Tears of Tess

My heart squeezed as two black sedans drove sedately down the long gravel drive and stopped in front of the house. A chauffeur jumped out and opened the rear door.

Q stepped out, smiling reservedly at the man. He straightened his black trench and sucked in a deep breath, as if fortifying himself to enter his own home. The jacket stretched across his chest, showing the powerful breadth of shoulders. He tilted his head toward the library, searching for me no doubt, and fingers loosened the tie around his neck.

A look of depravity and unhappiness etched his features. I huddled on the window seat, hidden by the shutters and gloom, and conjured stories for him.

Who was this man? This conundrum, this enigma. A man so young, but so rich. A man who accepted women, who lived on his own with a galley of staff. A man who had more secrets than I ever did with Brax.

Was he hurting? Did he have a wife? I drafted a fairy-tale of his faults and flaws granting redemption. Perhaps he was kind under the gruff exterior. Perhaps I could appeal to a sensitive part locked far below and encourage him to release me willingly?

Perhaps.

Perhaps.

Perhaps.

I smashed at my eyes, warning them to stay dry. All my stories were just that: fiction. I had to stay in the real world. A world where focus and the preparation to bolt would save me.

My mind latched onto other things. Things like an escape pack. I needed warm clothes, a stash of food, and a knife to remove the GPS anklet. Those things would keep me alive when I found the opportunity.

I could somehow make it to the Australian embassy—wherever the hell it lurked. Would they save me? Send me home. Home to Brax, and parents who didn’t care. Parents who hated that I stole their retirement.

The front door swung wide as Q stepped into his home. The glass of the library doors showed him regal and proud, like a magistrate returning to his castle. All aura of confusion lining his face, gone.

He didn’t pause, heading straight to the library and unlocking the door.

I tensed and wrapped my arms around my knees. I sucked in a breath as he strode into the room.

It took him a moment to find me, looking in the wingback, by the bookcases. His body coiled tight as he hunted the room. When he found me, he froze.

Something snapped between us, arching with awareness, temptation. I mentally fought it, cutting the connection.

His nostrils flared as we glared from our sides of the room.

“Come,” he demanded, holding out a hand, fully expecting me act docile and follow. As if.

I bared my teeth, hugging myself hard. I didn’t grace him with an answer; my body language screamed all he needed to know: I despised him.

He didn’t demand again. Instead, he gritted his teeth and charged. With strength I feared, he plucked me from the seat as if I were an errant child. Fingers bit into my upper arm as he dragged me over plush carpeting and out of the library.

I squirmed, but couldn’t dislodge him. “Get off me.”

He didn’t answer as we almost jogged through the house. I didn’t see anyone. No noises of life, no visions of help.

Q headed straight behind the sweeping blue, velvet staircase. My breath caught as he punched the dark wood panelling.

I jumped when it popped open, revealing a door. Fear exploded in my veins. Upstairs in the house, I had the illusion of civility. If he took me down there, it symbolised a lack of constraint. My horror-filled visions might come true.

“No!” I twisted my arm, causing Q to grunt. He had no choice but to release me or earn a broken wrist.

I bolted, but Q was faster. He crashed against me and we collided into the wall. My rib roared and I panted, battling with pain. Turned out, I already forgot the lesson Leather Jacket taught me: obedience may be key, but I couldn’t walk willingly down those steps. I’d rather bleed and know I tried to save myself.

Q pressed h*ps into mine, sandwiching his entire body against me. “Stop fighting, esclave!”

He managed to capture my arms, pinning them in his hands. My tattoo burned along with rope injuries. A knee forced my legs apart, effectively trapping me.

I whimpered as my body once again disobeyed and grew hot beneath his touch. My heart rabbited as Q pressed his forehead against mine. His eyes blazed me to the core. “Arrêt.”

I stopped breathing, suspended by the hard-edged yearning in his voice.

I cocked my chin. “No.”

He sighed heavily, pushing away, but keeping hold of my wrist. My muscles trembled as he dragged me through the hidden door and down the steps. He tugged too hard and I tripped.

I landed against his back, causing him to almost fall. Arms came up, wrapping around, pressing us against the banister, stabilizing.

“Merde,” he muttered. “Can you not even walk? Is that why they gave you to me? Were you the reject? The one they couldn’t sell for top dollar?”

His words slapped, sharp and stinging.

Is that what happened? I’d disrupted their sick operation by standing up to Leather Jacket, the weak bastards removed me before I screwed everything. Anger as well as happiness heated. Anger that they dismissed me as the reject, happiness at standing up to them.

Thank God, I fought. I didn’t know how much danger I faced with Q, but I knew in my bones it was better than Mexico. I could’ve been drugged, raped repeatedly, and left to die in my own vomit. Now, I had to deal with a millionaire with issues.

See, Tess. Whatever happens, it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.

Perversely, I took strength in that. I still had wits, and consciousness. I was still fundamentally me, if only hidden beneath my gutter mouth, fierce persona.

When I didn’t answer, Q pulled me down the remaining stairs. The narrow flight ended, depositing us in a shadowed cave of a gaming room. To the right, an apple velvet pool table glowed beneath a low hung red chandelier. To the left, a sparkling bar with cut crystal sprinkled rainbows against the wall under spotlights. Wood panels on the walls and ceiling entombed us. All it needed were wisps of cigar smoke and smell of hard liquor.

The air was hushed, private. A man’s heaven.

Q threw me to the side, almost like he couldn’t touch me any longer. I stumbled with momentum, toward the pool table. Balls clacked together as I disrupted the neat triangle with an elbow.

I made to turn, to face him, but his hot length folded me, pushing me hard against the felt. I cried out as he forced my face against the table and ground h*ps into my ass.

I thought I’d been afraid up till this point. But I wasn’t, not really. Being trapped beneath his body, with hot breath on my neck, reminded he was the predator and I was his prey. It degraded, put me in my place, all the while my blood flowed faster, breath turned cloying in my lungs.