Tears of Tess (49 page)

“Enjoy
your last fuck, father. It’s the last you’ll ever do.”

My
father, Mr. Quincy Mercer the First, stopped mid thrust, face bright red, jowls
trembling.

“What
are you doing in here, you little shit? Get out. I told you this part of the
house was forbidden.”

Girls
all around the room, tied up in horrible positions, started to cry. Some with their
necks bound to ankles. Others hanging from the ceiling upside down. Tears
flowed, but light slowly glowed in their eyes. Hunger, revenge, freedom,
infected each like wildfire. Smashing the shackles of brokenness.

I
didn’t say another word. What was there to say? I squeezed the trigger.

The
red spray was a gruesome firework. My father’s brains splattered over the girl
he still impaled on his cock.

She
screamed and scrambled away, wiping her face with shaking hands.

The
entire room rippled with darkness. I flexed my arms, standing in the centre,
breathing deep.  

My
father’s rein was over. I was the new owner of the Mercer Empire. At sixteen, I
inherited all his belongings, including the stable of women.

For
a brief moment, my cock stiffened at the thought of carrying on my father’s
legacy. It would be so easy to violate a girl who was bound, unable to move or
stop me. I could lose my virginity to a slave. I could do whatever I wanted. A ruthless
tycoon, just like my old man.

But
as I stood, with my mind overflowing with darkness, I knew I could never walk
that path.

I
wanted it too damn much. I
craved
the feel of submission. I
drooled
for a woman sucking my cock under duress. I
hated
myself with vengeance.

I
was my father’s son, after all. Somehow, the moment I killed him, his evilness
shot into me. I wanted to put a bullet in my own brain as I knew I’d never be
free from the monstrous urges.  

Needing
to run, I quickly freed the women and brought them clothes from my mother’s old
things.  

The
girls accepted what I gave. Keeping their eyes downcast, mouths closed.

That
night signified a new beginning. For all of us.

A
year later, my rehabilitation of the twelve women was complete. Some girls left
immediately after I freed them. I gave them money, and sent them back to loved
ones. A few remained, needing psychological help. I admitted them to the local
hospital, footing all the bills.  

I
didn’t need to lie how the girls became that way. Everyone knew my father and
his sick tastes. He supplied many a sick fuck in the village with toys. Renting
them out for thousands, not caring some never came back alive.

I’d
been painted with the same brush, even though I resisted the beast inside. I wanted
more than anything to keep those girls locked and chained, and subservient to
my desires, but I never caved. Always fighting. Forever struggling.

The
last girl to leave was a Sheik’s daughter. She’d been a gift for a lucrative
property deal in the east. Captive for six years, she felt some sort of sick loyalty
to me for freeing her.

The
night before she left, she trapped me in my bedroom. The girls were allowed free
reign of the house, slowly acclimatizing to freedom once again.

She
closed the door, signifying what she wanted with one click of a lock.

I
tried to refuse her. I tried to push her away. She didn’t owe me anything, most
of all her body, but she took control, and made me do things my father would’ve
been proud of. I lost my virginity, not in sweetness and tenderness, but with
spanking and degradation.

The
moment it was over, I loathed myself. I kicked her out, put her on my private
plane, and sent her home. I couldn’t stand to see her. She reminded me how far
I’d fallen. How alike I was to the one man I hated the most.

The
following years were torture. I needed a release, but normal sex didn’t cut it.
I needed violence to get off. I needed the feel of complete submission of ownership.
My blood was tainted, and I’d never be free.

Then
the bribes started. As I grew my father’s empire to worldwide domination,
people wanted property favours. A building here. Special grants there. I had
friends in powerful places and men gave me presents. My father’s reputation preceded
once again, and instead of gift baskets, I received slaves.

It
started slowly, one a year. Then two. Until, finally, I became the king of
accepting trafficked women for a business deal. It cost a fortune to accept,
and I didn’t touch a single one.  

They
arrived, broken, trembling, sometimes drugged, sometimes completely damaged. I
became a father, brother, friend to them.

Most
recovered, but others… some I couldn’t save.

I
enlisted the help of the local police. Together, we worked tirelessly. They made
me an exemplary citizen for my ‘charity’.

Then
Suzette arrived. She had bite marks all over her body. Hair shaved, cigarette burns,
and broken fingers. I promptly hired a mercenary to return the favour to the
men who broke her.  

It
took six months before Suzette spoke a word. Another six months before she let
me be in the same room with her. Slowly, she started working around the house, throwing
herself into housework, as if she could become invisible as a staff member and
not the slave she’d been. And I let her.

It
helped. Her skin went from pallid to rosy, her eyes lost the panicked hue, and
slowly she stopped jumping whenever I appeared, moving with silence.

When
I asked if she was ready to go home, she refused. She threw herself at my feet,
begging to stay. She had no one to return to, and professed her love for me. She
wanted me to love her. Take her however I wanted. But I couldn’t. I never
could. I couldn’t resort to using broken women. I would never find myself in
the aftermath.

Instead,
I used professionals. Played out dark fantasies with women who gladly accepted ten
thousand euros for a bit of pain. It never satisfied. It left my throat coated
with dissatisfaction, but that was my sacrifice. I would never touch a slave
again.

Suzette
became fundamental to helping other girls heal. She befriended them, and they
found their way back to happiness quicker.

Our
little team worked well for years. I focused more on property than saving
women. I expanded the company into South East Asia, Fiji, New Zealand, and Hong
Kong.

