I ground my teeth. “How do you explain me staying in one of the most expensive hotels in Rome?” I rolled my eyes. “Did you even look at the check-in registry? Quincy Mercer—my fiancé—will be on the registration.”
Sergio placed his wrists on the table, linking his fingers together in a threatening display. “See, that’s where your little story falls apart. A man named Joseph Roy checked in with no extra guest into the suite earlier this evening.”
The breath in my lungs clogged, but then cleared in a rush. Of course Q wouldn’t travel under his real name. Not now. Not with men hunting him.
I winced as a spike to the heart caught me by surprise. It didn’t matter what precautions he’d taken—he’d still be stolen.
Stay alive. Please stay alive.
I placed my elbows on the table, pressing my forehead against my palms. The world had become too much. I never thought I would want to be in captivity again but at least being the one stolen lent a certain luxury to my fate. I either survived or died. I wasn’t responsible for someone else. I didn’t feel the weight of an entire galaxy pressing down upon me with every passing second of failure.
Tick…
Tock…
Sergio kicked back his chair, standing over me. “Do you wish to change any of the details you’ve given? Last chance to stop lying before I go run your records.”
I looked up. I didn’t have any effort to speak. I shook my head.
Without a word, he disappeared.
Tick…
Tock…
The clock taunted me with every passing second. One minute passed, then ten, then twenty.
My body vibrated with the need to run. I couldn’t sit there for too much longer without going certifiably insane. I felt so useless.
Finally the door opened. Sergio returned with a stack of paper and a blank face.
Grabbing the chair, he shuffled closer to the table, placing everything in front of him. He dragged out the suspense, spreading the papers, fanning them into some sort of order, driving me mad.
“Do you know what I found when I called up your file?” he asked, almost softly. He’d lost some of the arrogant tone. He still wasn’t friendly, but he seemed…what? Open to listening. Less likely to laugh and throw me in a cell and swallow the key?
I sat straighter, feeding off his change of mood. Hope trilled through me, fast and sweet. “I don’t know.” Glancing at the upside down copies, I couldn’t read them—all in Italian.
I’d never contemplated if I had a file. Briefly, when I returned home to Australia after Q sent me back, I wondered why the police hadn’t come knocking. I’d been reported as missing after all—but no one came to question, no one asked a thing.
Sergio held up a piece of paper. “It says here you were listed as missing by the Australian Federal Police. Then a few weeks later, your parents, Stephen and Mary Snow, closed your file under pretence of death overseas and asked for a death certificate.”
My chair legs squeaked against the floor as I jumped in dismay. A rush of grief mixed with disbelief. My own parents told the police to stop looking for me? They’d been so eager to close that messy chapter and become the grieving parents. All to garner the sympathy vote at their next bowling club rally.
I always knew they didn’t love me. It wasn’t news, but it still hurt like a bitch.
Sergio watched my reaction, but I kept my tormenting emotions free from my impassive face.
He continued, “Your file was closed, but then reopened when you magically reappeared, with no flight manifest or record of how you entered the country, and slotted right back into life with”—his eyes dropped to the paperwork—“Brax Cliffingstone.
“You retuned to university, finished your degree, then a month later picked up and flew to France.”
Shuffling the pages, he said, “Why wasn’t there a wrap-up interview from your disappearance. Why was there no closure or interrogation on your supposed kidnapping, brought to the attention of the AFP by Brax Cliffingstone? Care to explain how you had the AFP close your file with no conclusion whatsoever?”
The all-consuming love I had for my monstrous master overflowed. It was like swallowing a bowl of colourless light, trickling through my body, giving me strength I sorely need.
I laughed.
Q.
He tampered with my file. Somehow, he had contacts to ensure his anonymity and unique charity remained a secret. There was no explaining how I came into his company, or talking away the length of my stay at his chateau. So he did what he had to. He swept it all away.
God, I loved him. I’d never met a man with more resources, intelligence, or a bigger heart than him. And he was mine. And I was failing him by allowing this stupid cop to detain me.
I was done.
“Quincy Mercer can explain. Let me go and I’ll fetch him for you.”
Sergio ran a finger along his bottom lip. “Yes, and that brings me to him. You say you’re together? But I don’t see any mention of a marriage announcement or any news related articles of your relationship.”
Tick…
Tock…
I didn’t care. It no longer mattered.
I was getting out of there.
Now.
Crossing my arms, I demanded, “I want my phone call.”
He glowered, his black eyes battering me with law-keeping authority. But I wasn’t ruffled. I glowered right back, not backing down.
Finally, he huffed. “Fine.” He stalked to the door, holding it open. “This way.”
The moment light from the corridor bounced into the interrogation room, my heart leapt from my chest and flew away. Flew to find Q. Flew to give him hope.
I’m coming.
We’re coming.
I struggled to keep my feet slow and plodding as Sergio guided me through a typical police station with cubicle workstations, brown walls, and oscillating ceiling fans. The reek of burned coffee hung stagnant in the air.
He stopped beside a desk strewn with notes and empty cups. He pointed to a phone partially buried beneath manila files. “You have two minutes.”
