Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark) (45 page)

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. If they were here to help then great…but if they weren’t…

Franco tensed, pushing me away to stand on his own two feet. His jaw ticked as he shoved his bloody, thumb-missing hand into his pocket.

A detective with slicked black hair and greying temples climbed off the lift, coming toward us. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay, sir? Ma’am?”

My heart latched itself to my voice box; I squeaked some stupid reply. My instincts were prickling, warning. I didn’t like him. I didn’t like this. Which was ridiculous as they were the law. We’d done nothing wrong—we were the victims. So why did I suddenly feel like a criminal?

The detective’s gaze fell on Franco, taking in his bloody clothing and protective stance. “What happened here tonight?”

Franco glowered. “Nothing. What are you doing here?”

The officer scowled. “We don’t have to explain our presence to you. Especially when it looks as if we’ve come to a scene of a serious crime.” His eyes pierced mine, looking me up and down.

I was aware of how I must look: white face, smudged mascara, and a jitter that looked as if I was high and needing my next fix. How could I explain the adrenaline in my system was from watching my lover be shot and marched away?

“Ma’am. Did this man hurt you?” His hand fell to his holstered weapon.

“What? No!” I leapt in front of Franco. “Not at all. Look we—”

“Tess—shut up.” Franco yanked me back by my jeans loop. Looking at the officer, he snapped, “You’re interfering. This is a private undercover operation. Now, let us pass.”

The officer’s eyebrow rose; his chest puffed out, swelling with testosterone. “You’re not going anywhere until I determine what occurred here tonight.” Taking out a notepad from his breast pocket, he scanned his notes. “Do you know anything about an indecent exposure incident that happened about thirty minutes ago? A passer-by said they saw a disturbance in one of the suites on this floor.” His eyes zeroed in on Franco. “According to witnesses, a woman whose face was covered was forced against the glass while an unseen male had intercourse with her. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

Franco threw me an incredulous look, his eyes yelling a message:
Q did what?

I would’ve blushed if I had any blood left in my head—it’d all congealed in my feet leaving me ice cold. The
one
time I let go and it landed me in police custody.

Shit, what could I do?
Lie.

My instincts said to run. I needed to run before they—

“You’re under arrest,” the officer announced. “I don’t care if you had nothing to do with that charge. You’re covered in blood and running from the location of a complaint. You’re both coming with us until we can find the truth of this matter.”

Oh no
. No!

“Sir, it isn’t what you think. Please—” I begged.

“Tess, shut—” Franco began, only to groan in agony as the officer grabbed his elbow, tearing his hand from his pocket to secure metal handcuffs.

“Che cazzo?!”
The officer’s mouth fell open, staring at Franco’s butchered hand. The tie wrapped around the stump dripped crimson all over the pristine snowy carpet. The detective glared at us, confusion and a slight thread of fear entering his black gaze. “Someone better start talking about what happened here tonight.”

I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. This was beyond the realms of comprehension. Q had been stolen by men who would kill him—and we were being detained by a foreign police force who would delay us until it was too late.

A bubble of insane tearful laughter threatened to break.

Franco snapped, “Get me to the hospital. I’m not in a position to answer questions, as you can clearly see.”

Policemen returned from scouting our suite. “All clear, boss. No one’s there. However, we found blood and believe there were a few men who have left the premises.”

My heart lurched. Yes, they’d left.
With Q
. Hell, this was awful. My mind raced with thoughts of stealing a gun. I could hold one of them hostage to get out of the building.

But Franco couldn’t run.
Shit.

“Arrest the woman. Take her for questioning. Take the man to the hospital.”

Franco and I yelled at the same time: “No! I have to go with him.” “She has to come with me.”

The detective pursed his lips, deliberating. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. Take them both to the hospital. I expect to be able to interview them in a few hours.”

I bit my lip, fighting the horror that had become my life as my arms were wrenched behind my back and the cold lick of handcuffs settled around my wrists. Franco wasn’t cuffed, only barred by two large policemen, caging him in with black uniforms and unclipped guns.

“Come on,” a policeman grumbled. I trembled, fighting another wave of nausea. Once again—this was my fault. It was my breasts strangers had seen. My little exposé that ended with us being marched away like heathens.

Then livid anger filled me. If these men turned out to be the reason Q died, I would hunt down every last one and murder them in their sleep.

I wouldn’t let them stop me from finding him. I’d become a wanted fugitive before I let that happen.

Franco looked over his shoulder. His emerald eyes looked like terrible glinting gems.
“Ne dis rien. Tout est sous contrôle.”
Don’t say a word. I have everything under control.

I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe that whatever plan was in action it would save Q even while we rotted in some Italian cell. But pessimism was my new friend and the black void of grief tempted, called to me.

We were stuffed into the lift side by side. Franco bent his head to my ear. “He isn’t lost, Tess. He put a tracker in your engagement ring—did you not think he’d do the same precaution for himself? Especially when he knew he’d stirred up the attention of fuckwits who would try to kill him?”

I froze, his hot breath on my ear giving me much needed information.

I kept my voice low, aware of the six other men in the lift with us. “He’s got a tracker in a ring?” Q didn’t wear jewellery. And we weren’t married yet so he didn’t have a wedding ring.

Franco shook his head. “Not a ring. Deeper than that.” He tapped the underside of his wrist, raising an eyebrow. The puzzle slotted into place.

Oh, my God. Q wore a tracker.

Not in jewellery or clothing or something that could easily be removed. He’d gone further than that. He’d given himself the best chance at being found even if they stripped him naked and threw away all his possessions.

He’d tagged himself like a pet—micro-chipped his body so his army of guards could follow his trail and bring him home.

He wasn’t lost.

It was just up to us to find him before it was too late.

