Tears of Tess

He screamed obscenities, curses licking my heels, urging me faster. My head swivelled, looking for solitude, a place to run to. But all around, rolling country hills and patchwork farmland imprisoned better than any barbwire. I didn’t even know where he’d taken me. I could run for miles and never find help.

My heart ached, pushing my body past endurance. I burst past a row of soaring pine trees and my mouth fell open.

A sprawling country estate rested under moonlight. Inviting with arched windows and Tuscany appeal, but instincts beat an uneven tattoo in my chest. Evil. The house reeked of evil.

I darted to the right, running as far from the estate as possible. I came to a wooden fence and scaled it. The moment my feet touched ground again, I jerked my arms, propelling forward. Pain from bruises and ribs were inconsequential—running was paramount.

I stumbled in the dark, the only light came from the silver, pregnant moon. My ankle rolled on a row of potatoes ready for hoeing. I looked around—acres and acres of potatoes, all resting in blankets of dirt.

Keep running!

Breath rasped in the silent night, and legs burned, but I never let up the pace. I bounded over rows of potatoes like a gazelle hunted by a lion.

A little further, then I would be hidden by the night. I could find help elsewhere. But as I ran, my faith in humanity died a fiery death. All my life, I believed in the goodness of people. Never seeing darkness for myself. But now, I hated everyone, suspected everything. Another part was broken: the ability to trust.

A shape blurred in the corner of my eye and I screamed. A hard form slammed into mine, crushing me against soil and produce. The smell of earth assaulted and I flared with pain.

Heavy breathing filled my ear as I fought. We rolled, caking ourselves in dirt; I tried to bite but nothing came within teeth distance.

I was no match for the new brute. A boulder from the night—he loomed twice the size of Q and fear sliced as hands pawed, rough and angry.

He pulled me to my feet, black eyes glinting. “Hello, treasure.”

I kicked and snarled. “Let me go.”

He threw his head back, laughing. Thinning brown hair and wrinkled face put him somewhere in his mid-fifties. But no middle-age spread covered his body—it rippled with compacted muscle. With barely any energy, he dragged me across the field as if I were a flea. I stopped struggling; this battle I lost, but I’d save my strength to fight again.

The driver waited, slouched over the wooden fence. He leered as the brute picked me up, helping me over the slats. The driver caught me, running hands sickeningly up my ribcage, brushing the sides of my br**sts. “Nice of you to try and run. We always like a chase.”

I dropped my eyes, taking in my dirt stained clothing. I prayed for that vacant part again, the cloud of uncaring, but as they pulled me, struggling, into the Tuscan inspired house, it never came. My mind shackled me to endure whatever would come next.

The brute shoved me through the door, and I jumped as it slammed shut. My throat dried, noticing how many locks braced the exit. It looked like a bunker—someone who didn’t trust a dead-bolt but had to have a chain and bar, too. What the hell did he do in here? Don’t answer that.

I tried hard not to panic, but breath came faster.

The brute strode fast, fingers bruising my upper arm as he pushed me through the house. Rooms of understated elegance and money greeted, but cobwebs laced chandeliers and dust rested on unused furniture. What the f**k was this place?

“Why are you doing this?” I asked as he opened a room and shoved me through. My jaw fell open.

The ballroom of the dilapidated house had been turned into a sadistic fun-room. Plasterwork of roses and angels on the ceiling smiled down on rows and rows of dusty floggers, whips, restraints, and so many toys it could’ve been a sex shop. Two expanses of the huge walls were mirrors.

I immediately looked away from the image. I couldn’t stand the sight of being entrapped by two men. My life had fallen into the devil’s clutches and I’d done this to myself! I ran from Q. I’d been stupid. So, so f**king stupid!

The brute grabbed my chin, making me look into black eyes. “I’m doing this because it’s high time that bastard Mercer gave me some pu**y. He thought he could stop farming out women? Too bad, he has customers, and customers have needs.”

My world fell apart. That couldn’t be true. Q was many things, but I couldn’t see him sharing women, trading them, renting them out. But some terrified part wondered if that’s how he earned his money. Where did he go during the day? Were there other girls, hidden in the house, being used, abused?

I shook my head. Q hated himself for what Russian Lumberjack did. His apology ached with remorse. He couldn’t have those sort of emotions and be a trafficker, too. It didn’t make sense!

The driver spoke up. “That cunt Mercer has a lot to answer for, and we’re gonna take those answers from you.” He licked his lips. “The moment you said he was the one you ran from, I couldn’t believe my f**king luck! He lied to us, and now you’re the one who will pay.”

I whimpered as The Brute grabbed the back of my neck, shoving me toward the massive mattress on the floor. I fell, coughing as a billow of dust surrounded me. My eyes smarted but I refused to let any moisture fall.

The men laughed and punched each other in the shoulder, as if they were about to get lucky on a date. The world was infested with evil. I hated them. Hated, hated, hated!

I glared up. “I’m not an object to take your revenge out on. If you have issues with Q, take it up with him!”

Brute laughed, slapping meaty thighs. “Oh, treasure. You are the perfect revenge.” He removed his brown jacket, shrugging it to the floor. “I am curious, though. How many girls does he have now?”

I clamped my lips closed. Q conned me into believing I was his only slave—his only plaything. Once again, jealousy gripped my heart. Everything Q made me believe was a lie. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t have emotions, and he trafficked women. He was worse than the men who kidnapped me—at least they wore their true colours. Q was a chameleon, so clever at hiding the truth.

Driver went to one of the racks and chose a flogger. Heartbeats raced as he swatted his hand, testing the sting. He grabbed a couple of packets from a dusty bowl and threw one at Brute.

The man nodded. “Merci.” His eyes fell on me and darkness took over. I wouldn’t be able to reason as no soul remained. I knew with deadly certainty they would kill me after. I wished they’d kill me now, before they ruined me.