Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark) (10 page)

our demons, our monsters belong to the other,

Bow to me, I bow to thee, now we are free

 “
W
ell that was the shortest wedding in bloody history,” Franco muttered as I slid into the car and slammed the door. Sunshine gave way to shade, providing relief from the piercing glare. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Melting into the leather upholstery, I angled the vents to receive an artic blow from the air-conditioning.  Being in the high-noon sun and dealing with the stress of being told I wasn’t marriageable material had taken its toll.

Q slid into the limo, slamming the door just as loud as I had. We hadn’t spoken a word on the way back; I didn’t trust myself not to burst into tears. I’d make a fool of myself by showing how insecure and truly afraid I was.

I don’t want you, Tess. How could I love you now you’ve become one of them?
The voice from when I’d been drugged in Rio kept repeating in my mind. Q didn’t know that while I hurt and maimed under the command of my captors, he’d visited me often. My phantom conjuring with his whispers of me no longer being pure or worthy.

I knew it was irrational to believe he didn’t want me—not after his letter and everything he’d done—but I wasn’t strong enough to stop the voices from undermining everything I knew to be real and replacing them with lies.

Damn lies.

Insecure filthy
lies
.

I sneaked a glance at Q. He glared out the window, his forehead furrowed, eyes dark with planning. He’d withdrawn once again, focusing inward on whatever idea he’d latched onto. The last time he’d been this intense, he’d ordered me to beat him practically to death.

My eyes refused to stop drinking him in. His white t-shirt clung to his body made from pure stone. His longer hair was wind-swept and messy. His five o’ clock shadow hid some of the tension from his jaw but not enough.

He was so perfect.
Too
perfect. How could I ever compete, always feeling second best? My heart had leapt out of my throat and dived into the waves when he’d said he couldn’t marry me. Every dark thought and worthless aspiration I secretly nursed came true in that one, horrifying minute.

I’d always known it was only a matter of time before he finally realized he was marrying a girl with sin in her soul and a woman’s blood under her fingernails.  And not just any woman. A
trafficked
woman—a bird he would’ve done anything to save.

He might suffer guilt for letting Leather Jacket take me. However, I suffered guilt for murder.

Franco lowered the barrier between us. “Couldn’t wait to get to the honeymoon, huh?” He threw a look over his shoulder, his emerald eyes catching mine.

My stomach twisted. What would he say if he knew Q had postponed it? Would he nod as if it made perfect sense? Would he tell Q he was worthy of a woman who was pure and not a killer like me?

I looked away, unable to stare at the man who’d been beside Q for years. I was jealous. Jealous of his time with Q when I’d had so little.

Franco cleared his throat, catching my attention again. He raised his eyebrow, kindness softening his fierce features.

I smiled weakly, then froze when he winked. He
winked
.

Q muttered, “No honeymoon. Not yet.”

Franco rearranged his face from kind and open to cool and professional. Ignoring me, he looked at Q. “Where to then?”

Take her back to Australia. I’m done
. The snide cruel voice in my head answered on Q’s behalf, filling me with damp iciness. Oh, God. I had to get the negativity under control. I had to find a way to clear my mind.

Q glanced my way, his mind elsewhere. Finally, he answered, “Just drive for a bit. I’m still thinking. I want something impersonal.”

Impersonal? First he took me to an island that obviously meant a lot to him, then he wanted to take me somewhere that meant nothing.
Trust in him, Tess
. I had to keep my chin high and my heart believing.

“Sure thing.” Franco nodded, putting the glass back up.

Q looked out the window without a sideways glance.

I wanted to go to him. I wanted his arms around me, so I could focus on what was real and not what was in my head. My mouth opened, spilling an unauthorized question. “Why couldn’t we have stayed on
Volière
? Even if you don’t want to get married, surely it was a good place to spend time together?”

Q didn’t turn around. It took a moment for him to reply, as if sorting through the words to make sure he said nothing wrong. “I want the impersonality of somewhere we’ve never been. I want somewhere on neutral ground.” He kept staring out the window, brooding. His hands curled on his thighs, saturating the atmosphere in the car with energy and frustration.

