Tears of Tess (23 page)

“
Je
suis tellement désolé,”
a tortured voice whispered. I’m so sorry. Kisses
flurried on my hairline, never stopping. I floated through the house in his
arms. “I’ll protect you. I’ll make it right.”

His
voice confused me. It dripped with aged pain and sorrow, remorse so great, it
weighed down with pressure.

Why
did he hurt? He allowed the man to do what he wanted. It was his fault it
happened and I refused to listen to his pain. My own pain kept me plenty
occupied. His apologies weren’t worth shit.

I
tried to gather enough energy to hit him, scream, tell him he’d successfully
hurt me worse than anyone in my entire life, and that was saying something seeing
as I grew up a leper in my own family.

But
my mind finally decided it’d had enough and went blank.

*Hummingbird*

I
woke to a gnawing ache in my womb and a smear of blood between my legs. I
washed gently in the shower, forcing all memories and horror into a cage inside
my mind. I would never think about that night again. Even in nightmares, the
night was banned, erased as if it never happened. Some might say running wasn’t
a good idea; I say it helped me stay healthy and focused, rather than suffocate
in self-pity and things detrimental to my sanity.

I
buried my head in the sand, but in return gained freedom and immunity against
things hurting my soul. My body hurt, but no more than other injuries I
sported. What lacerated me most was Q. He let me down.

In
the sick hierarchy of owner and slave, my protection and well-being should be
paramount, yet he turned a blind eye.

Out
of everything he’d done, last night might’ve broken me beyond repair, but it
only strengthened. The time had come to leave. I deserved better. I deserved to
live my life without sick bastards raping me with objects, or Q’s twisted mind
games. Nothing would stop me from busting the hell out and going back to
humanity.

*
* * * *

Four days passed
after the horrible dinner, and Suzette refused to make eye contact. Q did his
disappearing act again, turning music so loud, lyrics corroded my fierce
decision to leave. French laments full of regret and self-loathing throbbed through
the speakers:

Mes
besoins sont ma défaite. Je suis un monstre dans une peau humaine
.

My
needs are my downfall. I’m a monster in human skin.

I hated the
songs. Soft songs made Q seem human, living with mistakes and anguish, just like
the rest of us. I preferred the raging songs. Ones with a heavy beat, heating
my blood, filling me with energy to escape.

Et
je vais prendre ce que je veux et payer mon propre désir. Cauchemars de ma
solitude. L'obscurité pour un ami.

And
I'll take what I want and pay for my own desires. Nightmares for my loneliness.
The darkness for a friend.

The longer I
lived in Q’s house, the more my French improved. Rust gave way to smoothness
and it happened without my knowledge. I no longer frowned and worked out every
word—gist of sentences became clear, no longer fumbling in the language dark.

Although I
missed Suzette and her friendship, I didn’t care about the isolation. I was
left alone; it kept me focused.

Under the
disguise of cleaning, I searched the library and lounge for weapons. A letter
opener, scissors, something to help me dispose of the GPS tracker. I couldn’t
run until I removed it. Q would find me too easily.

My escape plan
wasn’t well thought out. I had no
Mission Impossible
idea of taking Q
hostage and forcing him to release me. All I had were my legs, and a few apples
I managed to steal from the kitchen. Living in an open home granted the
illusion of freedom—to go where I pleased, move around at will—but in searching
for weapons, I realised how false the freedom really was.

Guards patrolled
the upstairs level, keeping me from entering bedrooms. Black suited goons
patrolled the sweeping grounds outside, their breath sending foggy plumes into
late winter air.

I could enter
the library, lounge, kitchen, and bedroom only. It was a tiny cage compared to
the expanse of the house. If I cared about staying, I would’ve sneaked and
investigated. Where did Q sleep? What other rooms were there? More like the
pedestal room where the Russian bastard hurt me, or worse?

But I didn’t
care. I’d been here long enough. I wouldn’t play damsel in distress waiting for
Brax or the police to rescue me. They would never come. It was up to me, and I
was ready.

I
stepped out of the library, wafting a duster, disappointed yet again I couldn’t
find a sharp implement, and froze.

Heartbeats
raced as a whiff of sin and citrus assaulted. Q was close.

“
Je
suis allé trop loin,
Suzette.” I went too far. Q’s voice twisted with
unforgiving darkness.

I
wanted to crawl into a ball and hide. I hated eavesdropping. Whenever I did as
a child, I heard nasty things that cramped my stomach. Things about being
unwanted, a nuisance, a hindrance.

My
parents even spoke about adopting me out when I fell violently ill with the flu.
They didn’t want to deal with a sick child, being older and vulnerable. Caring
more for themselves than an innocent girl.

Suzette
answered, her voice coming from behind the blue velvet stairs. The place where
the hidden door to the gaming room lurked. “She didn’t break. You should see
her,
maître
. The fire is still in her eyes.” The air bristled with
passion, they spoke of me. My entire body boycotted. I wanted to move, but if I
moved they’d hear me. What would Q do then?

Q
muttered something I didn’t catch.

“You’re
not like him. Don’t let this stop you. She feels something other than hatred.
Believe me. A woman knows when another wants a man.”

Q
chuckled. “You want me, Suzette?”

She
giggled darkly. “You know I do. But I also appreciate your promise, and that’s
why I think you need to keep going.” The sad resignation made me feel sorry for
her.

