Tears of Tess (41 page)

My
stomach twisted. I didn’t realize how much I valued Suzette’s friendship. “I
didn’t call the police. I called my boyfriend and told him about Q, but… that’s
all.”

She
stopped chopping. “And you think that makes it okay?” She closed her eyes,
visibly forcing away her black mood. When she reopened, her hazel eyes sparkled,
but no longer furious. “I know you were terrified when you first arrived. I
know you suffered in Mexico. I know you missed your boyfriend—I can’t hate you
for being a fighter, for running, for being brave. I just wish you’d given us
more time before judging and making a bad decision.” She picked up the knife
and resumed slicing.

Chills
darted down my back. She spoke in past tense…

Mrs.
Sucre opened an oven, and heavenly scents of cinnamon and sugar wafted as she
removed perfectly cooked sweet buns. She placed them in front of me, waving a tea-towel,
causing little wisps of steam to curl.

I
tried to ignore racing heartbeats. I hated this feeling. This eerie sense of
loss. “Mrs. Sucre. Have you seen Master Mercer? I need to speak with him.”

Suzette
stiffened but didn’t look up.

She
shook her head. “No. He left half an hour or so ago. I doubt he’ll be home for a
while.”

Sadness
rushed; I gripped the countertop. He left without a goodbye.
What did you
expect? Just because you let him whip you last night, you thought things would
be different?

It
shouldn’t hurt so much… it was to be expected. It was a week-day and he had an
empire to run. But he didn’t just leave this morning. He ran. Something wasn’t
right. “Oh,” was all I managed.

Mrs.
Sucre gave me a compassionate look, sharp brown eyes assessing. With a soft
smile, she passed me a warm bun. “Best eat, child. Never know when you’ll eat
again.”

I
locked eyes with her, shivers darting down my back. “Why won’t I know?”
Instincts roared to life and I ran around the countertop to grab her wrist. “What
do you mean?”

Suzette
watched with wide eyes, anger changing to sadness. She opened her mouth to
speak, but a masculine baritone came from behind me.

“She
means your stay with us has come to an end,
esclave.
”

No.

Letting
Mrs. Sucre go, I spun to face Franco. He stood, crisp and sharp, black shades
on his head, the same folder Q first showed me when I arrived from Mexico in
his hands. The file the kidnappers created. The file referring to me only as
Blonde Girl on Scooter.

My
heart convulsed. Q knew what he was doing the entire time. I was unbelievably stupid
not to see it. Asking for one night to do what he wished. One night, because
that’s all he needed. Then he kicked me out. The user. The
bastard.

Franco
came closer; I scuttled back, bumping into the warm, soft body of Mrs. Sucre. By
throwing me out, Q tore me from people who cared more than my parents. The maternal
comfort of Mrs. Sucre, the strange sisterhood with Suzette. Even my weird
connection to Franco.

It
was all over.

Franco
smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stopped in front of me. Mrs. Sucre
placed hands on my shoulders, offering support as Franco ducked to one knee and
sliced through the GPS tracker. It fell off my ankle, clattering to the tiles.

The
symbolism that Q no longer cared slapped like a bitch. He’d removed his
protection, his strange affection. He was throwing me back to a world full of
Brutes and Drivers.

“That’s
it then? I have no say?” I fissured, hurting beyond comprehension. Q was too
spineless to do this himself. He ordered his staff to remove me like an
unwanted pet. I laughed morbidly. “I’m to be put down like some rabid poodle.”
It might be best if I was shot. How would I cope with everything?

Franco
chuckled. “Hardly
, esclave
. You’re going home.”

Home.
The word didn’t conjure happiness and belonging anymore. It was foreign and
bleak.

Q
cast me back to a world I never wanted to return to. Tossing me out like the
unwanted Christmas present.  

Mrs.
Sucre squeezed my shoulders, before dropping her hands and pushing me toward
Franco. “Go, now. Put this all behind you.”