Not for the first time, I thanked my photographic memory. Ever since Q gave me the note hidden in the pocket of the dress I’d worn back to Australia, I’d memorized his office number. It’d been embossed in gold on the heavy parchment of his business card.
By knowing his number, I felt like I’d never be too far from him—even while I slept beside Brax at night and went to university by day.
I also knew he allowed the office line to link to his home after hours. I just hoped either Frederick picked up or Suzette. Either would do. Both had Q’s power behind them. They would get Franco and me free.
Picking up the receiver, I curled over the handset, punching in the number. It connected.
And rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Please pick up. Terror squashed my hope like a bug. This was my only chance—who knew when I’d get another one. Who knew how much more time would pass.
Sergio looked at his watch.
Finally the ringing stopped, clicking into connection.
“Bonjour?”
Masculine.
For a flicker of a second, I suffered a stab of grief. I’d wanted to talk to Suzette. To lean on the girl who was so strong and my friend.
“Frederick,” I whispered.
“Tess?”
My heart bounced, whizzing into action. Frederick would get things done. He’d get us out.
“Yes, it’s me. Look, something happened.” The tears I’d been fighting all rushed in a quake, obstructing my throat. I forced through, cursing the wobble in my tone. “They took him.”
“It’s okay. I know. It’s all under control.”
His soothing voice robbed me of strength, knowing Q’s network of people were on the hunt. It wasn’t just me. I wasn’t alone in fighting for his life. “Thank God.”
At that point, I didn’t care about myself. All I cared abou
t was Frederick using the resources to find Q. I completely forgot about my predicament or why I’d called.
My mind shut down as I went into shock.
“Tess? You still there?”
I clutched the receiver, wishing I could stuff myself down the phone line and be with him. I wanted to be beside the man who Q called his best friend.
What about his other best friend?
Shit, Franco.
“Frederick. I need your help.” I pulled myself together, running a hand through my hair. “Franco and I—we’re in jail. We need you to get us out.”
I tensed, waiting for a barrage of questions. But he just chuckled. “You’re about ten minutes too late. Already done. You’ll be out within the hour.”
My mouth hung open. “Ho—how?”
“Money buys a lot of things, and contacts in high places is one of them.” His voice dropped. I pressed the phone harder to my ear. “He’s okay, Tess. The tracker stays active as long as there’s a heartbeat. It’s programed to emit a new signal if that changes.”
My heart seized. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ll know if they cut it out. The frequency would be interrupted. We’ll also know if they…”
If they what…
My heart lurched. He didn’t have to say anymore. I knew.
“If he dies….” My eyes turned blind, filling with liquid.
Frederick murmured, “It’s okay. That won’t happen. But yes. As long as his heart is beating, the tracker will guide us to him.”
I wanted to scream! I wanted to hunt every cocksucking motherfucking trafficker and drain them until they turned from human to withered corpse.
The sweetness inside rapidly faded in favour of ruthlessness. I grew harder—colder.
He’s still alive. Focus on that.
“Do you know where? Where is he?”
“He’s been moved. They’ve taken him to Spain.”
“Spain?”
The voices of the men who’d barged into our suite echoed in my ears. I’d been too afraid of Q being hit and then shot to pay any attention to nationality.
Sergio waved a hand in front of my face, tapping his watch. I wanted to bite his finger for being so cocky and horrible and ruining everything.
“Why? Why did they take him at all?”
Frederick sighed. “Because he pissed off a man called Lynx. And now the bastard wants payback.”
Half an hour later Franco and I zoomed in a taxi to the airport. Sergio had escorted us out of the building himself. Glaring as if we’d single-handedly robbed him of any accolades or good-doing by arresting us.
Franco looked as if he would hit him, so I was glad when a taxi coasted past the second the handcuffs were undone.
My fingers were wrapped around Franco’s phone, glued to the app that’d turned Q—my amazing tattooed sadistic lover—into a red blip on the screen.
Frederick was right.
Q was in Spain.
And alive. He was still alive.
I jumped a foot as Franco placed a hand on my knee. “You okay?”
He asked that a lot. I hated that I acted as if I needed reassurance. The meek girl I’d been slowly changed, embracing vengeance.
I nodded. I was numb with shock, high on hope, and shaking with terror—but yes, I was okay. “I’m alright.”
Franco nodded, leaning into the seat, adjusting his sling with a small groan.
Tearing my eyes from the red blip, I asked, “How about you. How are you holding up?”
His piercing green eyes were tight with pain; his forehead furrowed as whatever painkillers the doctors had given wore off.
He gave me a cold smile, his teeth glinting in the streetlights whizzing past the window. “I’ll be a lot happier the minute I’ve shot some motherfucking rapists.” He sighed. “Seriously, I just want to find Mercer and then crash—for a thousand years.”
He winced as the taxi bounced over a pothole. Squeezing his eyes, he muttered, “You’ve always had strong instincts, Tess. Right from the beginning. What are they telling you now?” He kept his eyes closed but his body hummed with tension. “Would you say they’re keeping him for ransom or torture?”
Torture.
I didn’t need to think. Or guess.
The most morbid conclusion doused my system in horror. No matter how I tried to deny it. I couldn’t stop the images.
