Tears of Tess

I looked behind me, expecting to see Franco within grabbing distance. I was an exposed target, standing in the middle of a blocked road.

The guy looked me up and down, nostrils flaring as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. Brown eyes glazed with confusion, and I suffered a pang of fear. He wouldn’t help.

I backed up, bunching muscles to run again.

Just as I was about to take off, he shouted, “Wait! I take. I take.” He ran around the front of the car and opened the passenger door.

Hesitation filled me, looking into the small sedan. Was this a case of jumping out of the pan and into the fire?

Who else do you have to save you?

“Esclave!”

Heart spurted with terror; I threw myself into the car. “Get in. Get in!” I couldn’t breathe as Franco fought his way through lingering pedestrians, eyes locked on me.

The guy jumped into action and ran to the driver’s seat. He slammed the car into gear, and we peeled forward with a roar of the engine. Franco slammed the car roof as we zoomed away, bypassing other cars, and jumping the curb.

I peered at the guy—my rescuer. His mouth thinned to a white line, navigating the road at hyper speed. I wanted to hug him, crush him in thankfulness.

Twisting in the seat, I stared out the back window. Franco jumped up and down in the street, yanking his black hair. He yelled something and threw his hands up, before sprinting back to where he parked.

Breathing hard, I swivelled to face the front, trying to calm down. I’d done it. I was free.

We didn’t say a word as we drove from the postcard perfect township onto pretty country roads.

Silence lurked like a third passenger. I stared out the window, tension knotting my stomach. I wanted to dance in happiness, but I wasn’t free yet. I needed to stay collected, stay wary. I frowned. After three weeks of torture, could it really be that easy? Uneasiness pricked, and I bit my lip. Surely, it couldn’t be that simple?

The GPS! In my rush, I’d forgotten about Q’s freakin’ tracker. Shit! I brought my leg up, resting a heel on the seat. Fingers fumbled with my jeans, pushing them up to access the anklet. I tugged hard, trying to wedge fingers beneath the twist-tie, but it only tightened, cutting off blood supply to my foot.

I huffed with rage. How the hell would I get rid of it?

The guy looked over, eyebrow cocked. “What are you doing?” He navigated a turn, before glancing again. “What is that?”

We made eye contact. His face seemed kind enough, not handsome, but not ugly. Mid-thirties with early wrinkles around brown eyes. Deciding he seemed trustworthy, I said, “I need a knife, or some scissors. Do you have anything like that?” I fiddled with the anklet. If I could raise my leg to my mouth, I could gnaw it off. The image made me want to laugh —I escaped, only to have chew my own leg off like a starving rat.

I expected him to say no. I mean, this entire thing seemed too perfect. Who could say their knight in shining armour almost ran them over, then whisked them away in a crappy Volvo?

My mind shot to Franco. Had he called Q? Arranged a search party for me? Q wouldn’t let me go easily. He’d hunt, but I didn’t intend for him to catch me.

Urgency pumped blood faster; I wished the driver would step on it. I wanted Formula One driving, not sedate Grandma.

The guy shifted, his foot pressing on the accelerator as he fumbled in a pocket. He frowned, wiggling his ass, reaching for something.

I watched with an incredulous expression, trying to figure out what he was doing. After a few awkward moments, he smiled, pulling his hand free.

With a flourish, he passed me a miniature Swiss army knife.

My eyes popped wide, and I accepted it with shaky hands. “Thanks.” My voice whispered with awe. From now on, I would carry a Swiss army knife—never know when one would come in handy. Bet he didn’t wake up this morning expecting a runaway to use it to cut a tracker off her body.

I took the red case and flipped open a serrated blade. I blew blonde bangs from my eyes, sawing through thick plastic. It took a lot of energy, and my skin grew clammy beneath the jumper by the time it snapped and fell away.

The moment it dropped to the floor, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The nightmare was almost over, one step closer to Brax.

The guy watched closely. His intense gaze sent flutters of awareness as I returned the knife. I kept my face blank when he palmed it, shoving it back in his pocket.

Perhaps I should’ve kept it? You’re not thinking clearly, Tess. Don’t trust anyone.

He gave me half a smile, light returning to his eyes. Fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “What happened?”

I managed three words: “Q Mercer happened.” Then weariness smothered and the thought of reliving it was too much. I couldn’t talk about it; I might not ever be ready to talk, and that was fine by me. It would become an unspoken moment of time and fade into oblivion.

Huddling, my chest clogged with emotion. So close… so close. I grew heavy as the adrenaline in my blood abandoned me. “I just need to get to the police.”

He nodded. The afternoon sun dipped through the windshield, highlighting the red in his hair. “Pas de problème.”

I gave a watery smile and settled back, looking forward to the future.

* * * * *

The sound of tyres on gravel roused me, panic flared like an old enemy. Gravel—please tell me we aren’t back at Q’s.

I shot upright, blinking out the window. Adrenaline and jittery warmth made my breath come fast. I’d become so used to terror overflowing, I wondered if I’d ever feel safe again.

It was dark; no population, no township, nothing in the looming blackness. I glared at the man supposedly saving me, trying to figure it out.

He smirked, slowing to a stop. I stared out the window again, disbelieving. Where were the bright lights of a police station? The comforting sounds of people?

Brakes squeaked and he grinned in the shadows. “Come with me.”

“But this isn’t a police station.”

He chuckled. “No. Not going to the police. But you’re home now, just the same.”

My world slammed to a halt; I gawked. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. It couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Hadn’t I dealt with enough in Mexico and with Q?

Ripe anger gushed, and all I saw was red. I wouldn’t let this happen. I wrenched open the door and toppled from the car.

“Hey, arrêt!” The man fumbled with the seat belt, but he was too late. I shot to my feet and ran.