Tears of Tess (13 page)

The
maid tutted in concern, pushing me toward the bed. “There, there. Don’t cry.
You have your own bathroom, and we can get some personal things to decorate.”
Her warm arm descended timidly around my shoulders and I rocked.

Now
I was here, in the destination of my fate, I lost strength. I wanted to stay
angry and strong, but pity and loss swelled.

The
simple contact of a caring woman unbuckled me.

I
sobbed.

Into
my hands, into a pillow, into sleep.

*
* * * *

The
next morning, I was left to my own devices. I showered, and dressed in my sack
of a sweater. Not knowing, or caring, if clothes had been bought for me. The
rebellion at such a simple thing kept my fire smouldering deep inside.

I
left my socks off and padded bare foot down the staircase. I could only assume
I’d been put in the staff quarters. The ruckus at five a.m., with people having
showers and preparing for the day, kept me up.

Not
that I slept. I was foggy headed with tears and awoke with a splitting
headache, but crying purged me, leaving me eerily empty and ready to face my
new future. 

One
thing niggled, though. I didn’t have experience in the way of slavery and
ownership, but found it surprising Q let me wander freely with no supervision. 
Probably some sort of chauvinistic mind game and power trip.

I
couldn’t shed my apprehension as I entered the lounge and followed the sounds
of cutlery clinking. Scents of freshly brewed coffee coaxed me forward, despite
trepidation. My mouth watered for caffeine. 

Rounding
the corner, I halted as the kitchen came into view. Pale green tiles ran floor
to ceiling, acting like a coloured mirror.
They’re the same colour as Q’s
eyes
.

I
had to admit my strange new owner had taste. White cabinetry with silver
handles glinted like fresh snow, thanks to the sun streaming from the massive
skylight. Three stainless steel ovens, a huge cooktop, and a fridge big enough
to fit a whole cow completed the huge expanse. Another room, with a temperate
gauge and wooden shelving, housed countless bottles of wine. No doubt from a
vineyard close-by if we were, indeed, in France.

The
girl who’d been so kind to me last night, smiled behind a counter. “
Bonjour.
Are you hungry?”

I
didn’t think I could eat with all the strangeness, but nodded anyway. I had to
keep my strength, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been fed. No wait,
I did remember—the night Leather Jacket tried to rape me.
Fucking bastard.

My
lips curled, thinking how quickly I’d gone from a girl who never cursed, to a
gutter mouth. In a way, it gave me strength, being crude and crass.

My
stomach growled, taking control out of my hands.

The
maid giggled. “Guess that answers the question. But before we can feed you, the
master requested you join him. He’s in the dining room.” She cocked her head at
the other end of the lounge. A pair of sliding glass doors blocked a decadent,
old English style dining room.

Q
sat at the head of the table. A newspaper spread wide, blocking his face.

Seeing
him sent barbwire tangling around my stomach. The house lulled me into some
sense of acceptance, but I’d never get used to being
owned—
of being
someone’s slave.

Not
that he bought me, only accepted as a bribe. Curiosity rose, wanting to know
what I was accepted for, but I shoved it away. I didn’t care as I wouldn’t be
staying long. I’d find a way to run—soon.

I
shook my head, looking back at the maid. “I’m not seeing him.”

The
maid stilled, hands full of pastries. “You have no choice. He summons. You go.
That’s the law.”

“Law?”
My eyebrow twitched. I instantly hated the word. The law was something officers
upheld. A word implying safety, not rules dictated by a mad man.

“Law.”
The masculine baritone came from behind. His presence sent chills up and down
my spine. I didn’t jump. I prided myself on that, but I’d have to get used to
how silently he moved. I did not want to be snuck up on, surprised, and taken
advantage of.

Keeping
my head high and back straight, I turned to face the
master
.

“I
obey no such law.”

Q
growled, rubbing a hand over his stubbly cheek. His dark brown hair was glossy,
short, almost like a pelt rather than hair. His wintery green gaze froze me to
the core. Dressed in a graphite suit with silver shirt and black tie, he looked
distinguished, intelligent. 

I
cried out as he grabbed me. “I summon. You come. That’s the only law you need
to understand. I am your owner. You haven’t forgotten that so soon, have you?”

He
marched me through the lounge and into the dining room. Tossing me into a high
backed chair at a table set for twenty people, he breathed hard and leaned over
me. “You are mine. You are mine. Repeat that until it gets into your head. You
cannot disobey. Unless...” A glint of interest smouldered in his eyes. “Unless
you
want
to be punished?”

My
heart kicked into high gear, thrumming with hummingbird wings. I shook my head
hard. My tongue turned useless, incapable of speech. I’d never been so
overpowered by someone’s sheer will, but Q flattened me with his intense
demeanour. How could I hope to disobey when he only had to threaten with mere words
and I turned horribly docile?

“You’ve
forgotten how to fight, so soon?” His accent thickened and fingers captured my
chin, pressing painfully. A rumble sounded in his chest, and, fast as
lightning, he kissed me.

The
force of the attack crashed my head against the back of the chair, radiating pain
in my temples. His lips forced mine open, and a tongue darted into my mouth,
stealing my will, my fight. He stole everything with one touch.

Growling,
his tongue plundered mine ruthlessly, out of control. Fingers trailed from my
chin to throat, circling possessively; an unspoken threat that he could kill me
and no one would know or care. I was his—to do with how he pleased.

I
moaned and scratched his face with ragged nails.

He
jerked back, breathing like an angry bull. His lips glistened from ravaging my
mouth, leaving the taste of rich coffee and something darker—a promise of more.

He
glared, swiping his cheek with a shirt cuff. It came away with a drip of
crimson. His body tensed at the sight of blood.

