Tears of Tess (25 page)

I
peered at the guy—my rescuer. His mouth thinned to a white line, navigating the
road at hyper speed. I wanted to hug him, crush him in thankfulness.

Twisting
in the seat, I stared out the back window. Franco jumped up and down in the
street, yanking his black hair. He yelled something and threw his hands up,
before sprinting back to where he parked.

Breathing
hard, I swivelled to face the front, trying to calm down. I’d done it. I was
free.

We
didn’t say a word as we drove from the postcard perfect township onto pretty
country roads.

Silence
lurked like a third passenger. I stared out the window, tension knotting my
stomach. I wanted to dance in happiness, but I wasn’t free yet. I needed to
stay collected, stay wary. I frowned. After three weeks of torture, could it
really be that easy? Uneasiness pricked, and I bit my lip. Surely, it couldn’t
be that simple?

The
GPS! In my rush, I’d forgotten about Q’s freakin’ tracker.
Shit!
I
brought my leg up, resting a heel on the seat. Fingers fumbled with my jeans,
pushing them up to access the anklet. I tugged hard, trying to wedge fingers beneath
the twist-tie, but it only tightened, cutting off blood supply to my foot.

I
huffed with rage. How the hell would I get rid of it?

The
guy looked over, eyebrow cocked. “What are you doing?” He navigated a turn,
before glancing again. “What is that?”

We
made eye contact. His face seemed kind enough, not handsome, but not ugly.
Mid-thirties with early wrinkles around brown eyes. Deciding he seemed
trustworthy, I said, “I need a knife, or some scissors. Do you have anything
like that?” I fiddled with the anklet. If I could raise my leg to my mouth, I
could gnaw it off. The image made me want to laugh —I escaped, only to have
chew my own leg off like a starving rat.

I
expected him to say no. I mean, this entire thing seemed too perfect. Who could
say their knight in shining armour almost ran them over, then whisked them away
in a crappy Volvo?

My
mind shot to Franco. Had he called Q? Arranged a search party for me? Q
wouldn’t let me go easily. He’d hunt, but I didn’t intend for him to catch me.

Urgency
pumped blood faster; I wished the driver would step on it. I wanted Formula One
driving, not sedate Grandma.

The
guy shifted, his foot pressing on the accelerator as he fumbled in a pocket. He
frowned, wiggling his ass, reaching for something.

I
watched with an incredulous expression, trying to figure out what he was doing.
After a few awkward moments, he smiled, pulling his hand free.

With
a flourish, he passed me a miniature Swiss army knife.

My
eyes popped wide, and I accepted it with shaky hands. “Thanks.” My voice whispered
with awe. From now on, I would carry a Swiss army knife—never know when one
would come in handy. Bet he didn’t wake up this morning expecting a runaway to
use it to cut a tracker off her body.

I
took the red case and flipped open a serrated blade. I blew blonde bangs from
my eyes, sawing through thick plastic. It took a lot of energy, and my skin
grew clammy beneath the jumper by the time it snapped and fell away.

The
moment it dropped to the floor, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The nightmare
was almost over, one step closer to Brax.

The
guy watched closely. His intense gaze sent flutters of awareness as I returned
the knife. I kept my face blank when he palmed it, shoving it back in his
pocket.

Perhaps
I should’ve kept it?
You’re not thinking clearly, Tess. Don’t trust anyone.

He
gave me half a smile, light returning to his eyes. Fingers tightened on the
steering wheel. “What happened?”

I
managed three words: “Q Mercer happened.” Then weariness smothered and the
thought of reliving it was too much.  I couldn’t talk about it; I might not
ever be ready to talk, and that was fine by me. It would become an unspoken
moment of time and fade into oblivion.

Huddling,
my chest clogged with emotion. So close… so close. I grew heavy as the adrenaline
in my blood abandoned me. “I just need to get to the police.”

He
nodded. The afternoon sun dipped through the windshield, highlighting the red
in his hair.
“Pas de problème.”

