Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark) (72 page)

A roar.

A cresting of voices, cheers,
gratefulness.

My eyes widened, unable to comprehend. Q’s fingers tightened around mine. He cursed, eyes looking frantically for freedom. “Goddammit.”

Women.

So many women—some with friends, others with families, but all linked by the same look of reverence in their eyes for Q.

Q.

My husband was beloved.

Franco appeared, flanking Q while Frederick and Angelique appeared by my side. “Wow,” Angelique murmured. “How is this possible?” Her long black hair was coiled into a bun; her white dress setting off her dusky skin.

A policeman in full mob gear climbed the steps. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mercer. We didn’t anticipate this.”

“What the hell happened here?” Q demanded.

The prime minster tapped Q’s shoulder. “The state invited some of the women you’ve had a hand in saving. I’m afraid we underestimated the response we would receive.” His wrinkled face and salt and pepper hair looked regal if not a little pompous. “It looks like you’re in for a long afternoon.”

Oh, my God. My heart went from thudding to whizzing. “Are these…”

Q’s face was stoic, but his pale eyes burned. “You did this without consulting me?”

So many women!
So many risks
. My instincts fanned out, seeking a threat. Q’s sacrifice to let Lynx hurt him had worked. No other death notes were delivered, no attempts on his life initiated.

But all it takes is one.

The prime minster looked at his shoes, abashed. “We wanted to show you just how honoured France is to have such an exemplary citizen. I’m sorry if it was the wrong thing to do.”

Q pursed his lips, scanning the crowd of women. His fingers twitched in mine, and I knew he recognised them—running through the catalogued condition they’d been in when they arrived—the environment in which he’d brought them from.

My stomach twisted with awe. Awe for how many lives he’d touched. I wished I could see his thoughts—follow his memories and understand.

“Q—this…it’s amazing. They came to thank you personally.” I clutched his arm, willing love through my fingertips. My chest cracked open with adoration for the man I called mine.

He looked at me, his face hard and unreadable. “This is extremely dangerous. Not just for me but for you. Don’t you think traffickers will be watching this? Waiting to see if they can pick off women who have already been prey?”

Panic shot through my system. I searched the crowd, relaxing a little, noticing the familiar bodyguards dotted in the swarm. We were protected. We had a team behind us now. A network of people we didn’t have before. No more attacks would be made.

I must stay confident.

“You have to say something…they need closure. Something, Q.”

Q’s face whitened. “What on earth can I say? Yes, I saved them, but I had no contact. I left them to Suzette to fix—I wasn’t there in their healing.”

I shook my head. “To them you’re the hero. The one who came for them when no one else did. You have to listen. You have to do something.”

The prime minster nodded. “Just a small speech, sir. Nothing big, then we can ask them to leave you in peace.”

Q dragged a hand over his face. His shoulders tightened, hiding his nerves. Letting his hand fall, his annoyance was veiled behind the stern, forcible nature I knew so well.

My core clenched. I wanted to tell him he may be my husband, and I was beside him every hour of every day, but he still made me wet—just by being
him
.

“Fine. Give me a damn microphone.”

A policeman appeared with a wireless one almost instantly. Q snatched it off him, never letting go of my hand. “If I’m doing this—so are you, Tess.”

He marched forward, giving me no choice but to follow in his footsteps. We stood at the top of the stairs, staring into the souls of victims who’d been saved. Clearing his throat, he said, “
Bonjour
.”

The crowd hushed, all eyes—blue, green, brown, grey—all landed on Q. Fixated by the man who gave them back their lives.

“I want to thank you for coming to see me today. The gesture is both gratifying and humbling. But I assure you, it wasn’t necessary. You gave me all the thanks I needed when you returned to your loved ones. The only payment I required was making you strong again.”

Murmurs rose from the crowd. A blonde woman darted between spectators, slowly making her way to the steps of town hall.

My heart whizzed, prickling with awareness. My eyes narrowed at the darting form.

Q continued, “Despite the evilness of the world, good has prevailed, and I hope each of you has been able to move on and not let them win.”

The blonde girl fought the crush of bodies. Her hand went to her pocket. Time slowed, moving in heartbeats, dying in increments.

