out.

Never.

*
* * * *

       “Get up. We’re here.” A foot
prodded my swollen ankle.

I
flinched and opened my eyes. Faking sleep hadn’t worked. Every moment we flew
in the height of luxury, I seethed with thoughts of how to maim the guards and
take the plane hostage.

But
I didn’t do anything. I sat in the chair, like a blow up doll.

It
seemed so long ago I’d hounded Brax for more kinkiness in our love life. I’d do
anything to have my old life back, my old love returned. I’d give anything for
sweet and pure instead of the dark, sinister, and sadistic ownership that
awaited.

If
I could press a rewind button, I would, beginning with never going to Mexico.

I
stood, and guard Number Four helped me down the plush, carpeted aisle. Coarse
fingers wrapped around my burning wrists, passing me to a colleague at the
bottom of the small flight of stairs. The bandage over the tattoo provided very
little protection. The pain flared and itched. I hated it. 

The
moment I was on the ground, I froze. We stood in the middle of a manicured,
grassy airstrip, frosty with ice, dark as the depths of hell, apart from the
most gorgeous manor house I’d ever seen in the distance. Subtle outdoor
lighting illuminated the soft pastel creams, blues, and pinks; French
architecture at its finest.

The
guard pulled my elbow and we trudged across the grass. I stumbled, stunned by incomprehensible
wealth. Who could afford their own plane
and
mansion to house it?

My
toes were numb by the time we climbed the front steps. Four story high pillars
and intricate plasterwork with cherubs and rosettes welcomed. The three-horse water
fountain gurgled and trickled, looking far too perfect to belong to a man that purchased
women.

Our
breath steamed in the cold as my guard rapped on the huge silver door before
turning the knob and pushing me through.

Once
inside the warm embrace of the house, he took off the shades, propping them on
his head. His irises were green and vivid. I searched for evilness—the same
vileness from the men who’d stolen me in Mexico, but surprise radiated down my
spine. His eyes were compassionate, human.

He
bowed his head, looking in front and above.

This
was it. My new beginning. My new ending.

 “
Bon
soir, esclave
.”

My
eyes soared up to the first landing of the giant blue, velvet staircase.
Massive works of art hung like armament on gold gilded walls.

A
man in a grey chequered suit, complete with black shirt, silver tie, and short
dark hair watched from the landing.

My
entire body ignited as his jaw clenched. His gaze unclothed and terrified me.
Everything about him screamed ruthlessness and power. He held himself proud and
regal as if this was his castle and I was the latest subject.

Our
eyes locked, and something tingled across my flesh. Fear? Terror? Something
inside knew he was dangerous. 

His
lips twitched as I sucked in a breath. He removed hands from his pockets and
placed them on the banister, his fingers long and strong, even from this
distance. The way he stared became too much. I felt undone, stripped to my soul.

I
stepped back, bumping against the guard behind. He bent his head, whispering in
my ear, “Say hello to your new master.”

*Sparrow*

T
he
word master echoed like a bad tuning fork.

Master.
Master.

No,
he wasn’t my master. Not with his short, sleek hair and sharp widows peak. Not
with his clenched, stubble-smooth jaw and trim physique. He was
not
my
master. No one was.

Tears
pricked as I thought about Brax. He seemed a world away compared to this
reality. Brax was rough and boyish, a hard worker through and through. The man,
staring with pale jade eyes and an unreadable chiselled face, lived in total
contrast. Power radiated like visible waves, unsettling me more than anything.

He
wasn’t the fat, repulsive bastard who used wealth to buy sex slaves. He wasn’t gross
or any other monstrous things.
Who
is
this man?

My
eyes widened, drinking him in—the owner of this house. The owner of… me.
No,
never.

I
didn’t care who he was, because my life belonged to
me
. I stuck out my
chin, glaring. I wouldn’t be intimidated by wealth or stature. I didn’t care he
was tall and moved like he expected the world to lick his shoes. I would never
lick anything of his.

The
man never broke eye contact, ensnaring me in his gaze. Slowly, he pushed off
the banister and moved toward the stairs.

I
gulped.

He
was smooth water—effortless in refinement but just like still water, dangerous
if you couldn’t swim. Deadly rips and currents lurked deep below the surface. I
eyed him, trying to figure out what sick pleasures he indulged in that normal,
willing women were hard to come by.

My
heart raced with every step he took, descending toward me.

The
guard pushed me forward. “Bow to your new master.”

I
tripped, but regained my footing instantly. My fists shook, I clenched them so
hard. My injuries reminded me all of this was wrong. In some warped sense, it
seemed innocent like the owner of the house merely welcoming a guest.

“I
have no master,” I said, putting every ounce of rebellion into the words. “Let
me go.”

