Tears of Tess
Page 16

“Take off your sweater.” His eyes dropped to the weight of my br**sts under the jumper. Rather than excitement, fear, anticipation, I felt nothing—heavenly nothing. He towered above like the God of sex, his erection straining against his trousers, calling to me.
I grabbed the hem and tugged the sweater over my head in one swoop. I stood and reached for his waist. His skin burned as I touched his hipbone.
His breath came faster, looking hungrily at my bra. It was so nice not to feel. If Brax watched me the way Q did, I’d have hidden my stomach, worried about the birthmark in the valley of my br**sts, worried if he loved me even with flaws. Here, I didn’t care.
“Give me your bra.” He held out a hand, waiting. His jaw worked as I reached behind and unclasped the lacy cups. I dangled it between my forefinger and thumb, passing it to him. My ni**les pinpointed and ached. His gaze thrilled my body, heating my vacancy into need.
Not looking away, Q’s fingers latched around my hand, accepting the bra. His thumb caught my barcode tattoo; the burn made me wince. The tinkle of delicate silver summoned his eyes and he frowned.
Brax’s bracelet.
The void I floated in evaporated. Memories roared back.
Brax.
Mexico.
Pain.
Leather Jacket.
My mind woke, latching onto things I wished I could forget. No. No, stay. Don’t go back.
Q’s jaw tightened as I tugged my hand back, skin crawling. How did I come to be only in my knickers, standing in front of him? Everything was foggy; a dream I couldn’t quite grasp.
Q snapped his fingers around my wrist. Leaning forward, he peered deep into my soul. His thumb played with the bracelet, sending the cool silver spinning. “Who gave you this?”
My breathing accelerated; I gulped. Don’t answer.
But I didn’t need to answer. His face flashed with triumph, body settled into a taunting stance. “Someone you care about gave you this. Do you think I should let you keep it?” He tugged and the metal bit into my skin. Any more pressure and he’d snap it.
Tess, go back. Leave and float. Who cares about a bracelet? He can have it. Brax can buy you another.
My heart stuttered to a slamming halt. But if Brax died back on the bathroom floor, I’d never get another. It was the only thing I had left.
Fight ruptured and I attacked. My nails swiped his cheek as I barrelled into him. I screamed as we fell to the floor. Q yelled something and snatched at my wrist. The silver tried to stay intact, but broke with a tiny clink, landing on the carpet beside Q’s head.
Brax!
I yelled and shoved. Q covered his face as I went savage, reaching for the ruined jewellery. Throat tight, I lunged, but Q was too fast. He rolled so I ended up beneath him on the grey carpet. He pinned my arms with effortless power that made me hate him more. How could I think I could beat him when he subdued me like an annoying butterfly?
Licking his lips, passion raged on his face. “There you are. Don’t switch off again. I forbid it.”
I was back to this horrible life, I fought. My hands curled and bucked, hating how my na**d br**sts jiggled as I tried to get free.
Q grunted and sat up, straddling me, cupping my br**sts. “What is your name?” His lips pulled back from his teeth as he twisted my ni**les sending shocks of pleasure-pain through my system. “What is your name, goddammit? Tell me.”
I glared with every dagger of hatred inside.
Silence.
My tongue knotted against ever saying my name again. It was mine. Not his. I never wanted to hear him say it. “Never!”
Q shuddered with a mixture of unnamed emotion and slapped me. My eyes smarted as heat hurt with embarrassment, rather than pain. He f**king slapped me!
“Merde!” he swore. Standing, he scooped the bracelet from the carpet and dangled it above. “This is mine. You are mine. Get that through your head if you ever want it back.”
I scrambled to my knees, reaching for it. No, he couldn’t take it. It linked to my past, linked to Brax, to who I was deep inside—the tame, sweet girl who wanted nothing more than to belong.
Tears caught in my throat. “I told you what you want. I’m yours. Please, give it back. I’m yours!”
His powerful body tightened, buttoning his blazer with precise movements. The silver tantalized in his fingers before he shoved it into a suit pocket. “You say the words but you don’t believe it. I told you. I don’t like liars.”
