I lingered like a voyeur as Brax helped the girl stand, holding her for a moment longer than necessary. The look of implicit excitement in her eyes made me yearn. Yearn for another.

I waited for green jealousy. I waited for rage. I waited for anything…something to show I cared.

Nothing.

Brax laughed at something she said, ruffling Blizzard’s head. A smile slowly bloomed on my lips.

Brax liked another. He no longer used me as his crutch, and I no longer needed him as mine. Realization thundered with a hundred drums and lightning bolts.

Happiness. Freedom.

Brax didn’t need me.

I’m free!

Emotions frothed and stirred. The leash tying me to Brax—the one woven and threaded with obligation and friendship—snipped, leaving me unbelonging.

For the first time in my life, I was mine. Completely alone. No one had a right to me. No one owned or claimed me. Blazing joy blew away my mediocrity, my need for people to care.

I cared for me. Je suis à moi. I am mine. The French affirmation was ridiculously perfect.

I whispered it, tingling with possibility. “Je suis à moi.”

* * * * *

The next night, I said goodbye to Brax.

While he went to put the rubbish out and flirt with the neighbour, I pulled an old backpack from under the bed and packed. Turning on the radio, I bobbed to pop music, welcoming a new beginning.

Clothes I didn’t like, accessories I no longer cared for, I stuffed in the bottom. For the first time in my life, I was going out on my own. No back-up plan, no safety net. No one to rely on but me.

I didn’t have a destination in mind. But I knew I wanted to make good on my promise. The promise I gave to the woman who tattooed me in Mexico. I told her Karma would bite her ass. I wanted to be that Karma. I wanted to hunt and hurt every person involved, and stand up for all the women who didn’t have a happy ending like me.

I was done being weak and passive. I’m done being Tessie.

Looking at my newly plastic-wrapped wrist, I smiled. Over the past month, I’d had the middle of the barcode lazered off. I embraced the pain; after all, Q taught me pain was pleasure.

He roared into my head.

“Only think of me and what I’m doing. There is intimacy in pain, esclave. Let me make your pain my pleasure.”

I shook the memory away, ignoring the clenching between my legs. God, I missed him. Missed his egotistical coolness, his super-hot violence.

But I thanked him, too. Without his cruelty, I would never have found the core of iron deep inside.

Smiling, I traced the small bird in flight trapped between the two ends of the barcode. Beneath the sparrow were the numbers: 58.

It was morbid. Wrong on so many levels to brand myself as slave fifty-eight, but Q was the highlight of my life. The poignant centrepiece who would never come again.

When I was old, married, bored, and drained, I wanted something to remember him by. The tattoo of bird and number would always hold those memories. A lock box of sadistic pleasure available to relive in the privacy of my mind, whenever I needed a shot of fire.

Sighing, I grabbed the last thing in my wardrobe.

The grey dress I’d left Q’s home in. A song switched on the radio.

Your touch consumes me, frightens me, beguiles me

you want to capture me

I want to be your victim

you want to ruin me

I want to be your broken

you show me your darkness

and I’ll give you my light

The lyrics slapped me around the head, and I stared at the dress for ages. My heart didn’t know if it wanted to beat or die. In a horrible moment of disgrace, I sniffed the material. Soft lingers of citrus and sandalwood gripped my stomach with love and hate. Two equal feelings, so different, yet not different at all. They were both one thing: passion.

Screwing the dress into a little ball, something crinkled.

Frowning, I pulled the envelope free that Franco gave me. I’d been too chicken to read it. Instead, I hid it in the dress, hoping I would forget.

I never forgot.

But now, I had strength. I was in control of my destiny. Sitting on the bed, I slipped a finger under the tacky glue to open.

Heartbeats jangled as I tipped the envelope upside down. Brax’s silver bracelet fell out.

It landed in my lap and I could only gawk. Q returned my bracelet.

“Merde!” he swore. Standing, he scooped the bracelet from the carpet and dangled it above. “This is mine. You are mine. Get that through your head if you ever want it back.”

That was a lie. All of it. He relinquished the bracelet so easily—like I was never his. If he made the commitment to fully own me, I wouldn’t have spent the last month in purgatory.

I flung the bracelet away; it landed on Brax’s pillow. I didn’t want it anymore. It belonged to two identities, who I no longer bowed to.

I will move on, so help me. I would find and rescue women who suffered abuse and hardship. I would become a trafficker’s worst nightmare. Even though you deny him, you’re becoming him.

My eyes widened.

Q saved women, same as I was about to do.

He might save them, but he never brought the bastards who did it to justice. I wanted to go after the monsters, not just the offerings.

I looked into the envelope before tossing it away, and pulled out a small piece of paper. Air refused to enter my lungs.

Esclave,

Tess,

This is for your freedom

Fly high and happy

Je suis à toi

Q

I clamped a hand over my mouth, holding back a wail. Behind the note was a cheque.

Signed with an arrogant swirl of an autograph Quincy Mercer had given me two hundred thousand euros.

I felt faint. Two hundred thousand! Anger blazed. Two hundred. Was that all I was worth? Less than a Bugatti or some other possession he could buy?

Shit, I wasn’t for sale!

The money sent two hundred spasms of hot frustration at his audacity. He really was a f**king idiot. I didn’t want his money. I didn’t want anything from him apart from peace. I wanted him out of my head. I wanted my senses to belong to me again. I wanted my heart to stop weeping. So many things I wanted… and would never get.

Damn him to the depths of hell.

My heart raced. Everything I’d been trying to forget, to run from, grabbed me around the throat, chocking with ruthless savagery.

“As you wish, esclave. Every time I call you Tess, remember I can do anything I want to you. I f**king own you.”