Tears of Tess (20 page)

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 fucks.

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, naked 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. 

Fingers
rubbed my wrist absentmindedly and his eyes followed. His face shut down,
leaving nothing but domineering arrogance. “Suzette, I thought I told you to
get her ready?”

Suzette
bowed. “
Oui, maître
.” Pushing me gently, she added, “Get dressed into
the gown you’ll find in your wardrobe.”

“And
if you ruin that one, the punishment will be a lot worse,” Q murmured. His tone
rippled across skin, sending fire into my blood.

I
ran up the stairs.

Safe
in the cell of a room, I opened the wardrobe and gasped.

The
one and only garment was nothing but gold lace. Long, clinging filigree, offering
no coverage apart from a thicker weave around the groin and chest. The fabric train
whispered against the floor as I plucked it from the wardrobe.

I
was dumbfounded.

Oh,
my God, he expected me to wear this? To dinner? I couldn’t. I
wouldn’t.

The
door burst open; I clutched the dress to my throat. The guard, with the bright
green eyes, glared. His body, much wider than Q’s, intimidated. “Mr. Mercer
sent me to make sure you dressed correctly.” His gaze slithered over me, and he
puffed his chest. “Strip. I’ll help, if you require.”

I
recoiled in horror. Q wouldn’t let his guard have me, would he? I didn’t think
he would, but who knew. The air in the tiny room sucked into nothing. I
breathed hard. “I need privacy.”

He
shook his head. “No privacy.”

Gritting
my teeth, I didn’t move. I deliberated screaming and ramming into him, but
realistically, what would it achieve? Q proved to me, I had no power here. As
much as it killed me, I had no choice.  

My
shoulders fell in surrender; his lips curled. I turned away, my hands shaking as
I laid the dress on the bed and pulled the jumper over my head. My skin
crawled, knowing the man watched.

I
shimmied from my jeans, and left them on the floor. Reaching for the dress, I
tried to figure out how to put it on when a heavy palm fell on my shoulder.
“Take off your underwear. You aren’t allowed to wear anything under the dress.”

My
entire body revolted, and I leaped away, running to the corner of the room. His
touch didn’t infect me like Q’s. I didn’t warm or react; I tightened and
crackled with unwillingness.

The
guard snorted, holding up his arms. “I’m not going to touch you, girl. That’s
the
maître’s
right.” His eyelids dropped as excitement glowed. “However,
the guests will also get a turn tonight.”

What?
My ears rang.
No. Please
. Horrid realization buckled my knees. The
dinner party—there would be no dinner. I was to be the main course. Betrayal
settled deep in my heart. I hated Q, but never believed he’d be able to let
another touch me. Not with the possessive edge surrounding him.

The
guard held out a hand. “Give me your bra and panties. The guests will arrive
any moment, and you’re to be in place before they do.”

My
hands curled with the urge to punch his ruggedly handsome face—to make him
bleed. But again, what would it achieve? Nothing. The result would be the same,
just more painful.

I
unclipped my bra and threw it. I refused to give him my knickers—those I kicked
behind, wadding them against the wall.

He
grinned. “I wouldn’t sniff them, if that’s what’s worrying your pretty head.
Wouldn’t put it past the master, though.” He chuckled loudly, way too impressed
with his joke.

Keeping
my head high, I scrunched the dress and pulled it over my head. I had to
wriggle to inch the clingy material down. The spun threads offered no
protection from eyes or temperature, and by the time it encased me fully, I
felt trapped.

I
could only walk with dainty steps, and my breasts strained as filigree designs
stamped patterns into my skin.

The
train pooled around my feet, looking like a golden mermaid’s tail—a poor
creature who didn’t belong. I related completely.

The
moment I finished, the guard grabbed my tattooed wrist, carting me downstairs.

*Finch*

I
bit my lip as we descended the stairs and entered an entirely new room. It
reeked of sex and money and power. Quintessentially Q, his signature scent of
lust and darkness permeated the air.

Crimson
booths surrounded a tiny pedestal, round and high—for a priceless figurine or
statue. Leather straps with cuffs dangled from the ceiling in the centre. Heavy
drapery blocked large windows, and thick black carpeting silenced any noise.

The
room was a decadent tomb.

The
guard let me go, only for me to be caught by Q. Where the hell did he come
from? I’d never get used to how silently he moved.

My
skin singed beneath his touch; arcs of animalistic hunger scattered across my
body. Q sucked in a breath. I wasn’t the only one this crazy need affected. I cursed
my body for responding. I needed some serious counselling. I shouldn’t grow wet
when a man who lived to make my life hell touched me. I shouldn’t have mixed
emotions of hatred and need. I should just
hate.