Then
my world flipped upside down.

Esclave
fifty-eight arrived.

The
moment she stumbled across the threshold, all those dark needs roared and raged
inside. I wanted to throw myself down the stairs and take her then and there. I
fucking wanted, wanted,
wanted
.

She
was different.

She
wasn’t broken.

For
the first time, a slave came to me spitting and alive. Intelligence blazed in
her eyes and my cock stirred, unable to be controlled. I knew I wouldn’t be able
to stop, and hated her almost as much as I hated myself.  

I
finally met a woman with fire and passion matching my own, and all I wanted to
do was break her. I wanted her to be mine in every way humanly possible.

I
was a sick, sick bastard and would go to hell for what I fantasized.

After
twelve years of battling the beast, it sprang from its cage and refused to go
back. The lifetime of urges couldn’t be refused. They overtook, held me hostage,
and I fell into the role of master so effortlessly, as if it was the true me. The
real me.
The monster
.

She
was mine.

*
* * * *

*Present*

She
shook her head, looking into my black soul with dove-grey eyes.
“Nous sommes
les uns des autres.”
We are each other’s.

Two
emotions fought for space in my chest. The beast lurched forward, ready to take
her up on the offer to debase and hurt, while the other wanted to gather her
gently and lavish every penny I had.

After
everything I did. After what
Lefebvre did… my
heart raced.
That fucking cock-sucking bastard.
Black anger gathered
again at the thought of him raping her. I wanted to dig up his unmarked grave
and dismember him piece by piece. A single gunshot was too good for that
asshole.

But
Tess survived. She forged stronger and shone brighter. She never broke.

I
pressed against her again, hissing between my teeth at the burn in my cock. I
wanted to fuck her so bad, but I needed to tame other urges, too.

“Nous
sommes les uns des autres,”
I repeated, kissing
her deeply. Her soft groan sent my sanity spiralling out of control. How did I
manage to send her away? Kick her from my room after she let me whip her to the
point of drawing blood? I’d been a bloody saint with willpower of an angel.  

I
sacrificed everything, because I refused to break such a perfect woman. A woman
who pranced into my life with spark and fire, threatening to burn my very
existence to the ground.

“I
can’t believe you came back,” I murmured, heart galloping, still unable to
believe the blood oath we made. I smeared residual crimson on her throat,
whispering fingers across her collarbone.

My
eyes dropped to the tattoo on her wrist. Holy fuck, what was she trying to do
to me? She spoke to the darkness inside, and despite her fear, stood up to me.
I wanted to pummel her into the ground to make her obey, but her rebellion was also
my undoing.

I’d
never be free of her.

Tess
Snow.

Tess
esclave.

Mine.

All
mine.

I
can’t wait any longer. She came back on her own terms. It’s my turn now.

I
stood, shoving my cock into my trousers, wincing at how fucking hard it was.
Damn woman cast a spell on me. Tess blinked, watching with those intoxicating
Bambi eyes, begging me to fuck and hurt her.

I
groaned. If I did this, there would be no going back. She would become
everything I needed. I had to trust in her vow. The promise she would be strong
enough. I hoped to God she was right because I gave up fighting.

The
monster roared, beating his chest, salivating at the thought of what was to
come.

I
was done and she was mine, in every sense.

“Come.”
I grabbed her tattooed wrist, jerking her from the library. Stalking through
the foyer, her little pants sent lust into a realm off insanity. Fuck, I needed
her. To scream and writhe and
bleed.

What
sort of man needed to make a woman bleed? Not a sane one.
I’m infected.
Poisoned. Destined for hell.

I
slammed my fist against the hidden door beneath the stairs, taking violence out
on the wood panel.

Tess
flinched, but didn’t move away.

I
raised an eyebrow as the door opened, giving her one last opportunity to admit
she made a huge mistake. Not that it would make any difference. I wasn’t
letting her go again. Willing slave or not. The beast preferred unwilling, because
I was sick. So sick.  

“Je
suis à toi,”
she panted.

I
gritted my teeth. Fuck, yes, she was mine. No one else’s. She was lucky I
didn’t hang and quarter the stupid boy she went home to. Idiot. Sleeping beside
her every night—touching her. Couldn’t he see the unique treasure he had? My
chest swelled with pride. Tess left him for me. She was too much for a boy. She
needed a man with a demon inside.

I
didn’t think I’d ever find a female beast with contorted desires like mine.

But
she found me.

My
back rippled with tension as I dragged her down the stairs. The lights clicked
on automatically, illuminating the dark teak bar, pool table, and further a
music recording studio, and sauna.

Tess
didn’t say a word as her eyes fell on the pool table, chest pumping. Goddammit,
I loved touching her that night. I’d been so ready to rape her, to try and get
rid of the sickness inside in one swoop, but she fought too much, made me too
hot. I wanted the agony of dragging out the suspense. I wanted to torture
myself with the insanely painful urge to fill her with my cock.

I
was rather proud of my strength that night. If I had raped her—who knows if she
could’ve handled everything else I did to her.

Tess
bumped into me, unable to tear her eyes off the table. I wrapped tight, imprisoning
arms around her, growling. “Remember my fingers inside you,
esclave
?
Remember how wet you were? Even then, your body knew you belonged to me.”

She
shivered, tight and tense, but malleable and feminine at the same time. “Are
you going to finish what you started that night? Take me over the pool table?”
A pink tongue darted between her lips, tempting me beyond belief.