“Franco!” I yelled, pointing at the girl. Petrified she had a gun—some weapon to kill Q.

Q yanked me behind his body, protecting me. Franco leapt down the stairs, imprisoning the girl’s arm. It all happened in a blink—swift, efficient, trapping the would be threat.

But then her blue eyes locked onto mine.

“Please, no more. You’ve done enough! You’re like them. You’re a monster!”

I stumbled backward; my palm went slick with glacial sweat. Q’s hand slipped from around my arm. I reeled away.

No. It can’t be.

My hands clutched my hair as a cloud of torrid memories sucked me under.

“Hurt her,
puta
.”

“I’m going to rape this one—then you’ll know what it will feel like when I start on you.”

My ears roared. My heart died.

Blonde Angel.

It can’t be!

But it was. I’d stared into her eyes while hitting her. I’d listened to her screams while Leather Jacket tortured her. I would recognise her anywhere. She was a tattoo upon my soul.

She raised her arm, pointing at me. Painting me like the witch who deserved to be burned. The blissfully happy six months evaporated under the weight of what I’d done. How could I forget? How could I pretend I’d paid the toll when I’d
killed
a woman? When I’d brutally tortured another?

“Tess—Tess?” Q’s voice cut through my horror, dragging me back to the sunny warm day in France. Innocent. Safe. But it wasn’t innocent or safe.

My past had found me.

And now I must pay.

“Her,” I croaked. “It’s her.”

Blonde Angel fought Franco, trying to climb the steps. Her eyes never left mine, locked together in purgatory. She wore such innocuous clothing—a pair of loose fitting jeans and huge yellow jumper. Her hair was up in a ponytail—she looked so young. So young!

My eyes fell to her walking stick, splintering my heart more surely than any bat I’d swung or any terror I’d rained.

“Please—I just want to talk,” she called.

Her voice sent me straight back to Rio—to my dreams. There she’d been reincarnated to die night after night. Here she was real—a figment of my nightmares come to haunt me for my crimes.

Q wrapped an arm around me. I didn’t register his warmth or comfort. I didn’t register anything but bugs and beetles and pain.

“Please—let me pass. I promise I mean no harm,” Blonde Angel pleaded.

Franco looked to me. His chiselled face was dark. “Tess—what do you want me to do?”

Blonde Angel fanned her hands. “I only need a minute.”

I couldn’t say no to her. Regardless if she was there to kill me. I couldn’t’ say no to the woman I’d hurt so badly.

“Let her go, Franco.” My voice was reedy, lost.

“Tess?” Q shook me, but I sank into memories.

“That’s it. Do it. Hit her. Harder.”

 Blonde Angel hurled herself up the steps, beelining for me. Her mouth opened, but I heard nothing. Only Leather Jacket lived in my ears.

“You’re so weak,
puta
. Beg for your life. Beg for it—maybe then we won’t make you kill her.”

Tears.

They sprouted up my throat, trickling from my eyes. My entire body wept for what I’d done to this girl. She halted a foot away; both of us breathing hard, both staring silently. Her tears matched mine—a torrent of emotions on her heart-shaped face.

A story screamed in her gaze.

Confusion.

Hatred.

Sadness.

Forgiveness.

She cried out, deleting the space between us. I cowered, bringing my arms up to protect myself, but her body smashed against mine, clutching me hard.

I froze. Not breathing, hardly existing under the horror I’d caused.

Q grabbed the girl’s shoulder, wrenching her back.
“Qu'est-ce que tu penses faire?”
What the hell do you think you’re doing? His voice was livid, his body trembling with rage.

I opened my mouth to explain.
How to explain?
I’d told him what I’d done—what they made me do. But having the evidence standing as judgement was too much.

“I had to see her. I had to tell her,” Blonde Angel sniffed, uncaring tears tracked down her face.

I sucked in a fearful breath. My limbs quaked. “I’m—I’m—”
I’m so damn sorry. So eternally, endlessly sorry. I’ll never ever forgive myself.

She shook her head, a smile breaking through her sorrow. “I had to tell you—I…” A fresh spillage of tears ruined her strength. Swallowing hard, she managed, “It wasn’t your fault. All that time, I knew you cared. You accepted more pain to stop us from receiving, but in the end nothing you did could’ve stopped it.”

