Tears of Tess

My heart raced. Suzette confirmed my thoughts from last night. Q may be a dominant but he suffered more than anyone. With what? Perhaps he was terribly disfigured. Was that why he refused to remove his shirt? I’d never seen him naked, or touched his skin.

“Tell me, Suzette. Tell me why he’s more broken than you or I.”

She hung her head. “That isn’t my story to tell, Ami. You’ll have to earn his trust and show you care to learn about your master.”

“And if I don’t want to learn?”

Suzette stood, looking overcome with endless sadness. “Then you don’t deserve him.”

* * * * *

That night, Q came for me.

I spent the day with Suzette and Mrs. Sucre, battling two different emotions. One moment, my body would warm and liquefy, remembering Q’s strength, his lust in the shower. The next, I’d freeze and swallow nausea while memories of Brute crushed.

The two extremes never ended, and by the time we finished dinner in the kitchen, my eyes were heavy, body lethargic. I needed sleep and hoped I wouldn’t be hounded by nightmares.

I lay in bed, staring at the silver canopy above. I hadn’t cleared it with anyone if I could remain in the carousel room, but Franco spotted me opening the door earlier, giving a slight nod. I hoped his nod meant I could remain on the second level, and not banish myself to the cell of a maid’s room.

The door creaked ever so quietly, sending my heart into hyper-drive. I didn’t need to ask who. My entire body knew the answer—master.

Q padded across thick carpet, his silhouette proud and stealthy. I wriggled beneath my sheets. What exactly was he doing here at two in the morning on a week day? I knew how hard he worked. I expected him to be in bed. The moment I thought of Q in bed my mouth went dry. Where did he sleep? What did his room look like?

Then again, I assumed Q worked hard. I knew nothing about him, and after the comments from Brute about Q’s family, I didn’t want to know. If I learned the truth, and it was disastrously horrid, I would have to run again.

And I didn’t want to run. The world was dangerous; I preferred to live with the devil I knew.

I held my breath as Q padded closer. It seemed with every step, he pulled energy toward him until the gloom sparkled. An image of Q na**d and asleep in bed assaulted me. My mouth watered at the thought of seeing him so vulnerable.

He stopped by the side of the bed. I couldn’t see his features in the dark, but his breathing was measured and strong.

He stood in faded jeans and a scruffy white t-shirt. I’d never seen him in something so…ordinary. He wore suits like a persona—a uniform amplifying his demands for submission. It worked. It turned him into a sharp, merciless weapon; the female in me licked her lips at his dangerous edge. But Q in jeans and t-shirt showed another side. A clue into the man behind the suits, a man with too many thoughts and no one to talk to.

He didn’t say a word, but simply placed two items on the foot of the bed. He paused, lurking in the dark.

I lay, unmoving, waiting to see what he’d do. I wouldn’t let him walk out the door without getting what I wanted. I wanted to talk to him, unravel his secrets. I needed to know if he wanted me so much, he came to wake me in the middle of the night. Waiting in the dark, I ached for an order to serve.

I licked my lips as he ran a hand over his head, deliberating.

Finally, he stepped toward the door, stopped, and turned back. Sucking in a breath, he ordered, “Wake up, esclave.”

His voice stroked my skin; I embarrassed myself with a small pant. I couldn’t help it—my hearing belonged to him.

He chuckled. “Unless you’re awake already.”

Dammit.

Coming closer, he leaned down and turned on the diamante side lamp, casting a soft glow, an oasis of illumination. “Bon soir.” His lips twitched a little as he stared from above. I grew too hot under the covers but daren’t kick them off. I wore a large t-shirt and shorts, but somehow they were insubstantial when Q looked at me. Like I was a chocolate éclair, and he desperately needed a sugar fix.

“Hello,” I murmured, loving the thrill of lust and fear. The knowledge I’d give him what he wanted and no longer suffer guilt. I was free from my feelings of Brax—I let him go. It hurt if I remembered his quirks and kindness, but there was no point torturing myself. Q owned me—that was all I needed to remember.

“I have gifts for you.” Q sat on the edge of the bed. His warm weight pressed hard against my thigh beneath the covers. I shivered.

He grabbed the sheets, fumbling beneath the quilt. I yelped as his hand found my ankle, tugging my leg out of bed.

I couldn’t speak as he rested my leg on his thighs, running a thumb around my bony ankle. “Something’s missing.”

His touch resonated directly between my legs. I trembled as he bent and pressed a possessive kiss on my shin. Reaching behind himself, he pulled a black bracelet into view, dangling it.

I gulped. Another GPS tracker.

“This saved your life, esclave, yet you cut it off to escape. If you’d have thrown it out the window while driving, instead of leaving it in the car, I would never have found you in time.” His voice verged on menacing, shooting horror into my heart.

Oh, my God, he was right. If I hadn’t thought I’d be free and in police custody, I might be buried with all the potatoes by now…or wishing I was.

In one swift move, I sat upright, stole the tracker, and secured it around my ankle. The snap of plastic echoed around the hushed space; heart thudded. I’d tagged myself. I willingly admitted I wouldn’t run again.

Q sucked in a breath, capturing my wrist when I went to pull away. He traced the barcode tattooed on my flesh. His face flashed with hatred and anger, but his ire wasn’t directed at me. My heart warmed, knowing he hated the people who stole me.

His fingers turned harsh, eyes captured mine. “How bad was it, when they took you?”

I waited for anger and terror for what they did, but I felt nothing. I didn’t know if I blocked it out, or if the rape dulled my senses.

Shrugging, I tried to tug my arm back. “It was the worst week of my life, until last night.”

“Worse than me?” he murmured. His voice held an edge, almost as if his question meant a lot more than what he asked.

Wanting to give him something, after all he did for me last night, I nodded. “A lot worse.”