The
man stopped mid-step, head cocked. His fingers curled around the banister,
showing manicured nails, no calluses in sight. Once again, pale eyes connected
with mine, sucking my thoughts into a vacuum.

Up
till now, his face had been unreadable, but as we stared, flashes of emotion
buffeted me. Anger. Interest. Annoyance. Resignation. And finally, in a blaze
of jade… lust.

My
breath quickened and I tried to step back again, only to collide with the wall
of the guard’s chest.

The
guard placed a hot, heavy hand between my shoulder blades and pushed, forcing
me into a struggling, painful bow. “Do as you’re told.”

So
many thoughts collided. I wanted to spin and steal the gun in the holster under
his arm. I wanted to shoot everyone. I wanted to slash at the gorgeous artwork
and priceless artefacts around the room. Such things of beauty did not deserve
to belong to a man whose goons forced a sex slave to bow.

“Bastard,”
I muttered, hating I couldn’t do any of it. All I could do was obey—for now.

“Stop.
If she doesn’t want to bow, then don’t force her.” The masculine voice reminded
me of glinting steel, shaped with precision and strength. It was the sound of
authority, and despite my best attempts to rebel, I bowed on my own. The sheer
weight of his voice compelled obedience.

The
guard’s hand left my back. He chuckled. “If she doesn’t want to bow, perhaps
she wants to crawl.”

My
back snapped upright, and I jumped a mile. My new owner stood directly in front
of me. Hands in his slack pockets, head cocked slightly to the side, as if
inspecting a piece of art.

“She
may crawl if she wishes,” he murmured.

“I
do not wish,” I snapped.

Once
again, our eyes connected and I searched for the evil like the men in Mexico,
but he guarded himself too well. Nothing gave away what he thought, even the
emotions I’d seen before were gone.

We
stood staring for moments, before the guard behind me cleared his throat.
Shattering the fragile silence and condemning me to whatever would happen next.

“Laissez-nous.”
The man waved a hand toward the exit. Instantly, the guard left along with a
few others I hadn’t seen lurking. The rustle of their suits sounded like a
death sentence as they siphoned out the door.

Oh,
God
.

My
eyes flicked to the left, where a massive library beckoned. Sultry mahogany,
rich maroons, and gold bookcases.  A roaring fire beckoned to read a book, and
slouch in the wingback chairs huddled around the flames.

To
the right, a ginormous lounge full of comfortable designer sofas and chairs. Animal
hides of zebra and tiger littered the floor, and huge glass doors reflected me
standing under the bright lights of the foyer.

The
man stood an arm’s length away. Tears thickened my throat.

I
dropped my gaze, unable to look anymore. Tiredness descended, and all I wanted
to do was sleep—to escape this nightmare. 

“You
won’t be able to run,” he said, watching closely.

I
sucked in a breath. “Who says I’m going to run?”

His
lips, smooth and well defined against his five o’clock shadow, twitched. “I
smell it on you—the scent of prey. You’re looking for a bolthole, somewhere no
one can find you.” He leaned in, sending a cloud of expensive cologne around
me. “You’re different, I’ll give you that. They didn’t break you, but don’t
think you can fight me. You won’t win.”

My
heart seized. His tone bordered on angry. He was angry at
me
? I was the
victim here. My chest swelled with indignation. “What do you expect? I was
smuggled here. You
bought
me. I didn’t come freely. Of course, I want to
run.”

His
body flinched and mouth pursed. “I’ll allow that one indiscretion. Push me
again and you’ll wish you hadn’t.” His unusual pale green eyes dropped, intimately
following my contours. He stepped forward, so close his body heat tingled.
“There are things you need to understand.”

I
wanted to step back, to keep distance between us, but it would look weak.
Instead, I stepped forward, practically pushing my chest against his. “The only
thing I need to understand is you’re a monster who bought me. You stole my
life. My loved ones.” My voice cracked, but I plundered on, “You took
everything. That’s all I need to understand.”

His
hand reached to touch my cheek. I sucked in a breath as he ran the pad of a
thumb along my jaw, then his eyes flashed with amazement as if shocked he’d
touched me. Dropping his hand, he wrapped long fingers around my elbow. “Come
with me.”

My
skin flared beneath his touch, heart raced. I twisted, trying to remove him.
“Let me go.”

Eyes
seared into mine. “You are not in a position to order, slave.”

Was
it his French accent, or the word slave, making my stomach roll and toil? Nerve
endings sparked with rage. Bastard. “I. Am. Not. A. Slave.”

He
slapped me, not hard, but the punishment put me in my place.

I
bit my lip, staunching the flow of unwelcome tears as he carted me into the
library. With a heavy sigh, he shoved me into a wingback and sat opposite.