He turned and opened the door, fingers turning white around the doorknob. “Stay up here. Your punishment for not obeying is starvation. Good night.”
Swiping his face, he left.
Chapter 12
*Wren*
That night, I dreamed.
I dreamed of red and passion and violence. Of being taken, owned, possessed—of Q filling me with hardness, f**king me over the pool table.
I woke to my fingers sliding in my wetness. Toes curled and back arched as the orgasm Q denied me rippled with an intensity echoing in my teeth.
My heart raced as I came back to earth, uncramping my feet. A damp spot formed below my ass and cheeks pinked with how wet I was. But lying in the dark, stomach empty, heart ruined, I found peace.
My body no longer throbbed, and for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly.
* * * * *
Time slowed.
Seconds crawled into unwilling minutes, turning into tomorrow and next week. Q didn’t come find me, and I never saw him return home from work.
But I knew when he arrived, as the house filled with passionate music. Lyrics thrummed, stroking with warning. He lived in the same house as me—any moment he could come, but never did.
Most of the time, music throbbed with French laments, but then one night, an English song rained from the speakers.
Every second my temper frays, every moment my beast desires
you think you can win, but you’re not consumed by sin
delicate and sweet are no match for hell and ruin
I don’t want you to see the depth of my blackness
for there-in lie demons and nightmares
don’t look in my eyes, the truth is not for you
you should run, you should flee, you should hide away forever
I couldn’t describe the loneliness aching in my bones. The song reached like a plea, freezing me with confusion.
Ever since that night and the painful song, I couldn’t shake the feeling Q tried to tell me something in the music he played. But I couldn’t believe it, because if I did—what did that mean? I couldn’t feel sorry for my captor. I had to remain aloof, distant. Be that icicle—sharp and deadly.
Life settled into a rhythm: an unwanted rhythm, but an ebb and flow nevertheless. I drifted along, wondering why Q granted peace and left me alone. Did he grow bored of his new possession already? Or did work demand his time and graced me with a limited amount of freedom?
Whatever the reason, Sunday burned my memory as the day Q twisted my emotions so much, I found a place inside where I could run. In a way, he taught me how to save myself, even as he broke me further.
Five days passed, each one scratched on a calendar of waiting. My life existed to dust and clean, while Suzette helped smooth my rusty French. I stared longingly at the front door, wanting freedom, but the green-eyed guard was never far away. Watching, always watching.
The only bright spot was Suzette. She welcomed me with open arms into the Mercer household, and became the rock in the turbulent seas I swam.
She never pried, always chatted about nothing and everything, giving me a sense of normalcy. Every now and again, I caught her watching, a frown on her face and curiosity in her gaze. She plotted something, but I didn’t know what.
Even Mrs. Sucre tolerated my presence in the kitchen, as I became a permanent feature—helping prepare evening meals and hovering in the welcome embrace of the busy hub.
Suzette supplied rags and brooms and gave me chores. They helped keep boredom at bay; I needed it. Boredom brought thoughts of escape and endangerment. But no amount of scrubbing stopped my heart twinging every time I remembered Q had Brax’s bracelet.
A cold sweat would drench my back at the thought of him smashing it to smithereens to teach me a lesson—ruining something of mine to get back at me for ruining something of his.
He hadn’t replaced the clothes I slashed. For a week, I scuffed around in the same jeans and cream jumper, but I didn’t care. Suzette mourned the items more than I did. To me, they signified a gaudy uniform: an outfit for a toy.
While cleaning the windows in the lounge on Friday, I contemplated hurling myself through the glass. Not to die, but to get outside. The fluttering of birds and gentle thawing of winter taunted. I hadn’t been outside in weeks.
The thought of smashing the glass and bleeding to death stopped the urge, but it didn’t deflate the need to run. Surely, this mansion had a gym—a treadmill. Running stationary would be better than no running at all. Q kept fit so he must have equipment somewhere.
My anklet buzzed, shocking me. I sat on one of the fluffy couches and hoisted my jeans. Why did it buzz? The GPS tracker drove me nuts—a constant nuisance when I tried to sleep or dress. I had hoped it wasn’t waterproof, and spent an hour trying to drown it in the shower. Turned out, it was waterproof.
