Tears of Tess (29 page)

“What
did those men mean tonight? Only taking what they’d taken in the past? Do you
traffic women, Q? Is that why you’re so afraid to do to me what you’ve done to
others?”

I
never thought I’d see Q terrified, but he fumbled upright, throwing the tub of
arnica in the sink. It spun around and around, clattering to a noisy stop by
the plughole.

Q
bared his teeth, swiping ruthless hands over his face. “Don’t talk to me about
that. It’s none of your goddamn business.
Merde, ne me demandez pas de
nouveau
.” Do not ask me again.

I
flinched, buffeted by his anger.

He
grabbed me, hauling me to my feet. I scrambled for his hands, trying to get
free.  

Q
glared into my eyes and all the connection we built disappeared. Only annoyance,
frustration, and deep-seated loathing showed. “What is your name?” His voice
rasped my skin, conjuring heat and yearning.

The
Old Tess may be dead, but New Tess didn’t want to share the secret either. I
couldn’t remember exactly why, but it was fundamental to keep it.

“Ami,”
I whispered. If Suzette wanted to call me friend, who was I to argue? I could
get used to it. Tess would be forgotten. The thought made me sad, but I
couldn’t give Q my name. I’d given him everything else… that small part was
mine.

Q
growled, pacing in front. “Even now, you don’t break. After everything, you’re
still strong enough to defy me.” He stopped abruptly, seething, “Tell me! Give
in
, esclave
. Give me your name!” His chest heaved with anger as eyes
beat me into submission.

I
bowed my head. I would give him anything for saving me, but not that. My name
belonged to my past. My past belonged to Brax. Q was something else entirely.
He was my new everything.

“Ami,”
I repeated.

“You
are not my friend,” he snapped. “Stop lying.”

I
shook my head. I knew that. I didn’t want to be his friend. I wanted to be his
everything, too. I wanted what he offered in his touch, in the undercurrent of
need. I wanted him to be honest, just like our bodies were honest. I wasn’t the
only one lying.

Q
stepped against me, the harbinger of citrus and crackling lust. “One last time,
esclave
. What. Is. Your. Name?”

My
stomach hurt to lie under the force of his demands, but I couldn’t bring myself
to speak the truth. “Katrina.”

“Lie.”

“Sophie.”

“Lie.”

“Crystal.”

“Goddammit,
stop!” Q exploded. A hand lashed out, fingers diving into my hair, craning my
neck back. I perished in his greeny gaze.
“C'est quoi ton nom?”
What is
your name?

“
Esclave
.”

His
eyes slammed shut, preventing me from seeing conflicting emotions darting in
their depths: anger, remorse, tangible need.

When
he opened them, there was nothing but blankness. He nodded. “I will learn who
you are one day. That is a promise. And my promises are law.”

For
some reason, my heart fluttered. He made a promise to keep trying, and by
trying he would have to get to know me. Perhaps I could make him see me not as
an object or possession, but as a person—a woman he ensnared just by being him,
not by being my master. Every crazy little thing about him weaved a cage more
unbreakable than his mansion and guards. What would he do if he knew that?
Would he toss me out because I’d begun the journey of giving Q my biggest sense
of all, or would he get on his knees and crush me in thanks for giving him
something so precious?

I
didn’t know. And I wanted to know. Everything.

*
* * * *

“No! It can’t be
true. It can’t!”

Brax thrashed in
bed, kicking, failing, wrapped in a nightmare. Nightmare number four, this week
alone, and I was tired. So tired.

“Brax, wake up.”
I gripped his sweaty shoulder, shaking him.

He didn’t respond,
face twisted in grief. I knew what he suffered—he told me his dreams, and all
of them featured the car accident that killed his parents.

Every night I
held him, gave comfort, and every morning I woke tired and drained. But I
soothed him because he needed me, and by being there for him, I felt I
belonged.

