I’m coming for you.

My headache raged with the finality of my decision.

I was done with the phone call. Every passing second was a second I could never get back. “Get it done, Suzette.” I hung up. Shoving the phone into my pocket, I sucked in a ragged breath.

This was it.

No turning back.

The moment I started this, I had to keep going. Regardless if Tess swore, cursed, or wanted me to die. She might absolutely despise me afterward—but that was a risk I would take. For her. I would willingly wear her hatred if it meant I cured her.

Turning on the tap, I splashed my face with cold water, glaring at my reflection. Man the f**k up and do it.

Pacing to the door, I tore it open. My hands opened and closed as adrenaline filtered through my limbs.

Tess didn’t wake, comatose with the devils inside her. If I had my way it would be the last nightmare she ever had. Tonight I would enter her thoughts and slaughter every last f**king one.

Prowling through the darkness, I found the wardrobe and wrenched it open. A small light came on, highlighting a multitude of dressing gowns. Towel, fleece, silk, and cotton.

Ripping out a silk sash, I ran the material through my fingertips. It was soft, cool, and black. Perfect.

Grabbing another belt from a cotton dressing gown, I yanked it to see if it stretched. Just a little give. Good to know.

With the belts clutched in my hands, I faced the bed.

Tess whimpered, her hands bunching the sheets. From here, her face was flushed, not deathly white. She was close to waking.

I moved forward, glad of the dark. It was my friend, my ally. The accomplice in what I was about to do.

The bed hit my knees. I climbed onto the mattress, crawling forward till I positioned myself hovering over Tess. My fists indented the bed either side of her head as she slept.

I allowed myself a moment to drink her in. To trace the almost disappeared bruises on her arms. To grow hard staring at her perfect figure. But it was the brand on her neck that enraptured me.

The angry burn settled the growling monster inside. She would never be able to remove the scar. She’d announced permanently she would never leave me. No matter what I did to her.

My heart lurched, willingly allowing a small flavour of anger and darkness to settle.

Tonight was the last night she would suffer. Tonight, I would kill the past and invoke a new future.

By doing to her what the other cocksuckers had done before.

I’d broken the hold of her rape by giving her a new memory. I took her in the shower—replacing Lefebvre with me—turning horror into something more liveable.

I didn’t think it would work. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do.

But it did work. And I had to believe it would again.

I was about to make Tess relive everything.

I was about to stamp out the past and replace each incident with a new memory.

I was about to kidnap my fiancée.

Chapter Five

Bind our twisted perversions, love me dark, leave your mark. love my faults and imperfections

My night and day, my moon and sun, your light turns my black to glittering grey

“Do it, puta!”

I’d held off as long as I could. I’d fought and raged and been beaten for my troubles. But I couldn’t disobey any longer.

I pulled the trigger.

The bullet lodged inside Blonde Angel’s forehead.

With a whoosh of black swirls and icy wind, the dream unlatched its claws from my subconscious. Winds buffeted as Leather Jacket and blood and dead women snuffed out. I sailed up, up, up through the grotesque memories and back to reality.

Only this time. I didn’t wake up to Q’s arms around me and his kisses in my hair.

I woke up to a fate worse than death.

My instincts understood before my mind, dousing me in howling fear.

It’s happening again.

It was dark. Quiet. Serene. A lie. The worst kind of lie.

I’m not safe!

Heavy masculine breathing brushed my face as two large hands exploded through the shadows—reaching for me, going for my eyes.

No!

In an awful second, time screeched to a halt and two things happened. Two major things that showed just how much I’d changed from when they’d taken me in Mexico.

The first was I shut down.

I switched off.

All the passion and rage and spirit when I fought Leather Jacket was replaced with cold calculating numbness. For a moment all I wanted to do was give up. To let my heart cease its ragged beat and let the inevitable happen. After all, fighting didn’t work.

How many times must fate slap the same lesson in my face before I understood giving up was my only option?

Darkness even worse than night stole my eyesight. Something cool and slightly slimy was pressed over my face. The brush of strong hands on my ears made my skin crawl—the pressure of the blindfold sent my heart into a fulcrum, spinning faster than anything before.

Give in. Just give in.

I sent the message to my muscles: relax. Time for evil to win. But something stopped me from being a victim. Something deep, too deep to switch off.

And that was the second thing. Smashing away the weakness of prey, filling me with fire. Energy I no longer knew swirled from nowhere, seesawing my emotions between complete submission and rage so brittle and blizzard-cold, I no longer knew myself.

Fight. Kill. Or die trying.

My instincts catalogued everything. My attackers position, his breathing, the pressure of the blindfold on my eyes. His knees were on either side of my waist, the only weight came from his hands on my temples, holding the blindfold in place. The mattress dipped as he shifted.

I stayed prone and frozen, even while I sparked and conducted a battle inside. A battle of acceptance or murder.

My hands curled, calling forth the reckless survival I’d always tapped into. Half of me lamented—give in! Fate would never let me be free—I would never deserve Q. I couldn’t afford to keep paying these unpayable tolls. But the other half couldn’t give up. It wasn’t in my genetic code to allow something so precious to be stolen.

A never ending second ticked past where my heart whizzed faster and faster until my chest bled with fear. Neither of us moved. No needle was shoved into my arm; no curse was sworn in my ear. It was as if he waited. Paused to see what I would do.

A test then?

A test to see if I’d finally become the perfect possession to be traded. Had White Man won after all? Had he broken me by letting me believe in the falsity of safety?