I
dashed to Suzette, capturing her hands. Eyes flashed to mine; her pity made my
heart bleed. “I don’t want to go, Suzette. Running away was a huge mistake.
You’ll explain to Q and let me stay, won’t you? You keep saying I’m good for him.
That he’s a better man than I know. I want to be worthy, Suzette. I want to
stay and hear his story.”

She
unlatched my fingers, stepping back. “I know, Tess, but it’s too late. Q brokered
a deal with the police. No charges will be brought against him if he sends you
home. This is the only way.”

My
heart ached so much it hurt to breathe. That was how he got the police to stay
away. Giving me up to save his own ass.

“No!
I can’t go. I want to stay. I
need
to stay.”

Franco
appeared, gathering me in strong, prison-like arms. “Come along. We’re on a
deadline.” And just like that, he carted me from the kitchen, away from
Suzette, away from my new life.  

As
we walked through the lounge, I briefly contemplated hitting him and running. I
could lock myself in the bedroom, and wait for Q to tell me himself he didn’t
want me. But Franco was too strong. It would be pointless.

Franco
marched me out the door, chuckling wryly. “Funny, how this began with me
pushing you through the door to bow to your new master.” He laughed again
before adding, “Never had to kick a slave out before.”

The
lash marks Q gave me last night stood out in stark relief as my skin whitened
in panic, reality hitting home. There was no stopping this. “I hated you that
day and I hate you now.”

He
nodded. “I understand, but I’m only following orders.”

In
the same manicured field, with its windsock and landing lights, rested Q’s private
plane with his initials. Wind whipped my hair into a snarl; black clouds above built
with rain.

Seeing
a chance, I said, “Should we really fly in such weather? It’s not safe.” I dug
my heels in, trying to get free from Franco’s grasp. “Please, Franco. I want to
stay. Call Q. Let me speak to him.”

He
shook his head, propelling me toward the plane as if I wasn’t fighting at all.
“Q doesn’t want to see you again,
esclave
. I’m sorry to say, but you’ve
caused enough problems in his life.” His words stung but his tone was kind,
sad.

I
hung my head, giving in. Why fight? I couldn’t change my fate.

Franco
helped me up the flight of steps and into the immaculate jet. Cream leather and
honey wood was a prison. I slouched in the same chair as when I first flew. The
same horror and grief from that night filled my lungs.
I’m crazy. I’m going
home!
I should be excited.

The
reoccurring theme in my life happened again. My parents didn’t want me. Brax
didn’t fight to keep me. And Q… Q stole everything and then tossed me back into
the shark invested waters of the world.

My
hands curled. One thing was for sure, if Q was so heartless to do this, he
didn’t deserve me. I glared at Franco as he loomed.

“It’s
been fun, Tess. Just sit back and relax. We’ll have you home very soon.” He
turned, and disappeared into the cockpit.

An
airhostess appeared. Her blonde hair in a French twist and white uniform blazed
with Q’s initials right over her breast. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to rip
the uniform off and steal it. If anyone deserved to have Q’s initials branded
over her tit, it was me. Shit, he’d owned every part of me last night.

Hot
anger flowed and I wished I could tell Q exactly what I thought of him. The
low-life coward.

He
marked me to the core, all the while knowing he was sending me away. How did I
not sense that? How did he lie so successfully?

Tears
clouded my vision as the plane taxied, bumping on manicured grass. With a whir
of sleek engines, we galloped down the strip, soaring into the air with a gust
of turbulence and wind.

I
twisted in my seat as Q’s pastel mansion shrank from imposing to miniature. Pressing
a cold hand on the window, I gulped as black storm clouds swallowed the view,
sending me into darkness.  

Q
stole my hopes and dreams, replacing my feelings with blackness and emptiness.

I
was broken.

*
* * * *

 We crossed
timelines in silence. Refuelled in places I didn’t care to know.

In a matter of
hours, I left behind spring in France, and touched down in autumn Australia.