Time had become my number one nemesis.

Four hours.

Four long, excruciating, teeth-clenching hours.

Every second drifted me further away from Q. Every minute built a wall I would have to clamber over to find him. Is this how he felt when searching for me? This crippling helplessness?

Tick…

Tock…

Franco had been rushed to surgery to reattach his thumb. He refused to allow them to put him under, settling instead with a local anaesthetic to endure the procedure.

His list of injuries curdled my stomach.

Mild concussion. Dislocated shoulder. Twisted kneecap. Missing thumb. Not including the multiple contusions, bruises, and scrapes from the assholes who’d almost killed him in order to get to Q.

I lived an entire lifetime in those four hours. More than one. Multiple.

I went insane—hemmed in a private room, barricaded by two police officers waiting for Franco. At least they’d removed the handcuffs, but I was no less a prisoner.

My mind was my enemy, constantly flinging horror and torture of Q’s demise. I finally gritted my teeth, humming nonsense under my breath, just to keep my brain occupied and not conjuring such awfulness.

Three times the officers tried to question me. Three times I refused. I wouldn’t talk—not until I knew what Franco wanted me to say. I wasn’t privy to what was in motion outside our sad little group. I didn’t want to ruin Q’s chances any more than I already had by being so reckless in a foreign country and getting arrested.

I looked up as the white door swung open. Franco was wheeled into the room by an orderly. One arm was in a sling, leading to a thick bandage around his hand. Only the tips of his fingers showed.

His face was black and yellow as bruises painted him like a watercolour.

I shot off the bed where I’d been going mad with waiting. The door swung closed behind the man in scrubs. “Are you okay? Did it work?” I looked at the bandage, eyeing it for any sign of a thumb tip. My eyes widened. “But there’s no…”

“They tried, but the way the cocksuckers smashed the joint means it’s pretty much useless. Plus, this is a local hospital. They don’t have too many specialists on call unless I’m flown elsewhere.”

I was torn. Completely cleaved down the centre. I wanted to run after Q but I didn’t want Franco to live a thumbless life. Hell, that was the most important finger. I would be on my own. “Well, go. Tell me what the plan is and leave. I’ll do the rest.”

He shook his head. “I signed the paperwork already. Even if they did manage to attach it, I’d have to stay in for observation for a week. This way, I only have to pop in for a check-up in twenty-four hours.” His eyes flashed. “I refuse to sit on my broken ass. Not while he’s out there. A thumb can wait—we don’t know…” his voice trailed off, filling me with terror.

We don’t know what they’re doing to him.

The sentence was left unsaid but it might as well have been scrawled in permanent marker and left to drift around like a haunting banner. It was undeniable which made it all the more awful.

“As much as I’m grateful for your loyalty to him, you can’t throw away your thumb.”

He shrugged. “I’m a millionaire thanks to Q’s generosity. Plus, he’s fucking loaded. If I save his scrawny ass, I know he won’t mind forking out for some crazy expensive, new-fangled robot thumb.” Franco locked the wheelchair with his good arm, flipped up the footholds, and held out his hand. “Now help me up. We’re leaving.”

Going to the side, I grabbed his elbow. I did the best I could to hoist his bulk from the chair. The moment he stood, he limped to the wardrobe where the doctors had put his clothes and with no embarrassment whatsoever untied the backless hospital gown and let it fall.

I coughed, averting my eyes. But not before I got an eyeful. He was built bigger than Q. Stocky, hard-packed muscle that wasn’t as elegant as Q’s sleek sensual form. But what he lacked in sexual appeal he made up for in sheer power.

He hopped and cursed, wrangling his trousers up over the bandage around his knee to his hips. With his face scrunched in concentration, he zipped his fly one-handed. Once that part of him was covered, he turned, holding out his blood-stained shirt.

“Help me. I can’t do it.”

Keeping my eyes downcast, I took the clothing and moved to his side to carefully remove his arm from his sling. “Did they put your shoulder back into place?” I kept my voice low, distracting him as I pushed the cuff over his hand, drawing it upward.

He gritted his teeth. “Yes, it’s workable, just sore. It’ll swell soon, and it’ll get worse before it gets better, but I’ll live.”

“You’ve done it before?”

He chuckled, wincing as I wrapped the shirt around his back. “I’ve been with Q for a while, Tess. I’ve been in worse condition.
He’s
been in worse. And we’ve both walked away, while the ones who challenged us didn’t.”

His body vibrated with dangerous tension; I allowed his strength to wash over me. Being around him half-naked made me extremely uncomfortable, but also strangely calmed me. I trusted in his abilities to bring Q home.

Franco placed his arm back for me to slink up the other cuff, settling the shirt into place. Once it clung to his shoulders, he faced me with a quirked eyebrow. “Do it up, please. Missing a thumb over here.”

I laughed which turned into a weird snort-sob thing.

Q, I’m missing you so damn much.

I wanted someone to reassure me. I wanted a crystal ball to know he would survive and stay in one piece until we found him. It felt so wrong doing such normal things when every instinct inside wanted to hunt and murder.

Franco dropped the quip in his voice. “We’ll find him, Tess. You’ll see. The only one losing any body parts is me. After all, I’m the bodyguard. I take the hard hits so he doesn’t have to.” His large knuckles brushed under my eye, catching a renegade tear. “Believe me. I’m not going to let him die.”

Franco was strong; I had to trust him. It was just easier thought than done.

The door swung open just as I finished securing the last button. A doctor, with hair so black it looked like polished obsidian, blinked in surprise. “What do you think you are doing? You’re not discharged. Get back into bed, sir.”

Franco growled under his breath. “I’m done. I’ve allowed you to poke and prod me. But now I’m leaving. I thank you for your expertise, but you can’t hold me against my will.”