Tears of Tess

Je suis le diable, et il n'y à pas d'espoir.

Can’t you see my plight, when all I want to do is fight,

you paint me in a light I can never be,

I come shackled with shadow, consumed with rage and fire,

I’m close to breaking, the urge is quaking, raping,

I’m the devil, and there’s no hope.

The song dwindled to silence, leaving my heart racing. On instinct, I opened a huge door and entered paradise. A conservatory, the size of a four bedroom home, welcomed with vaulted glass and sky-scraping palm trees. Sounds of a gurgling river and waterfall lilted behind luscious foliage. Stars twinkled above through the endless glass roof—no moon tonight.

My head cocked, listening. What is that?

Tweets and chitters, chirps and whistles. I battled leaves until I came face to face with a two-story-sized aviary.

Jewelled birds flittered and sang, happy in their cage. A lot of them roosted for the night, heads tucked under wings, little chests flurrying.

I looked closer. Instead of parrots and budgerigars I expected, clouds of sparrows, quails, wrens, and blackbirds, littered the aviary. Common, every day, winged creatures, but just as intricate and perfect.

I have to know what the birds mean.

My mind shot back to the mural and the sparrows on Q’s chest. The most amazing tattoo I’d ever seen.

Countless hours would’ve gone into the piece, unlike mine that only took ten minutes. Rubbing my barcode, I wondered if it could be changed. I didn’t want to be reminded of what happened… it was in the past, and slavery with Q didn’t compare.

A wave of guilt blistered as I ran a thumb over the black lines. I couldn’t think about the other women, where they ended up, who they now belonged to; it hurt too much.

A sparrow twirled a note, landing on a branch close by. Its black, intelligent eyes assessed me, its little head cocked.

What are you thinking little bird? Do you know your master? Can you tell me who he is?

It bobbed on the perch, then flew away, leaving in a gust of feathers.

The speakers crackled as a new song began. A deep, erotic beat, vibrating through the air. The bass so heavy, leaves shivered with the sound.

My body ached, needing a release. My sense of hearing belonged to Q. Did he know the song would frustrate the hell out of me—needing him, wanting him?

I refused to bring myself to an orgasm, but if he didn’t come soon, I’d hunt his ass down and make him break his stupid promise. I would win the competition, without revealing my name.

Watching the birds, my fingers trailed downward to where Q nicked me with the scissors. The cut was long gone, but I wanted another. I wanted rough and untamed. I wanted bruises and cuts, amplifying the thrill of pleasure.

I want him to spank me again.

“Esclave. Que fait tu ici?” What are you doing in here? Q’s voice vibrated in the conservatory.

Everything immediately tightened, liquefied, responded. I couldn’t see through thick foliage, and spun in a slow circle, searching.

“How did you know where I was?” I peered into the dark green haze, trying to see past the leaves.

He chuckled; it was low, gruff. “This entire house has cameras. Nothing happens without my knowledge.”

I should’ve known. Control freak Mr. Mercer kept tabs on his empire. Did my room have cameras? I wanted to demand if he saw my plaguing nightmares, if he counted the hours I stayed up for him, only he never showed.

Q appeared, emerging from behind a palm-tree. He wore a white linen suit, no wrinkles marring his perfection. The grey shirt looked like a cold winter’s day, highlighting pale eyes. He held a black leather folder in his hand, pressing it against a thigh.

My ass stung as a fantasy of being hit with the file charged like wildfire.

I sighed, smiling slightly. Everything was exactly as it should be. My place in the world was by Q’s side. I accepted it. It’d been too long. My body warmed, melting, remembering his demands, the way he slapped me as he came. He said he wanted to make me scream. After two weeks of loneliness, I would let him—gladly.

Q came closer, shoulders tense, eyes strained.

I frowned at the stress lines on his forehead and mouth. His gaze met mine, but instead of the usual soft jade, they were faded, like watered down lime, throbbing with pain. I paused. I knew that look—I suffered myself.

Q had a migraine.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” He sighed, dragging a hand over his short hair, face strained and tired.

My heart sped up. He looked human. Wrecked. The cruel, confusing master was hidden beneath an overworked, hurting man. Tenderness rose; I wanted to care for him, take away his stress. There wouldn’t be angry dominance tonight, but I didn’t care. Seeing Q this way gave me another piece of the puzzle. It showed the depth of my own feelings. All the normal emotions where Q was concerned were gone: fear, awareness, heat… all hidden under the need to soothe.

Leaving the noisy birds in the aviary, I stepped closer and pressed a kiss ever so softly on the corner of his mouth. “You’re not well.”

His nostrils flared and he jerked back. “My well-being is none of your concern.”

I scowled, crossing my arms. “Your well-being is my concern. And I’ll tell you why. If you get sick, what happens to me? Where do I go? Who do I end up with?”

Q shifted, eyes going to the cage of birds. Shadows wrapped around him, and I tried to read his secrets. Why can’t he let me see all sides of him? What the hell was he hiding?

“I’m fine. Nothing will happen to me or you.” Anger blazed in his eyes.

I offered comfort, and he didn’t want it. I overstepped the boundary from scared slave to equal, and it pissed me off he didn’t let me.

I wheeled around, charging for the door. Bloody bastard. If he wanted to lie and wallow in pain, fine by me. Didn’t mean I had to stick around and worry. If he wanted me to stay in my little box of possession and didn’t want a woman who could help—awesome. I would.

“Wait!” He winced, dropping the folder. I glanced at the exit. I should leave. I no longer wanted to encroach on Q’s space, seeing as he didn’t want me.

Q moaned slightly, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m not used to slaves wandering around, rooting through my stuff.” He smiled slightly. “You’re inquisitive, I’ll give you that.”

I was insulted and happy at the same time. My feet turned, and I went to stand in front of him. Trying to seem cold and unaffected by his pain, I stooped to pick up the file, passing it to him.