I ignored the splinters in my heart. “For what?”
He wants somewhere where no memories exist for either of us.
It made sense—I supposed.

“I don’t know yet,” Q muttered.

I couldn’t help the quick intake of breath or the tickle of tears. Why the fuck was I so weak? I
hated
being weak. I wanted to be strong again—to understand why Q had done what he did. I wanted to have the strength to allow life to guide me without being terrified of what was around the corner.

Anger filled me; I smashed my stinging eyes. Twisting my body, I tried to see through the swimming tears, focusing on the passing view.

Rustling sounded as Q shifted. “I’m making this up as I go along,
esclave
. I’d forgotten how overgrown that hovel of an island is. Someone needs to go in with a chainsaw.” His accented voice that normally radiated with honesty dulled with the lie.

I looked over. He smiled, softening the brutality of such a fib. “Please, Tess, let me do what I need to do.”

The anger hadn’t left my veins. I wanted to argue. I wanted to fight. I wanted to prove I still had the guts to stand up for something I desperately wanted. And I desperately wanted to be married to Q. If I hadn’t let the memories take me hostage, I could’ve been Mrs. Mercer in a few short hours. Now, I might never wear his name.

“You said you liked it wild. You deliberately left it untouched.” A thought came to me, I asked, “Why did you buy it in the first place? There must’ve been a reason.” Images of him sending women to heal and recoup there filled my mind. Maybe he hadn’t bought it for himself but for another.

As much as I wished I could read his secrets and unravel his past, I couldn’t. Q was still an enigma. I wanted to pledge my life to his even while we fumbled in the dark.

I didn’t think he’d answer, but quietly he replied, “I had a crazy notion I would retire there.”

I sat taller, twisting my hands in my lap. “You wanted to retire on
Volière
?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to picture him bumbling around on an island as an old man all on his own. But he wouldn’t be alone. He would’ve found someone worthy if I hadn’t been sold to him. He would’ve fallen in love—eventually. A man like Q deserved to be loved unconditionally.

Still not looking at me, Q admitted, “A few years ago, I was dealing with a lot of shit. I had more slaves being rehabilitated than I could keep count of. The pressure of dealing half in the light and half in the fucking dark messed me up inside. All I wanted was peace. Serenity. Somewhere no one could find me. It seemed the perfect place.”

I understood his need for a bolt-hole. Somewhere he wouldn’t be judged or be a stranger in his own home. Keeping my voice low, so as not to shatter the gathering softness between us, I said, “That’s a good reason.”

Q looked over, his pale eyes delving into mine. “A good reason but no longer valid. I’ll never retire there. Not now.”

My heart beat harder at the thought of the future. I loved that I had the privilege of watching him age. I’d love every year as his dark hair turned to salt and pepper and the faint frown lines by his eyes became laugh lines instead. I didn’t picture him hidden away on an island though—it just didn’t fit.

I murmured, “No matter how hard I try I can’t visualize you sequestered on some wild oasis. You have too many people relying on you. You love your birds too much. Your…vocation. You’d miss France.”

Q’s forehead furrowed. He gave the impression I’d guessed right on every account. He may be well travelled and crave silence and space occasionally, but he was a French man to the last drop of blood. He would miss the local cuisine, the language. He would miss the seasons, and the satisfaction of his unique charity.

I would miss all of that, too. His life was now mine, and it couldn’t be more perfect. I couldn’t wait to help others, or be by his side while playing a real life game of monopoly. My university degree would be put to use, and I’d finally earn my place.

He chuckled, shedding some of the stress in his eyes. “Stupid idea, right?” He picked a non-existent piece of lint off his trousers. “I thought it was the only place I would find what I was looking for. That I could stop lying to myself and running from a past I can’t forget.” He suddenly looked up, his gaze blazing with jade fire. “I’ve grown up since then. There
is
no running, only accepting. I found what I needed the moment you entered my life. And as much as I dislike that the chateau belonged to my father, I finally have the inclination to turn it from his to ours.”

Ours.

Ours.