“Esclave?” Suzette asked, appearing in the doorway. “Maître Mercer just called. He has a business dinner tonight with prospective clients.”
I stood, stretching. The one good thing about Q not coming for me meant my body
healed. The bruises from Leather Jacket faded to an ugly yellow, and my rib ached, rather than screamed.
The slap from Q hadn’t caused any damage, unfortunately. I had the feeling he wanted to hurt me, but didn’t quite have the balls. I wish he had branded me, and it horrified him so much, those feelings never strengthened.
I didn’t want to listen, but my gut said he’d get worse. I had to escape before instincts proved true. Suzette was wrong about him—there were no redeeming qualities. And I wouldn’t be suckered in by songs with lyrics oozing sadness.
“Do you want help preparing the meal?” I smiled. Cooking with Suzette was a highlight of my restrictive new life. I never cooked a lot, as Brax had been the chef in our family, but I found a flare for it. My heart lurched at the thought of Brax. Memories constantly caught me unaware, and I wanted to mourn, but at the same time, couldn’t. I wouldn’t accept he was dead, or that I’d never see him again. It wasn’t an option.
Suzette came forward. Something changed; she watched with sadness and resignation. My skin prickled as she asked, “Is it easier?”
I knew immediately what she meant and pursed my lips. Easier? It would never get easier.
She sighed, whispering, “Has he taken you fully yet?”
My heart raced to see jealousy flashing in her eyes. She was jealous? Of what? Being humiliated and used?
I stepped away. “Why are you asking these questions?”
She dropped her eyes. “I need to know. Tonight… this business meeting. I need to know how prepared you are.”
Relief coursed. If I could handle what I’d been through, I could handle a dinner party. After all, a role as a servant or waitress would be a lot easier than sucking off a man who forced me. My pulse thudded. Perhaps I could tell one of the guests Q kept me prisoner. That I needed the police.
A smile tugged, but I fought it. Suzette mustn’t know my hopes. But then my happiness disintegrated, rethinking the idea. The men were probably like Q: sick f**ks.
She stared for a moment, before nodding. “You don’t need to help with dinner. We’ve got it covered. You need to head upstairs and get ready. The guests will arrive in an hour.”
My eyes flew to outside, gauging the time. The sun kissed horizon, already giving brightness to shadow. When did it get so late?
Suzette pushed me toward the stairs, murmuring, “Can I ask another question?”
I stiffened, but nodded. “Okay.”
“Don’t you find him attractive?”
I slammed to a stop in the foyer. “Attraction has nothing to do with it, Suzette. It’s the circumstances, the way he treats me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Q treats you better than all my owners ever treated me. You’re so lucky.” Her tone turned sullen. “You don’t even know.”
Anger thickened and I couldn’t speak. I felt sorry for her and what she lived through, but to say I had it better? Hah!
She continued, “Just think of his requests as rent money, or protection expenses. You give him what he wants, and he’ll take care of you. Q won’t ever seriously hurt you. Not like—” Suzette shuddered and stopped. Hazel eyes flashed with secrets buried in their depths. “Give him what he needs, then you can test the boundaries of your cage.”
Curiosity overrode anger. I took a deep breath and asked softly, “What men, Suzette? How did you come to be here? Were you stolen, like me?”
She twisted her fingers, looking at the marble floor. “The day I was sold to Q was the best da—”
The front door swung open and the devil himself stood framed in twilight. His hair was slightly shorter, as if he’d instructed the hair dresser to make it look like an otter’s pelt—sleek, shiny, impenetrable. A light silver suit and turquoise shirt made him look like an expensive jewel.
Eyes shot to mine, na**d without his normal barriers. In the brief moment, I saw bone weary loneliness, surprise, and protectiveness. My heart ached to see such longing. What if Suzette was right? Q was deeper than I gave him credit for. Something lurked, dark and vile, but there was a human, as well as a monster, inside.
My body was torn between offering to dispel such unhappiness and killing him to end his misery, and mine.
Blank hardness hid his true thoughts, shattering the moment. I hadn’t seen him since he stole Brax’s bracelet, avoiding me like the plague, as if giving me time to grieve, to get over his thievery.