Questions and uncertainty sprouted like vile weeds, growing thick and fast, suffocating all reason and clarity.

Am I truly what they say? I’m no longer a protégé. I’m truly the devil.

I squeezed my eyes, blocking the dream, grasping with panicked fingers to latch onto the weak tethering of awareness.

Wake up, Tess.

Please.

“Tell. Me.” White Man’s breath fanned my eyelashes, smelling of candy floss. Why did the demon of my nightmares smell of innocence and sugar?

Shaking my head, I whimpered, “There’s nothing to tell.” My arms stayed raised above my head, holding the crowbar in an unnatural pose. I had no control. None.

“Oh, but there is.” His white slacks whispered as he stepped to the side, dragging me forward.

Blonde Angel shook so much, my ears rang with the jangling of her bones. “Night after night you return to me. Night after night you kill for me. You’re not free, pretty girl. And that’s the f**king truth.”

Leather Jacket moved to my other side, grinning like a psychopath. “Truth’s a bitch and then she dies. You know how this ends, puta. Do it, then we’ll let you wake up.”

A gale whirled from nowhere, kicking up dust and mould from around the dungeon, howling in my ears: Do it. Do it. Do it.

“No! Not again. I can’t do it again.”

I’m crazy. I’ve lost it completely.

Blonde Angel stopped shaking and raised her head. Our eyes locked, understanding flowed. Mutual need to have this over with made her nod in heart-wrenching acceptance. In one fluid moment, she bowed forward. She didn’t say a word—she didn’t need to.

We could beg and cry and scream.

But ultimately, we had no power.

The truth burned my eyes, puncturing my heart.

I was a killer.

I am a killer.

I’m a monster.

The force holding my arms up suddenly released, and the weight of the bar came smashing down. Blonde Angel jerked and jolted. I blinked as the crunch of bone shattered beneath the weapon. Her arms splayed to the side as her body tipped over, succumbing to death.

I willed myself to wake up. Freedom normally came once I’d killed, but this black-laced dream was different.

Manic laughter filled the reeking dungeon. I dropped the crowbar and the clanging metal echoed in my ears. Something heavy morphed into my hands. Sinister and cold and deadly.

A gun.

The gun. The gun I’d used to take a life—a real life. The gun I’d tried to find freedom with. We had history, that gun and I. An intimate past with a murderous object forever linking me to this—this…never ending cycle of dreams.

“You tried to kill yourself last time, puta. Care to try again?”

I refused to look at Leather Jacket. His voice scurried like a thousand spiders over my skin. I craved the bland cushioning of the drugs. I wanted oblivion. Peace.

“Pull the trigger. Go on. You know you want to be free. This is your only way,” Leather Jacket said, prowling around me.

My malnourished, bleeding hands shook as I looked at the dead woman with her vacant eyes. Her skull looked odd—cracked and concaved from the killing blow.

I did that.

Me.

God, what has become of me?

Q sacrificed so much to bring me back—it was sacrilege not to keep fighting—to be worthy of his gift. But I had no reserves—no more strength to live these nightmares and stop them from trickling into reality. My nerves were raw. My mind broken. My spirit ruined.

No more.

One bullet, lightning pain, then it could be all over.

Leather Jacket yelled, spitting in my face. “Do it. You belong to us. You do what we command!”

I didn’t have the strength to fight back. I no longer wanted to exist in this world. Raising the gun, I opened my lips and guided the metallic chamber into my mouth. It tasted just like I remembered. The taste of finality. Closure. Squeezing my eyes, I tensed.

“That’s a good girl. Send yourself to hell. We’re waiting for you there.”

I pulled the trigger.

The sulphur of gunpowder itched my nose.

The loud detonation of a bullet rang in my ears.

Disbelieving tears streaked from my eyes.

Desperation and utter grief crushed my heart.

The dream howled and gusted and I split into identical images of myself.

One Tess jerked in death-throws as the back of her head exploded in a horrible mess of tissue and red rain. Another Tess, an omniscient dreamer, silently screamed—unable to do anything but watch.

“No!” This couldn’t be possible. I just killed myself.

I ended my own life.

I’m weak.

I’m a coward.

I’m worthless.

I screamed.

“Tess! Fuck, it’s okay.” Q caught me, just like he always did, as I shot upright and clung to his hard shoulders. I couldn’t suck in a breath; I scrambled nearer, trying to get closer, trying to morph into him to steal his endless reservoir of strength. Give it to me. Give me your sanity and warmth. I couldn’t let him see how rattled and ruined I’d become.

Q scooped me close, resting his chin on my head. “Goddammit, esclave. You’re ice cold.”

I shivered in his arms like a rapidly decaying leaf. “Sorry. Sorry—I’m—”

His muscles bunched beneath smooth, na**d skin as his arms wrapped tighter, giving me safe harbour. “Arrête. Tout va bien.” Stop it. You’re okay. His voice was level and full of unmistakable authority, but he couldn’t hide his own trembling. His hard body quaked with silent flurries of tension. But Q didn’t tremble from horror. Oh, no. My maître shook with undiluted rage. He bristled with ferocity. He smouldered with temper. His anger wasn’t directed at me but at the ghosts haunting my mind.

“You have to stop f**king letting them in. You’re safe. How many times do I need to tell you that?” His anger heated the ice in my blood, reminding me I was still alive and survived. If I could survive being forced to kill, having my finger snapped with pliers, drug overdoses, and rank living conditions, I could survive the residual memories. I had to survive. I owed Q my life. I wouldn’t fail him—not after what he did to bring me back.

Maybe I need help.

The thought of talking to a therapist filled me with horror. I wouldn’t be able to stomach their carefully blank faces as I confessed to killing a woman. I wouldn’t be strong enough to look into their eyes while I spoke of being high on a cocktail of toxins all formulated to cripple my mind and make me their little toy to be sold and used.