She reached for me again, burying her face in my shoulder.

Something snapped inside. The grief I thought I’d dealt with gushed forth, purging the remaining darkness in my soul.

“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, clutching her, drowning in tears.

Q stiffened but never let go of my waist. I stood hugged by two people. My past and future. Anchored by my love, drifting on a sea of pain. 

The world ceased to exist as I found closure in the arms of my victim. The arms of the woman who I’d watched be raped and traumatised.

Q’s hand shifted to my lower back, linking me to the present where I was
good
. Where I’d repaid my sins by saving others. He gave me silent support while I came undone on the steps of the Paris town hall.

Slowly, my grief ebbed. Blonde Angel smiled, her face blotchy and red. I knew my reflection would match completely.

A smile graced her lips, a weight lifting off her shoulders, evaporating into the sunny sky. “Thank you.”

I shook my head. “Thank
you
. For being strong enough to forgive me.”

She pressed a kiss to my cheek. “We were both their victims. We knew that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Tess—is everything okay?” Q murmured, rubbing my spine. His eyes never stopped glaring at Blonde Angel. He stood as my guard, soothing my soul.

I smiled softly. “I’m better. Now.” Turning to Blonde Angel, I asked, “What’s your name?”

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s Sophie. And I’m guessing yours is Tess?” Her eyes flickered to Q, growing wide with awe. “I remember you. I remember you coming into our cell and some guards taking us away. I remember your home.”

My eyes snapped to Q. “She stayed at our house and I never knew?”

He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t want you to see any girls from Rio, Tess. For this exact fucking reason.” His gaze softened. “I’m very glad you’re happy now, Sophie, but can you please let go of my wife?”

Sophie laughed, rubbing the saltiness from her cheeks. “Sorry.” Letting go, she added, “Sorry for jumping on you. I just—when I saw you—I had to—”

I captured her hand. “I’m so glad you did. I’ll never be able to thank you.”

I would never be able to articulate the freedom inside—the freedom I didn’t even know I needed.

The prime minster cleared his throat. His eyes bounced from me to the woman hemmed in between Q and Franco. “Um, miss. Are you saying you had direct contact with Mrs. Mercer when she was taken in the reported second incident?”

Oh, no
. My heart picked up. I couldn’t have my crimes told. I wouldn’t be able to advocate Feathers of Hope if people knew what I’d done in that awful place. “No—she—”

Q growled low and threatening. “Leave her out of this. She came to see my wife. Nothing more.”

Sophie flashed me a smile, before facing the prime minster. “I respect Mr. Mercer, but yes. I knew this woman before I was rescued by him. I know what she went through, and I know how intrinsically good she is.”

My heart fell out of my chest. I was full of deceit. I hadn’t been good then. I’d been drugged out of my mind—their little puppet.

“Shoot her,
puta
. Or we’ll cut off her fingers.”

Why didn’t I shoot Leather Jacket? Why did I have to obey?

Prime minster nodded, his eyes glinting. “Would you be so kind to say a few words to the crowd, on behalf of the charities Mr. and Mrs. Mercer run?”

“Quoi!”
What? “No. Definitely not,” Q snapped. “Leave her—”

“I’d love to,” Sophie said, almost giving Q a heart attack.

Sophie gave me another smile and I knew I had to trust her. Whatever she said would be the truth—I couldn’t control how people perceived it. There was no arguing with what I’d done.

Laying a hand on Q’s trembling forearm, I swallowed my fear. “Let her, Q. Let her speak.”

Q’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring with anger.

“Very good.” The prime minster handed Sophie a wireless microphone, guiding her to stand in front of us. “You may begin when you’re ready.”

The crowd hushed from bedlam to whispers. Their energy was infectious. My legs itched to run. I didn’t want to be here—not when people learned the truth.

Sophie looked behind, holding out her hand.

What?
No. I can’t!

I squirmed backward, pressing against Q, seeking his protection like a wimp.

Q cursed under his breath. “I wish I could carry you away from this, Tess. But you can’t run—not now.” Pushing me forward, he murmured, “Stand beside her. Be strong.”