Turning on the tap, I splashed my face with cold water, glaring at my reflection. Man the fuck up and do it.
Pacing to the door, I tore it open. My hands opened and closed as adrenaline filtered through my limbs.
Tess didn’t wake, comatose with the devils inside her. If I had my way it would be the last nightmare she ever had. Tonight I would enter her thoughts and slaughter every last fucking one.
Prowling through the darkness, I found the wardrobe and wrenched it open. A small light came on, highlighting a multitude of dressing gowns. Towel, fleece, silk, and cotton.
Ripping out a silk sash, I ran the material through my fingertips. It was soft, cool, and black. Perfect.
Grabbing another belt from a cotton dressing gown, I yanked it to see if it stretched. Just a little give. Good to know.
With the belts clutched in my hands, I faced the bed.
Tess whimpered, her hands bunching the sheets. From here, her face was flushed, not deathly white. She was close to waking.
I moved forward, glad of the dark. It was my friend, my ally. The accomplice in what I was about to do.
The bed hit my knees. I climbed onto the mattress, crawling forward till I positioned myself hovering over Tess. My fists indented the bed either side of her head as she slept.
I allowed myself a moment to drink her in. To trace the almost disappeared bruises on her arms. To grow hard staring at her perfect figure. But it was the brand on her neck that enraptured me.
The angry burn settled the growling monster inside. She would never be able to remove the scar. She’d announced permanently she would never leave me. No matter what I did to her.
My heart lurched, willingly allowing a small flavour of anger and darkness to settle.
Tonight was the last night she would suffer. Tonight, I would kill the past and invoke a new future.
By doing to her what the other cocksuckers had done before.
I’d broken the hold of her rape by giving her a new memory. I took her in the shower—replacing Lefebvre with me—turning horror into something more liveable.
I didn’t think it would work. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do.
But it did work. And I had to believe it would again.
I was about to make Tess relive everything.
I was about to stamp out the past and replace each incident with a new memory.
I was about to kidnap my fiancée.
Bind our twisted perversions, love me dark, leave your mark. love my faults and imperfections
My night and day, my moon and sun, your light turns my black to glittering grey
“Do it, puta!”
I’d held off as long as I could. I’d fought and raged and been beaten for my troubles. But I couldn’t disobey any longer.
I pulled the trigger.
The bullet lodged inside Blonde Angel’s forehead.
With a whoosh of black swirls and icy wind, the dream unlatched its claws from my subconscious. Winds buffeted as Leather Jacket and blood and dead women snuffed out. I sailed up, up, up through the grotesque memories and back to reality.
Only this time. I didn’t wake up to Q’s arms around me and his kisses in my hair.
I woke up to a fate worse than death.
My instincts understood before my mind, dousing me in howling fear.
It’s happening again.
It was dark. Quiet. Serene. A lie. The worst kind of lie.
I’m not safe!
Heavy masculine breathing brushed my face as two large hands exploded through the shadows—reaching for me, going for my eyes.
No!
In an awful second, time screeched to a halt and two things happened. Two major things that showed just how much I’d changed from when they’d taken me in Mexico.
The first was I shut down.
I switched off.
All the passion and rage and spirit when I fought Leather Jacket was replaced with cold calculating numbness. For a moment all I wanted to do was give up. To let my heart cease its ragged beat and let the inevitable happen. After all, fighting didn’t work.
How many times must fate slap the same lesson in my face before I understood giving up was my only option?
Darkness even worse than night stole my eyesight. Something cool and slightly slimy was pressed over my face. The brush of strong hands on my ears made my skin crawl—the pressure of the blindfold sent my heart into a fulcrum, spinning faster than anything before.
Give in. Just give in.
I sent the message to my muscles: relax. Time for evil to win. But something stopped me from being a victim. Something deep, too deep to switch off.
And that was the second thing. Smashing away the weakness of prey, filling me with fire. Energy I no longer knew swirled from nowhere, seesawing my emotions between complete submission and rage so brittle and blizzard-cold, I no longer knew myself.
Fight. Kill. Or die trying.
My instincts catalogued everything. My attackers position, his breathing, the pressure of the blindfold on my eyes. His knees were on either side of my waist, the only weight came from his hands on my temples, holding the blindfold in place. The mattress dipped as he shifted.
I stayed prone and frozen, even while I sparked and conducted a battle inside. A battle of acceptance or murder.
My hands curled, calling forth the reckless survival I’d always tapped into. Half of me lamented—give in! Fate would never let me be free—I would never deserve Q. I couldn’t afford to keep paying these unpayable tolls. But the other half couldn’t give up. It wasn’t in my genetic code to allow something so precious to be stolen.
A never ending second ticked past where my heart whizzed faster and faster until my chest bled with fear. Neither of us moved. No needle was shoved into my arm; no curse was sworn in my ear. It was as if he waited. Paused to see what I would do.
A test then?
A test to see if I’d finally become the perfect possession to be traded. Had White Man won after all? Had he broken me by letting me believe in the falsity of safety?
The epitome of brokenness was no longer caring. No longer functioning. No longer willing to exist.
Am I broken?
The blunt question sliced through my brain—taunting me with the weakness of the word.