Brax swung wide,
a punch landing on my jaw. “Ow, fuck, Brax. Wake up!” I pinched his nose,
cutting off oxygen so he’d wake, but shadows at the bottom of the bed gathered—darker,
changing, growing.

My heart stopped
as Brute and Driver leered above, licking their lips, cocks jutting from trousers,
glistening and evil.

They’d come to
finish what they started. They would kill me.

“Brax! Help!” I
slapped him, but he never woke.

Brute chuckled.
“He isn’t strong enough for you, treasure. I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll
wish you were dead.” He moved fast, grabbing my ankles beneath the sheets,
dragging me to the end of the bed.

I screamed.

No, this
couldn’t happen. “Brax!”

He lay there,
wrapped in his own misery, unaware of mine. Driver laughed, ripping off my
pyjama bottoms, tossing them to the side.

My body felt weighed
down, moving as if drugged. “Stop. Fucking stop!”

They just
laughed.

I wished I were
dead, tears leaking. Another shadow crystallized behind Brute and Driver,
flocking into being with raven wingbeats and murder. But instead of instilling
fear, hope starburst through me.

Master.

Q stood, staring
at me with unbridled rage and transcendent power. Time slowed as he pulled free
a silver gun and shot Brute, then Driver with sharp-edged finesse. Red rain
splattered, but I didn’t care. I crawled toward shadowy Q, climbing over
corpses, focused only on my owner.

“You saved me.”

His smile sent a
melody of feeling through me. “You’re mine. It’s my honour to protect you.” He
gathered me closer and shadows kissed with icy teeth. “Je reviendrai toujours
pour toi.” I’ll always come for you….

 I woke in a
room of luxury. The mattress cradled like fluffy clouds, and stencils of
carousels made me feel young, fanciful. Not like a slave who’d been fucked by
two different men last night, then put to bed like a naughty girl because I
wouldn’t tell Q my name.

A
knock sounded and I scrambled upright, wincing at the lashes on my legs. I
checked during the night to see how torn and bruised I was, but Q and his
attentiveness halted the injuries. They looked ten times better already, but I
couldn’t wait for them to be gone. Each welt reminded me of Brute and Driver, Q
committing murder, every nasty little thing of running away.

Q
was right, though. By fucking me, he overshadowed Brute completely. The fear
and crippling memories were there, but every time recollections tried to suck
me dry, Q would be there. Touching, kissing, ordering me to only think about
him. He stopped my sadness and grief, tinging it with lust and acceptance.

Q
stole their power, freeing me by fucking me.

The
knock came again and the door opened, without waiting for my reply.

Suzette
bustled in with a breakfast tray full of homemade jam and warm croissants. She
smiled, placing it on my lap. “
Bonjour
, Ami.”

I
blinked with how happy she was. Hazel eyes sparkled and dusky skin positively
glowed.

I
narrowed my eyes, female intuition said why she couldn’t stop grinning. “You
know he took me last night, don’t you?” It was strange to be so open, but she
couldn’t hide her gloat. She’d been waiting for this day for longer than I
wanted to contemplate.

She
nodded, perching on the end of the bed. “Yes. But mostly I’m glad to see you in
one piece.” She dropped her eyes, plucking her pinafore. “Running away was so
stupid. I could’ve warned you about some of the locals around here. Franco
isn’t a guard to keep you in. He’s a guard to protect us from them.”

I
stopped mid-bite of a croissant. “What do you mean?”

She
sighed and glanced toward the door, as if expecting Q to storm through at any
moment. Before she could speak, I asked another question. “Were you Q’s slave,
too, Suzette?”

She
froze.

I
didn’t really expect her to answer. My eyes widened when she said, “Q set me
free when I was sold to him. I’ll always love him for that.” She bit her lip,
before adding, “Q has never taken me, not for my lack of trying. When I
arrived, I was broken beyond repair. I had things done to me that I can’t even
think about, let alone talk about, but Q… Q brought me back to life.”