I
gave a watery smile and settled back, looking forward to the future.

*
* * * *

The
sound of tyres on gravel roused me, panic flared like an old enemy
. Gravel—please
tell me we aren’t back at Q’s.

I
shot upright, blinking out the window. Adrenaline and jittery warmth made my breath
come fast. I’d become so used to terror overflowing, I wondered if I’d ever
feel safe again.

It
was dark; no population, no township, nothing in the looming blackness. I
glared at the man supposedly saving me, trying to figure it out.

He
smirked, slowing to a stop. I stared out the window again, disbelieving. Where
were the bright lights of a police station? The comforting sounds of people?

Brakes
squeaked and he grinned in the shadows. “Come with me.”

“But
this isn’t a police station.”

He
chuckled. “No. Not going to the police. But you’re home now, just the same.”

My
world slammed to a halt; I gawked. He wasn’t serious. He
couldn’t
be
serious. It couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Hadn’t I dealt with enough in
Mexico and with Q?

Ripe
anger gushed, and all I saw was red. I wouldn’t let this happen. I wrenched
open the door and toppled from the car.

“Hey,
arrêt!”
The man fumbled with the seat belt, but
he was too late. I shot to my feet and ran.

He
screamed obscenities, curses licking my heels, urging me faster. My head
swivelled, looking for solitude, a place to run to. But all around, rolling
country hills and patchwork farmland imprisoned better than any barbwire. I
didn’t even know where he’d taken me. I could run for miles and never find
help.

My
heart ached, pushing my body past endurance. I burst past a row of soaring pine
trees and my mouth fell open.

A
sprawling country estate rested under moonlight. Inviting with arched windows
and Tuscany appeal, but instincts beat an uneven tattoo in my chest.
Evil
.
The house reeked of evil.

I
darted to the right, running as far from the estate as possible. I came to a
wooden fence and scaled it. The moment my feet touched ground again, I jerked
my arms, propelling forward. Pain from bruises and ribs were
inconsequential—running was paramount.

I
stumbled in the dark, the only light came from the silver, pregnant moon. My
ankle rolled on a row of potatoes ready for hoeing. I looked around—acres and
acres of potatoes, all resting in blankets of dirt.

Keep
running!

Breath
rasped in the silent night, and legs burned, but I never let up the pace. I
bounded over rows of potatoes like a gazelle hunted by a lion. 

A
little further, then I would be hidden by the night. I could find help
elsewhere. But as I ran, my faith in humanity died a fiery death. All my life,
I believed in the goodness of people. Never seeing darkness for myself. But
now, I hated everyone, suspected everything. Another part was broken: the
ability to trust.

A
shape blurred in the corner of my eye and I screamed. A hard form slammed into
mine, crushing me against soil and produce. The smell of earth assaulted and I
flared with pain.

Heavy
breathing filled my ear as I fought. We rolled, caking ourselves in dirt; I
tried to bite but nothing came within teeth distance.

I
was no match for the new brute. A boulder from the night—he loomed twice the size
of Q and fear sliced as hands pawed, rough and angry.

He
pulled me to my feet, black eyes glinting. “Hello, treasure.”

I
kicked and snarled. “Let me go.”

He
threw his head back, laughing. Thinning brown hair and wrinkled face put him
somewhere in his mid-fifties. But no middle-age spread covered his body—it
rippled with compacted muscle. With barely any energy, he dragged me across the
field as if I were a flea. I stopped struggling; this battle I lost, but I’d
save my strength to fight again.

The
driver waited, slouched over the wooden fence. He leered as the brute picked me
up, helping me over the slats. The driver caught me, running hands sickeningly
up my ribcage, brushing the sides of my breasts. “Nice of you to try and run.
We always like a chase.”

I
dropped my eyes, taking in my dirt stained clothing. I prayed for that vacant
part again, the cloud of uncaring, but as they pulled me, struggling, into the
Tuscan inspired house, it never came. My mind shackled me to endure whatever
would come next.