The ultimate question was did I want to die?
I don’t want to die.
Did I want to live?
I don’t want to live like this anymore.
I grew hotter. Madder.
They’d taken everything. They’d taken too much. And yet they’d come back for more.
It isn’t fair.
I filled with resentment. Furiousness.
What are you going to do about it?
The confusion inside grew hot, evaporating to steam, billowing faster and faster with anger.
I won’t. I won’t be broken.
I was stronger. I was a fighter. I would die being true to myself.
I was livid. I was rabid. I went insane.
My mouth opened; I screamed, “Not this time, you fucking asshole.” The tense moment shattered, raining around us in shards as I switched.
The frozen victim became a crazed warrior. I wanted his blood.
The man grunted in shock; his hands grabbed chunks of my hair—keeping my head locked against the mattress.
The pain in my scalp was nothing. Did he think I cared about a little agony after everything I’d been through?
Jerking manically, I screamed again, tearing the follicles free from my scalp. The pain reminded me of something I’d forgotten. Something I should never have taken for granted.
I’m Tess Snow.
And I would survive or die. I was done just existing.
The grip on my hair fell away. Fumbling hands tried to tie the blindfold behind my head, but I would no longer make it easy for him.
My hands flew up, connecting with a bristle-covered jaw. The facial growth shot an image of Q into my head. Where was he?
/>
My heart ruptured and tore and shattered into useless pieces. They’ve hurt him. They’d stolen him—that was why he wasn’t there to save me. The thought of never seeing Q again was the last of my undoing. I was free. Utterly free from everything but that moment.
“You hurt him!” My fingers curled, turning nails into weapons as I dragged them down his face. “I’ll make you pay.”
My assailant reared back but I moved with him, slicing, swiping, connecting with his face, neck, and throat. His arms came up, knocking my hands away, but he didn’t pounce or pummel me into unconsciousness.
I didn’t know why he hesitated, but it would cost him. Never again would I let them take me. I either won this or I died. Two options and I didn’t really care which one.
The man’s legs stayed pinned on either side of me, squeezing, trying to keep me from wiggling free, but he didn’t have what I had: the clarity of destiny.
My mind turned blank. The fear of what had happened to Q disappeared. All I focused on was killing.
With curled hands, I struck anywhere I could. His chest, his thighs, his jaw. Each strike was met with an angry growl but no retaliation.
His hands tried to capture my wrists, but my anger made me a flailing mess to catch. The world spun and spun as I sucked in too much air.
White-noise crackled, roaring in my ears, deafening me to everything but my strumming heartbeat.
The sheets wrapped around my legs as I kicked and squirmed. His weight kept me trapped, so I did the only thing I could—I launched upright and head-butted him.
Stars.
Shooting stars. Comets. Fireworks.
Bright light replaced the darkness of my blindfold as our skulls clacked together.
The man groaned, cursing low. He rolled off me, dropping off the bed.
The instant I was free, I ripped the blindfold off. Not that it helped in the dark. Instead of running, I attacked.
Throwing myself onto the floor, I latched onto his back, punching everywhere I could. The pain in my knuckles was vengeance.
He reached behind, grabbing my naked flesh to toss me off him. The carpet cushioned my fall. I kicked hard as I could in his direction. My bare foot connected with something far more perfect than a knee or thigh. It hit his prized possession.
“Fuck!” he roared.
My body stuttered just for a moment. That voice. Then white-noise stole me again, keeping me focused on my task. I shook my head. I refused to listen. I wouldn’t listen. Not to lies or promises or even the voice of the man who I loved more than anything. It wasn’t his voice. It couldn’t be, and I refused to be side-tracked from murder.
“Fucking bastard. What did you do? Where is he?” The anger and sheer-minded confidence was like a long lost lover, cocooning me with belief—belief I could win. How had I been so weak? How did I forget this velvety power of self-reliance?
I laughed suddenly. I was grateful. Even though I would kill him. He’d returned to me what I thought was lost forever.
Not one tear leaked from my eyes. Not one plea or beg. I was free.
Then a body collided with mine, slamming me against the floor. His hard form stole the breath from my lungs. My strength and fire flickered, sucking me back into tameless horror.
I went berserk.
Legs, arms, fingers—my entire body became a weapon.
“Fuck me,” he grunted, his voice hidden by the rage roaring in my ears.
Expect it. Any moment.
I tensed for pain. I knew it was coming. He hadn’t hit me yet, but he would. I’d drawn blood—I tasted it in the air. I’d made him angry—I felt it in his fingers as he tried to stop my flailing fists. He would strike and soon.
Kill him!
“Let me fucking go!” In a twist and a huge surge of power, I knocked his hands away and slapped him. My throat burned I breathed so hard.
“Fucking hell, stop!”
Stop? And make his kidnapping easy? As if.
I kicked, grinning with delusion when something crunched beneath my foot. Suddenly, he let me go, his body climbing off mine. I yelped as a hand wrapped around my ankle, dragging me toward the table at the bottom of the bed.
“No!” Carpet burn scalded my back. I tried to jerk out of his grip, but his fingers bit harder.