Fingernails being pulled.
His beautiful strong body being mutilated.
His gorgeous tattoo being sliced from his chest.
My tummy rolled; I slapped a hand over my mouth. Swallowing hard, I forced away the toe-curling images and worked on blanking my mind.
Franco sucked in a breath. “That bad, huh. Shit.”
I wouldn’t speak my nightmares—I didn’t want to give them power. But I did know as long as I was alive, I wouldn’t let that happen. Curling my hands, I hissed, “I’m sick of evil intervening with my life. I’m sick of paying a toll for doing nothing more than falling in love. Whoever this bastard is who took Q—he’s going to scream before I let him die.”
Franco twisted in the seat, his aura thickening, darkening, filling the taxi cab with a threat so ferocious it scared even me. His eyes flashed green fire. “And if I could make that wish come true?”
“What wish?”
“That I’d help you make him scream. That I’d allow you to do the honours to avenge your man. Would you be able to pull the trigger, Tess? Have you fully faced your nightmares to do for Q what he did for you?”
My skin prickled with foreboding. Franco looked cold, calculating, already slipping into the persona of a killer.
My heart thumped harder, my soul churning with a complex mix of right and wrong. Was I bluffing? Could I take a life? For all my bravado, when it came down to it—could I make a grown man scream before stealing his life?
“Shoot her, puta.”
“Do it or we’ll snap her fingers until you do.”
I swallowed hard against the bile searing my throat.
Could I once again become a murderer and welcome more grime into my soul?
My eyes closed.
Q sprang to mind. Covered in blood, his incredible beauty ravaged by horror. They did that to him.
Gruesome heat.
Blood- smeared men.
Screams.
A cold-hearted power filled me. I was protecting what was mine.Je suis à lui. I was his. Retribution superseded right or wrong.
It reverted me to nothing more than a mate fighting for her lover. Delivering justice like for like.
I would rip out the hearts of the men who hurt him. I would willingly butcher and torture and maim.
I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I would never stop being haunted by Blonde Hummingbird or Angel. But this time, it was the right thing to do. I wanted to hunt.
Q wanted me to stand by his side and help women who didn’t have someone fighting on their behalf. Someone had to clean up the garbage in the world. He trusted me to be strong enough.
I am.
“Yes.” My voice sliced through the thick cloud between us, sounding vicious, merciless. “I’m ready to kill.”
Franco nodded, his lips twisting into a grim smile. “Who are you, Tess?”
“I’m his. I’m Tess. I’m his esclave.”
The final piece that was missing—the final piece that made me me—slotted into place. My true identity.
I’m a survivor. I’m strong. I’m ready.
Franco’s face darkened with fierce pride. “And what do you want?”
“I want them to die. I want the blood of the men who took him to grow cold and turn to rust.”
Franco reached into his holster, pulling out one of the guns Sergio had returned.
Handing it to me, he muttered, “Good answer.” His voice dropped to a guttural growl, “I’ll be beside you every step.”
The sun warms my feathers, the updraft in my wings, linked souls for eternity, you’ll now wear my ring r />
*Five minutes after capture*
Fucking bastards.
Low life scum. They thought they could come into my life and fucking march me away like some weak prick?
Every step traded my sadness and sense of duty to protect Tess and turned it into livid rage. I saw red. I tasted blood. My body burned for retribution.
I’d done all I needed. We were out of sight—away from Tess. I could strike. My hands balled by my sides as a man with brown hair and wrinkles prodded my ribcage, forcing me off the elevator. My thigh was sticky with blood, seeping into the fabric, but the pain was absent. I had too much else to focus on.
You’ll be the first to die.
The lights of the lobby hurt my eyes—stabbing me with the knowledge I was letting go of the good inside me. I didn’t need to unlock the cage this time…the beast took complete control. I was surprised I still thought in words and sentences and not in blood and gore.
I wanted them all dead. Every single one.
I wanted their souls for scaring Tess after everything I’d done to fix her.
Leaving the brightness of the lobby, I slammed to a halt as two non-descript sedans pulled up to the curb. I wouldn’t be getting in the car.
Spinning around, I punched the man behind me. My knuckles smashed against cartilage and I smiled. Payback.
“Ah, fuck!” He stumbled backward.
Blood spurted from his nose. The crunch of bone resonated sweetly in my snarling brain. He cursed in Spanish, waving for two men to grab my arms.
I ducked, swinging in their direction, but a third man grabbed me from behind. No doorman saw, no pedestrians passed. Our fight went unnoticed as the men wrenched my arms behind my back, deliberately tugging too far. My shoulders bellowed. The old gunshot wound in my bicep from Red Wolverine screamed. “Je peux encore vous tuer avec mes mains liées derrière le dos, bâtards.” I can still kill you with my hands tied behind my back, you assholes.
I’d let myself be corralled from the hotel room to protect Tess. It didn’t mean I’d go any further without a fight. It would be their blood drawn first. Not mine.
“Stop talking in French. How about we just kill you now—save the trouble?” The man I’d punched fisted me hard in the stomach. I doubled over, winded. Sucking in air, I swallowed the pain.