My
heart swelled with pride. He may be able to molest me, but he wouldn’t stay
whole while he did.

Grabbing
a napkin from the table, he patted his cheek. “You will obey. Don’t make me use
you like any other buyer would do.”

“Isn’t
that what you mean to do anyway? Rape and ruin me?”

Throwing
the napkin down, he stalked back to his chair at the head of the table. The
discarded newspaper crackled as he placed hands in front of him. Every move was
precise, calculated, as if he knew every nuance illustrated domination.

Four
place settings separated us, giving a sense of space. I breathed easier,
wishing the taste of darkness and sin would leave. Why did he have to kiss me?
A kiss meant intimacy and romance, but that kiss—it claimed me more than any
kiss from Brax. It made me hate Q all the more.

Ignoring
my question, he demanded, “What is your name?”

I
crossed my arms, glaring.
Never.

“Fine,”
he barked. “I’ll call you Dove, until you answer. Like the grey-blue of your
eyes.”

My
heart tinkled into tiny, irreplaceable pieces.
Dove?
Anger ran up my
neck and flamed as memories of Brax swarmed. The soft toy he bought me when I
was in hospital. The many times he called me his little Dove.

“No!”
I screamed, violence etching my tone.

He
didn’t even blink at my outburst. Deliberately, he ran a finger along his
bottom lip, glaring coldly. His face shadowed with authority, and to my utter shame,
my nipples hardened. My body recalled the way he kissed—responding to every
part I dare not acknowledge, parts I wished didn’t exist. It made me feel as if
I led him on—invited all of this to happen with my twisted desires.

Holy
hell,
did
I invite this by wanting to be rougher with Brax? Did my fate
decide I had a life too perfect and granted my sick desires in the worst way
possible?

I
couldn’t breathe. I stared at the tablecloth as the maid entered the room with
a dainty knock, and placed a plate of poached eggs in front of me. She bowed
slightly to Q, putting the same in front of him.

Even
though my limbs were weak with hunger, I pushed the plate away. How could I eat
when I disgusted myself? All of this was
my
fault. I was responsible
with my screwed up perversions. 

“Eat,
damn you,” Q ordered, face stoic.

After
everything I’d been through, after the breath stealing kiss, and the bloody
Mexicans, and my stupid naivety—I could go on and on—I embraced my gutter mouth.
“Fuck. You.”

Eyes
widened and jaw clenched, but he didn’t retaliate. He cut a delicate mouthful,
chewing carefully. Every bite controlled and precise, as if he kept a tight
rein on himself at all times. What did he battle with? Because he battled, I
saw that in his eyes.

“If
you won’t tell me your name, tell me something else about you.”

Why
did he want to know? He’d already said nothing else mattered but being his.

Swallowing,
I stared outside, toward the terrace and the huge bird table swarming with
noisy sparrows and blackbirds. The manicured gardens, with perfect hedges and
bare flowers, glittered with frost like sparkly lace. From hot Mexico to winter
in France, I missed home miserably.        

Q
put his knife and fork down, placing hands in his lap. I made the mistake of
looking at him, and we engaged in another staring competition. I yelled and
screamed silently while he sat and dominated with unsaid threats.

He
broke the contest, murmuring, “You have two choices.”

My
ears pricked, but I pretended insolence. Two choices. Try three. Whatever the
first two, the third was escape. I’d make it happen. I’d laser my tattoo off, cut
the GPS tag off my ankle, and find a way to remove the node in my neck. I may
have brought this on myself, but I would get myself out.

Q
continued in his deep, accented voice, “One, I rape you, hurt you, do
everything you expect of me, and make you live a miserable existence.”

I
narrowed my eyes, watching closely. His shoulders tensed on the word rape, but
excitement heated his gaze, too. Why the two emotions? One hot and wanting, the
other repulsed and angry. Lacing fingers together, I squeezed. Fear threatened
to close my throat.

“Or,
tell me about yourself, and, if you have a skill I need, I’ll put you to work
in other ways.”

I
couldn’t help myself. “Other ways?”

Regret
flickered across his face so quickly, I wondered if I imagined it. He nodded
infinitesimally. “Other ways.”

“Like
what?”

“Tell
me about yourself.”

“Tell
me first.”

He
slammed his hands on either side of his plate, rattling the china. “Goddammit, girl,
I’m offering you a choice. But it doesn’t mean I can’t take that choice away.”
He breathed hard and his anger sent fear spiralling inside.

He
called me girl, and yet, I doubted he was much older. Early thirties at the
latest. But age didn’t matter when he shouted. He scared me more than Leather
Jacket did. At least with him, I knew the man I fought. Q, I had no idea.

Trying
to focus, I sucked in a breath. Q offered me a choice. If I wanted to escape, I
had to bide my time. If Q put me to work, I might have more opportunity than being
tied to a bed.

I
mirrored him, placing hands on the table, strengthening my resolve. “What do
you want to know?”

His
shoulders relaxed a little, but the hardness in his pale green gaze never left.
“Where are you from?”

“Melbourne.”      

“Do
you speak any other language but English?”

I
shook my head.

He
snorted. “That’s the first thing to change. I refuse to speak English for long
periods. It’s a boring language. You will learn French.” Waving the comment
away, he asked, “What other education do you have?”

I
walked a spider’s web, one wrong answer and I tickled the wrong strand,
inviting choice number one of rape and ruin.

“I’m
still at university. I’ve waitressed and worked in retail.”

He
huffed, inspecting perfect fingernails. “Nothing of importance. You better have
more talent, otherwise…”

I
rushed, “I’m training to be in property development. I’ve almost completed a
project managing degree and side line in architectural sketches.”

He
paused. Interest replaced the hardness in his eyes for a brief moment, before
the shutters slammed closed again. “Go on.”