Something skidded off the table, slamming to the floor.
“Goddammit.”
That voice again. My heart lost its violent rage, coughing with confusion.
Then his body was back on mine, slamming my head down, planting a palm over my mouth. This was it. He’d inject me with something and steal me away. My chance to either die or kill would be taken from me.
He spun me onto my stomach, pressing my face against the carpet. With a sharp knee wedged in my lower back, he wrenched my arms behind my back, wrapping something unyielding but soft around my wrists.
Our harsh breathing filled the room. I wriggled, kicked, did everything I could but my female form was no match for his brute muscle. Adrenaline had made me strong but not strong enough.
The moment my wrists were bound, he climbed off me, leaving me gulping back tears and rage.
Every last inch of energy swirled in my chest—ready to fight and fight and fight, but a switch clicked on, drenching us with light.
Light.
Beautiful, all-seeing light.
Black-clad legs stalked past my vision. I couldn’t understand.
The legs folded to kneel beside me, flipping me onto my back. My eyes locked onto my kidnapper. Onto my lover, protector, husband to be.
The adrenaline disappeared with a bang, drenching my muscles in disbelief.
Q panted above me, his face an unreadable mask. His hot palm slammed over my lips as he dragged his other hand through his hair. His eyes were wild. “Fucking hell. I’ve lost my fucking mind.”
And just like that the freedom from pain and past was gone. I snapped back to the Tess who no longer knew how to fight. I shivered as everything hot and true abandoned me.
My gaze flared wide. Had he finally snapped and embraced the darkness I always knew lived within him? Was he sleepwalking? What the hell is happening?
Fear overshadowed everything; another shiver went through me. I wanted to speak but he never released my mouth. I wiggled, trying to convey my wishes in my gaze.
Let me go! Talk to me!
Q’s eyes blazed. “Don’t move, Tess. For God’s sake and all that’s fucking holy. Do. Not. Move.”
Forcing my breathing to slow, I obeyed.
Even though every molecule inside pinged and ricocheted, I lay like a corpse as Q menaced above like some son of the underworld. Dressed all in black he looked like a deliverer of death himself.
He shut his eyes, slowly removing his hand from my mouth. Dragging it over his face, he sucked in a gulp, then another. Blackness shimmered around him. “I didn’t think you’d fight. I thought you’d be too broken to fight. Goddammit, if I knew you’d be so strong—that it would affect me like this—shit.”
Suddenly, he hurled himself upright and slammed his fist into the wall. “Shit, shit, shit.” He stumbled to the bed, sitting heavily. His splayed legs cradled his head as he rolled forward, grabbing his messy hair with white fingers. “A quoi je pensais, putain?” What the fuck was I thinking?
I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I had no idea what was going on.
Q trembled with his head bowed, his large body locked with whatever issues he fought.
I didn’t know how much time passed but the room returned to its peaceful silence. My shoulders and wrists ached from lying on them. Twisting my aching body, I managed to clamber to my knees. Shuffling forward, I whispered, “Q—”
Q held up his hand. “Don’t come near me, Tess. Not yet. This was a big fucking mistake. How did I think I could do this to you when it’s too close—scarily close to…” He didn’t continue but I knew his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken them.
It was scarily close to all the badness inside
him—the true fantasy. The ultimate wish to steal me away and use me. No consent. No love. Just pure dominance.
Inching my way across the carpet, I didn’t care about my nakedness or even the goosebumps covering my skin. A metre separated us and all I wanted was to go to him. It was imperative we fix this. Otherwise, it had the power to destroy us.
“Q…”
A minute ticked past, then five, then ten. Finally, his back straightened. He smoothed his hair with shaky hands, looking up. His face was colourless, eyes wild and deadly. “I’m out of my mind.” His lips curled in a cold smile. “I’m—God, I don’t even know anymore.”
I’d never seen him so lost—so threatening but unsure. His gaze begged me to forgive him while his body stiffened with self-hatred.
“You’re not out of your mind.”
Q snarled, “I am.” He punched himself in the chest. “How else do you explain my reasoning to do what I just did? How could I? To you—my God, Tess, you’ve already been through so much without me putting you through more. Fuck!” He punched the mattress, his knuckles pounding the sheets.
I shifted closer, welcoming the heat of his anger. “Whatever you were trying to do, it was for the right reasons.”
Q snorted, looking manic. “The right reasons? And what if I can’t remember it? What if I got so caught up, I let you think they’d come back for you? What sort of fucked-up bastard does that?” He shook his head, breaking eye contact. “You don’t know what it felt like. Having you fight me—truly, truly fight me. You were so fucking fierce, and I wanted nothing more than to take you hard.”
His hand fell to grip between his legs. “I want you so fucking bad, esclave. It’s tearing me up inside to even admit that—admit to wanting to take you by force, especially after what happened today.”
His lips pursed; he shook his head with weighty sadness. “Les bonnes raisons ...merde...” The right reasons…shit…
My heart rabbited at the immense pain in his voice. Whatever he’d been trying to do, I hated to think of him so lost. He had blood on his hands for me. It was a debt I would never be able to repay. If he wanted to take me—to crave the lust inside—then I’d let him.