I
pushed the tray away, breakfast forgotten. Would I finally learn about my
mysterious owner? “How did he bring you back to life?”

She
looked up, eyes glittering with tears and memories. “He gave me freedom. Gave
me everything I needed to get well again. For a year, he put up with me bowing
and crawling, until he finally managed to get me to stand. But it took him another
year to get me to open, to talk when I wanted, not just when I was asked a
question. He slowly broke the brokenness in me.”

She
gripped my hand, squeezing fingers hard. “You don’t get it, Ami. And you won’t
until he tells you himself, but he’s the best man I know. Out of all of us,
he’s the one who’s ruined. I’ve never been able to help him. For five years,
I’ve worked for him, never left his side, but nothing I’ve tried works.”

My
heart raced. Suzette confirmed my thoughts from last night. Q may be a dominant
but he suffered more than anyone. With what? Perhaps he was terribly
disfigured. Was that why he refused to remove his shirt? I’d never seen him
naked, or touched his skin.

“Tell
me, Suzette. Tell me why he’s more broken than you or I.”

She
hung her head. “That isn’t my story to tell, Ami. You’ll have to earn his trust
and show you care to learn about your master.”

“And
if I don’t want to learn?”

Suzette
stood, looking overcome with endless sadness. “Then you don’t deserve him.”

*
* * * *

That night, Q
came for me.

I
spent the day with Suzette and Mrs. Sucre, battling two different emotions. One
moment, my body would warm and liquefy, remembering Q’s strength, his lust in the
shower. The next, I’d freeze and swallow nausea while memories of Brute
crushed.

The
two extremes never ended, and by the time we finished dinner in the kitchen, my
eyes were heavy, body lethargic. I needed sleep and hoped I wouldn’t be hounded
by nightmares.

I
lay in bed, staring at the silver canopy above. I hadn’t cleared it with anyone
if I could remain in the carousel room, but Franco spotted me opening the door
earlier, giving a slight nod. I hoped his nod meant I could remain on the
second level, and not banish myself to the cell of a maid’s room.

The
door creaked ever so quietly, sending my heart into hyper-drive. I didn’t need
to ask who. My entire body knew the answer—master.

Q
padded across thick carpet, his silhouette proud and stealthy. I wriggled beneath
my sheets. What exactly was he doing here at two in the morning on a week day?
I knew how hard he worked. I expected him to be in bed. The moment I thought of
Q in bed my mouth went dry. Where did he sleep? What did his room look like?

Then
again, I
assumed
Q worked hard. I knew nothing about him, and after the
comments from Brute about Q’s family, I didn’t want to know. If I learned the
truth, and it was disastrously horrid, I would have to run again.  

And
I didn’t want to run. The world was dangerous; I preferred to live with the
devil I knew.

I
held my breath as Q padded closer. It seemed with every step, he pulled energy
toward him until the gloom sparkled. An image of Q naked and asleep in bed
assaulted me. My mouth watered at the thought of seeing him so vulnerable.

He
stopped by the side of the bed. I couldn’t see his features in the dark, but
his breathing was measured and strong.

He
stood in faded jeans and a scruffy white t-shirt. I’d never seen him in something
so…ordinary. He wore suits like a persona—a uniform amplifying his demands for
submission. It worked. It turned him into a sharp, merciless weapon; the female
in me licked her lips at his dangerous edge. But Q in jeans and t-shirt showed
another side. A clue into the man behind the suits, a man with too many
thoughts and no one to talk to.

He
didn’t say a word, but simply placed two items on the foot of the bed. He
paused, lurking in the dark.

I
lay, unmoving, waiting to see what he’d do. I wouldn’t let him walk out the
door without getting what I wanted. I wanted to talk to him, unravel his
secrets. I needed to know if he wanted me so much, he came to wake me in the
middle of the night. Waiting in the dark, I ached for an order to serve.