Q
was ruthless and closed off; I didn’t care what demons he dealt with. It didn’t
give him the right to do what he did. So why did jealously prick my skin at the
thought of him fucking another? I knew nothing about him, yet my body pined for
more—against all my wishes.

If
Suzette was on my side, why hadn’t she talked to me the last four days? If she’d
shown she still wanted to be a friend, I might not have shut off—become so
remote and focused on freedom.

My
eyes widened.
You don’t mean that, Tess
. Would I have stayed even after
what happened?

I
shook my head, anger hot. No way. I couldn’t stay. All I needed was a split
second opportunity, and I was gone. Just like the sparrows on the wall—darting
to heights where Q could never find me.

“Enough.
I will not talk about this,” Q snapped, different to his previous tone.
Clothing rustled and I darted to the library, ducking next to a bookcase. Q’s
silhouette stalked past the door, heading outside. The quick flash of sunlight
beckoned; I wanted to run after him. To sprint into the fresh air and leave
this place—this confusing, horrible place.

A
car waited outside, but Q didn’t climb in and drive off. Instead, he stalked out
of sight.

I
didn’t dare move, and Suzette shouted. “I’m heading to the village, Mrs. Sucre.
It’s my half day off, and I need to run some errands.”

I
didn’t hear Mrs. Sucre’s response, but it sounded like she argued. My heart
galloped. Suzette was leaving.
This is my chance!
I might not get
another. A village meant people. And people meant safety in numbers.

Suzette
grumbled and stomped away, obviously summoned by the cook. Not wanting to waste
a moment, I pushed off the floor like an Olympic sprinter and darted into the
foyer. I fumbled with the front door with anxious fingers, then sprinted down
the sweeping steps toward the car.
Please, let there be keys
.

Sun
burned my retinas even as the cold temperature bit through clothing. The freshness
of being outside gave me a burst of happiness. I would save myself. Tess, the
survivor.

Gasping
with adrenaline, I checked to see if keys dangled in the ignition.

Nothing.

Shit!
I couldn’t drive to freedom, but I could stowaway while Suzette drove. Not
wanting to be discouraged, I tried the back door, almost crying in relief when
it opened.

I
threw myself inside, huddling as tight as I could in the foot well.

Suzette
bounced down the steps. “
Bonjour
, Franco. You’ll drive me to the
village?”

Oh,
fuck
. I clamped a hand over my mouth. Why
couldn’t Suzette drive herself? Were none of Q’s staff allowed to go unchaperoned?
My heart raced faster. So many things could go wrong—Franco could catch me, Q
would punish.  

“No
problem. I need some cigarettes, so perfect timing.” Franco’s voice sounded
friendly, upbeat, like any man with no care in the world. Obviously, his conscience
didn’t care what his employer did to women.  

Suzette
hopped in the front, smoothing her uniform. Franco climbed into the driver’s
seat and the car settled with his bulk. His crisp, black suit framed muscles
and my hope of running dwindled.

The
car started; the loud purr vibrated in my teeth. I curled smaller as Franco put
the vehicle into gear and rolled smoothly into motion. The crunching of gravel
sounded loud and the three-horse fountain disappeared as we drove away.

The
further we travelled, the more I freaked. This could go terribly wrong, but if
it worked, I’d never see Q again. Never hear his voice or smell his unique sent.
Something deep inside panged uncomfortably. I hated he owned two of my
senses—possibly even three. He was a master at coercing my body’s needs,
sacrificing my mind for erotic pleasure. I’d had enough of betrayal from my own
flesh.

Every
roll of tyres brought a cocktail of eagerness and disappointment. My life would
belong to me again. My body would return to being dormant, hiding its secret
desires.
But I want that!
Q was a monster in human clothing—even he knew
it, judging by his song choice. If he let a man rape me with a knife handle,
who knew what he’d do next.

My
hands curled with fury. I couldn’t afford to feel anything but hatred for Q. Suzette
was wrong—I didn’t feel any more than repulsion. Hopefully, over time, my
senses would belong to me again. I would forget about this nightmare.

Excitement
bubbled beneath layers of apprehension as we drove in silence away from hell, toward
salvation.

Suzette
and Franco didn’t talk and I breathed as quiet and shallow as possible. It was
odd to run with no belongings. How far would I get without money, credit cards,
or a passport?

My
passport and purse were in the hotel in Cancun. Then again, the hotel probably
checked us out when we never returned. Did Brax go back? I was heading home,
and refused to entertain the thought he might be gone. I needed him alive. He
was my end goal. If I didn’t have him, who was I running back to?

You’re
leaving a life of overwhelming senses for comfort, Tess
.

The
thought rocked my soul. While being Q’s prisoner, I’d never been so alive.
Sure, he was a bastard, and the things he did weren’t legal, but at the same
time he made me
live
.

I
brought the nightmare on myself with unwholesome thoughts, but Q showed me the
life I lived with Brax wasn’t fully… complete. Brax treated me with utmost care,
but never made me vibrant.

On
the floor of a car, escaping from my kidnapper, I re-evaluated my entire life.
I’d lived in denial for so long, it came naturally. I loved Brax, I couldn’t
deny that. But my love skirted around sibling love. Friendship love. A love
that would never die, but would never consume me either. I loved Brax because
he took me in. He wanted me and I settled, rather than have the guts to find a
man who made my soul sing.