We taxied toward
a private hangar while the moon danced in silver clouds. We left behind a gathering
storm to arrive in a perfect balmy night.

“Time to leave,
esclave
.”
Franco appeared from the cockpit, holding out his arm to disembark.

Stomach filled
with lead; I uncurled from my seat and stepped off the plane. I had no energy
to scream or convince Franco this was a huge mistake. My brain hadn’t shut up
the entire flight, and I was drained. There was no point rehashing everything
when Q no longer cared.

 I
followed like a good sheep as Franco led me into a building reserved for
exclusive arrivals. I looked over my shoulder to stare one last time at Q’s
plane. It would be the last thing I would see of his.  

My
heart squeezed and hardened. Calligraphy letters—
Q.M
—taunted me. The
plane belonged to a different world. A world I was no longer privileged to
enjoy.

I
grew from timid girl with secret fantasies, to a fighter who would happily kill
her captors in Mexico, to a strong woman who embraced her true desires, to a
broken, tired girl who only wanted to sleep and forget—a full, sick circle.

I
did the unthinkable: I broke myself, and fell for my master.

Fuck
you, Q.

I
stared at the floor as Franco spoke rapidly to a customs officer, handing over
what I assumed was fake documentation. A conversation later and a nod from both
men, Franco placed his hand on the small of my back, pushing me from airside to
Melbourne soil.

Warm,
dry Australian air swirled with a gentle breeze. Despite the fact I didn’t want
to be here, I sucked in a lungful. The scents of Melbourne tickled memories and
a small wave of comfort descended. Home.

I
just have to relearn how to belong
. The thought
overwhelmed. I had to go back to fibbing to myself and Brax. Go through the
motions of living with no excitement or intoxicating thread of sexual fear. Oh,
God.

Franco
grunted as I slammed to a halt. “Keep going, escl—, I mean, Ms. Snow.”

I
spun to face him. “Take me back. I don’t belong here anymore.”

He
scowled. “I can’t take you back. The French police will know. That was the
deal. Mr. Mercer has a long standing arrangement with the authorities.”

My
ears pricked. “What long standing arrangement?”

Franco
sighed, glaring. “For a slave, you ask a lot of damn questions.”

“I’m
no longer a slave. Tell me.”

He
grumbled. “If you’d listened and paid attention, Mr. Mercer isn’t in the game
of keeping slaves.”

The
revelation wasn’t earth-shattering, I had figured out as much. Q and his
frustrating tipsy comments. “Give me something I don’t know. I’m number fifty-eight.
That means he’s had fifty-seven before. That makes him a dealer in women.” I
couldn’t stand it. The thought of Q having so many women made me want to kick
and punch and scream. Now I was gone, there would be more. Undoubtedly. “But I
know he did it for the right reasons. He helped them… didn’t he?” I wanted to
hate him, but I couldn’t, not for that.

Franco
grabbed my bicep, jerking me to the side, away from prying ears. He muttered,
“Yes, Mr. Mercer has had fifty-seven slaves. Twelve of those were when he was
sixteen. He buys women, accepts them as bribes, but never lays a finger on
them.” He sighed, “Q rehabilitates broken women, and returns them to their loved
ones. He dedicates his money, staff, and home to helping women who’ve been
shattered beyond repair. With some sort of Mercer superglue, he manages to put
them together again.”

Truth
rang sweet. I finally knew.

After
two months of living with an unreadable master, I knew the man behind the mask.
Suzette hinted all along—the sparrows and birds screamed messages in my face.
They symbolized women Q had saved. My eyes widened, finally understanding his
tattoo. The black storm and brambles represented the horridness of the world—or
him. The birds flapping free were girls he rescued. He wore it as a talisman. A
badge of honour.

If
I didn’t hate him, I’d love him for that.

I
softened, accepting why Q threw me out. He had to protect future women. He
couldn’t have me ruining his life because he dedicated his time to saving
others. I hated that I understood. I would’ve done the same thing.