The
brute shoved me through the door, and I jumped as it slammed shut. My throat
dried, noticing how many locks braced the exit. It looked like a bunker—someone
who didn’t trust a dead-bolt but had to have a chain and bar, too. What the
hell did he do in here?
Don’t answer that.

I
tried hard not to panic, but breath came faster.

The
brute strode fast, fingers bruising my upper arm as he pushed me through the
house. Rooms of understated elegance and money greeted, but cobwebs laced
chandeliers and dust rested on unused furniture. What the fuck was this place?  

“Why
are you doing this?” I asked as he opened a room and shoved me through. My jaw
fell open.

The
ballroom of the dilapidated house had been turned into a sadistic fun-room. Plasterwork
of roses and angels on the ceiling smiled down on rows and rows of dusty
floggers, whips, restraints, and so many toys it could’ve been a sex shop. Two
expanses of the huge walls were mirrors.

I
immediately looked away from the image. I couldn’t stand the sight of being
entrapped by two men. My life had fallen into the devil’s clutches and I’d done
this to myself! I ran from Q. I’d been stupid. So, so fucking stupid!

The
brute grabbed my chin, making me look into black eyes. “I’m doing this because
it’s high time that bastard Mercer gave me some pussy. He thought he could stop
farming out women? Too bad, he has customers, and customers have needs.”

My
world fell apart. That couldn’t be true. Q was many things, but I couldn’t see
him sharing women, trading them, renting them out. But some terrified part
wondered if that’s how he earned his money. Where did he go during the day?
Were there other girls, hidden in the house, being used, abused?

I
shook my head. Q hated himself for what Russian Lumberjack did. His apology
ached with remorse. He couldn’t have those sort of emotions and be a trafficker,
too. It didn’t make sense!

The
driver spoke up. “That cunt Mercer has a lot to answer for, and we’re gonna take
those answers from you.” He licked his lips. “The moment you said he was the
one you ran from, I couldn’t believe my fucking luck! He lied to us, and now
you’re the one who will pay.”

I
whimpered as The Brute grabbed the back of my neck, shoving me toward the
massive mattress on the floor. I fell, coughing as a billow of dust surrounded
me. My eyes smarted but I refused to let any moisture fall.

The
men laughed and punched each other in the shoulder, as if they were about to
get lucky on a date. The world was infested with evil. I hated them. Hated,
hated,
hated!

I
glared up. “I’m not an object to take your revenge out on. If you have issues
with Q, take it up with him!”

Brute
laughed, slapping meaty thighs. “Oh, treasure.
You
are the perfect
revenge.” He removed his brown jacket, shrugging it to the floor. “I am
curious, though. How many girls does he have now?”

I
clamped my lips closed. Q conned me into believing I was his only slave—his
only plaything. Once again, jealousy gripped my heart. Everything Q made me
believe was a lie. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t have emotions, and he
trafficked women. He was worse than the men who kidnapped me—at least they wore
their true colours. Q was a chameleon, so clever at hiding the truth.

Driver
went to one of the racks and chose a flogger. Heartbeats raced as he swatted
his hand, testing the sting. He grabbed a couple of packets from a dusty bowl
and threw one at Brute.

The
man nodded. “
Merci.
” His eyes fell on me and darkness took over. I
wouldn’t be able to reason as no soul remained. I knew with deadly certainty
they would kill me after. I wished they’d kill me now, before they ruined me.

Driver
went behind me and I swivelled my neck, hating him being there.

The
air thickened and all three of us froze—caught in a tiny window where normalcy
reigned—then my life ended for the third time.

Brute
threw himself onto the mattress; his bulk crushed, expelling my breath. I
yelped as Driver’s hands wrapped in my hair, tugging so I had no choice but to
lie down against the rank mattress. I always liked my long hair, but now I
wished I was bald. My own body fettered me; I couldn’t get free. My scalp stung
as he pulled harder. “Obey, slut.”