Mes besoins sont ma défaite. Je suis un monstre dans une peau humaine.

My needs are my downfall. I’m a monster in human skin.

I hated the songs. Soft songs made Q seem human, living with mistakes and anguish, just like the rest of us. I preferred the raging songs. Ones with a heavy beat, heating my blood, filling me with energy to escape.

Et je vais prendre ce que je veux et payer mon propre désir. Cauchemars de ma solitude. L'obscurité pour un ami.

And I'll take what I want and pay for my own desires. Nightmares for my loneliness. The darkness for a friend.

The longer I lived in Q’s house, the more my French improved. Rust gave way to smoothness and it happened without my knowledge. I no longer frowned and worked out every word—gist of sentences became clear, no longer fumbling in the language dark.

Although I missed Suzette and her friendship, I didn’t care about the isolation. I was left alone; it kept me focused.

Under the disguise of cleaning, I searched the library and lounge for weapons. A letter opener, scissors, something to help me dispose of the GPS tracker. I couldn’t run until I removed it. Q would find me too easily.

My escape plan wasn’t well thought out. I had no Mission Impossible idea of taking Q hostage and forcing him to release me. All I had were my legs, and a few apples I managed to steal from the kitchen. Living in an open home granted the illusion of freedom—to go where I pleased, move around at will—but in searching for weapons, I realised how false the freedom really was.

Guards patrolled the upstairs level, keeping me from entering bedrooms. Black suited goons patrolled the sweeping grounds outside, their breath sending foggy plumes into late winter air.

I could enter the library, lounge, kitchen, and bedroom only. It was a tiny cage compared to the expanse of the house. If I cared about staying, I would’ve sneaked and investigated. Where did Q sleep? What other rooms were there? More like the pedestal room where the Russian bastard hurt me, or worse?

But I didn’t care. I’d been here long enough. I wouldn’t play damsel in distress waiting for Brax or the police to rescue me. They would never come. It was up to me, and I was ready.

I stepped out of the library, wafting a duster, disappointed yet again I couldn’t find a sharp implement, and froze.

Heartbeats raced as a whiff of sin and citrus assaulted. Q was close.

“Je suis allé trop loin, Suzette.” I went too far. Q’s voice twisted with unforgiving darkness.

I wanted to crawl into a ball and hide. I hated eavesdropping. Whenever I did as a child, I heard nasty things that cramped my stomach. Things about being unwanted, a nuisance, a hindrance.

My parents even spoke about adopting me out when I fell violently ill with the flu. They didn’t want to deal with a sick child, being older and vulnerable. Caring more for themselves than an innocent girl.

Suzette answered, her voice coming from behind the blue velvet stairs. The place where the hidden door to the gaming room lurked. “She didn’t break. You should see her, maître. The fire is still in her eyes.” The air bristled with passion, they spoke of me. My entire body boycotted. I wanted to move, but if I moved they’d hear me. What would Q do then?

Q muttered something I didn’t catch.

“You’re not like him. Don’t let this stop you. She feels something other than hatred. Believe me. A woman knows when another wants a man.”

Q chuckled. “You want me, Suzette?”

She giggled darkly. “You know I do. But I also appreciate your promise, and that’s why I think you need to keep going.” The sad resignation made me feel sorry for her.

Q was ruthless and closed off; I didn’t care what demons he dealt with. It didn’t give him the right to do what he did. So why did jealously prick my skin at the thought of him f**king another? I knew nothing about him, yet my body pined for more—against all my wishes.

If Suzette was on my side, why hadn’t she talked to me the last four days? If she’d shown she still wanted to be a friend, I might not have shut off—become so remote and focused on freedom.

My eyes widened. You don’t mean that, Tess. Would I have stayed even after what happened?

I shook my head, anger hot. No way. I couldn’t stay. All I needed was a split second opportunity, and I was gone. Just like the sparrows on the wall—darting to heights where Q could never find me.

“Enough. I will not talk about this,” Q snapped, different to his previous tone. Clothing rustled and I darted to the library, ducking next to a bookcase. Q’s silhouette stalked past the door, heading outside. The quick flash of sunlight beckoned; I wanted to run after him. To sprint into the fresh air and leave this place—this confusing, horrible place.

A car waited outside, but Q didn’t climb in and drive off. Instead, he stalked out of sight.

I didn’t dare move, and Suzette shouted. “I’m heading to the village, Mrs. Sucre. It’s my half day off, and I need to run some errands.”

I didn’t hear Mrs. Sucre’s response, but it sounded like she argued. My heart galloped. Suzette was leaving. This is my chance! I might not get another. A village meant people. And people meant safety in numbers.

Suzette grumbled and stomped away, obviously summoned by the cook. Not wanting to waste a moment, I pushed off the floor like an Olympic sprinter and darted into the foyer. I fumbled with the front door with anxious fingers, then sprinted down the sweeping steps toward the car. Please, let there be keys.

Sun burned my retinas even as the cold temperature bit through clothing. The freshness of being outside gave me a burst of happiness. I would save myself. Tess, the survivor.

Gasping with adrenaline, I checked to see if keys dangled in the ignition.

Nothing.

Shit! I couldn’t drive to freedom, but I could stowaway while Suzette drove. Not wanting to be discouraged, I tried the back door, almost crying in relief when it opened.

I threw myself inside, huddling as tight as I could in the foot well.

Suzette bounced down the steps. “Bonjour, Franco. You’ll drive me to the village?”

Oh, f**k. I clamped a hand over my mouth. Why couldn’t Suzette drive herself? Were none of Q’s staff allowed to go unchaperoned? My heart raced faster. So many things could go wrong—Franco could catch me, Q would punish.

“No problem. I need some cigarettes, so perfect timing.” Franco’s voice sounded friendly, upbeat, like any man with no care in the world. Obviously, his conscience didn’t care what his employer did to women.