My lungs stuck together. “Ours?” I breathed.

Q twisted his body to face me. “Yes. Ours. Yours. Mine.
Ours
.” He gently took my hand, squeezing hard. “I no longer need
Volière
. Next time I speak to Frederick, I’ll get him to draw up the papers to sell it.”

I managed to suck in a reedy breath even as my eyes popped wide. “Just because you won’t retire there doesn’t mean you have to sell it.” I looked to where our hands were joined and couldn’t contain the sharp spasm of lust and love. “Keep it. I hate to think of that perfect wilderness being ruined.”

Q chuckled. “You were there for a moment. You can’t have grown attached.” His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, turning the faint awareness into something tangible and throbbing.

I licked my bottom lip, quickly becoming drunk on the thought of kissing him.

Q stiffened; his fingers clamped fiercely around mine. His eyes remained on my mouth. “If you want me to keep it, I will.”

“Just like that.”

“Juste comme ça.”
Just like that. His gaze flickered up, drawing fire and the beautiful wonderful feeling of want. I’d missed the flush; worried I’d be destined to be cold and lifeless inside. Q ran the pad of his thumb over my knuckles, sending shivers arching over my skin.

My entire body grew heavy, lethargic, spreading with warm, scrumptious anticipation. What were we talking about? Ah, yes,
Volière
. “I’ll never get used to your wealth.”

Q unwound my fingers from his, moving his palm to my hip. I jolted at the fierce shock of him touching me. Every second that passed the car fogged with whatever built between us. It dewed on my eyelashes, spreading lazy fronds through my heart.

Q’s hand drifted down my side where the seat-belt fastened. With his eyes locked on mine, he pressed the button and released me. The car continued to drift forward through traffic, shuttling us to who knew where in our own private world.

Tugging me forward, Q murmured, “Well, you better get used to it because it’s all yours. No pre-nups, no stupid documents or lawyers. As far as I’m concerned, every euro is yours.”

He didn’t stop pulling until I slid into his lap. Every inch I travelled over his rock hard thighs, I struggled to catch my breath. I existed purely on the lust-filled cognizance budding between us. “I can’t take it.”

I couldn’t take a penny from this man. Not after he’d given me so much. Even now he gave me so much in the form of remembrance—bringing my body back to life, filling me with liquid heat and joy.

Q’s right
. Getting married with the clouds hanging over our heads was a mistake. The clouds were building, thickening, filling with threatening thunder and lightning. The storm would ruin our fragile happiness in one strike. I didn’t want to risk losing this. Losing
him
.

I’d already lost myself—still trying to wiggle through the bars of my captivity to grasp freedom. I would never be the fierce young woman I’d been. I had to find who I was
now
, before I could give Q everything.

Q captured my hand, spinning the new ring on my wedding finger. The diamonds danced and pranced, set perfectly in wing-shaped gold.

“Knowing there’s a tracker in there—knowing I’ll always have you close, is the only reason why my migraines have given me a reprieve.” Q’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “You’ve cured me in so many ways
, esclave
, but you’ve ruined me in so many others.” He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles with barely hidden reverence.

“How? How have I ruined you?” I tingled where our bodies touched. His arm rested around my back, holding me close while his chest and legs cushioned me like a living chair.

Q chuckled, bringing his head up to nuzzle my throat. “In so many fucking ways. You’ve proven I’m not untouchable.” I shivered as the tip of his tongue licked me. “You’ve taught me how vulnerable I truly am.”

My head fell back as he tugged on the ends of my hair, forcing me to arch in his arms. “You’re not vulnerable, Q. Not ever.”

His teeth grazed across my neck and for a millisecond my heart raced with fear instead of lust. The sharpness of his teeth sent my lungs suffocating for breath.

If only I needed pain like I used to. If only I could accept what he would give. There was no doubt Q would eventually want to hurt me. It was who he was. Who I loved.

And when that day came, I would whimper and fight and pretend I loved every moment of it. I would force myself to come for him. I would train my body to accept and hide the stark reality that I no longer lusted for pain. He would never know. He never needed to realize my sacrifice or gift.