Twisted Together

Chapter Eleven

Intertwined, tangled, knotted forever, our souls will always be twisted together,

our demons, our monsters belong to the other,

Bow to me, I bow to thee, now we are free

It couldn’t be real.

It can’t.

I didn’t believe it.

I don’t!

The instant the door clicked, blocking me from Q, I felt adrift. Broken. Missing the matching piece of my soul.

I couldn’t handle the amputation of something so fundamental. I couldn’t think straight—my mind kept me frozen, replaying the gunshot, the beating, the never ending sentence of horror: Your fucking life of course.

They meant to kill him. He left so I wouldn’t see. He left to protect me. Always protecting me regardless of his own safety.

Rage.

I’d never felt such a complex mix of rage and absolute helplessness. I should run after them! Go!

I gripped my hair, tugging it hard. My heart thundered, shooting agony through my chest. All instincts said to find a weapon and go. But I had to think clearly.

They’re going to kill him!

There was nothing clear about that.

Go! I couldn’t not go after them. Even though I was utterly useless—an emotional wreck at the upheaval of my close-to-perfect life. Fate had once again took everything—reminding me I was penniless even though Q made me so wealthy.

I couldn’t stand by and let the toll strip me bare. I wouldn’t let Q sacrifice himself. I was going after them. Balling my hands, I ran toward the door.

“Tess. Wait!”

My head whipped around, eyes locking onto a bloody man struggling to his feet.

Franco! Holy hell, I’d completely forgotten about him. Slamming to a halt, I wavered between the door and helping the one man who might be able to save me. He’d been with Q when they hunted for me. He’d have resources, knowledge.

I refused to look away from the door—the horrible door blocking me from the love of my life as he was marched away with a bullet in his thigh.

Another lacerating pain flashed through my stomach at the thought of anything happening to him. It couldn’t. Not to Q. I wouldn’t let it.

He can’t die! Not now.

Then help Franco. He’s your only hope.

Anger heated my body at the realization of my own mortality. I could chase after the men, try to be heroic and leap on their backs and cry and scream…but ultimately all I’d achieve was Q being shot sooner and me joining him.

“Come help me up,” Franco ordered. “Whatever’s going through your head—stop it. It’s not as bad as you think.” His deep voice slapped me out of my disbelieving haze, dragging me back to earth.

Clutching my dress, I whirled around. “Not as bad as I think? Not as bad!” I stalked toward him. “They took him, Franco. They stole him from my arms and shot him.” My eyes burned but no tears fell. I wanted to scream until my throat bled. I wanted to kill every single last one of those bastards who’d taken what I couldn’t live without.

I can’t do this.

You must.

Everything Q had done for me—to make me whole again—teetered close to cracking. My tower that I’d smashed after Tenerife shivered with its broken bricks, trying to rise from its ashes to claim me.

But I wouldn’t let it. Not this time. This time I wouldn’t be a victim. This time I would win.

Franco manoeuvred his body, hobbling to a knee. A rush of guilt swarmed at not helping him, but I stood concreted to the carpet. So many things inside. So many conflicting, terrible responses as my body and mind battled with what to do.

I’d never felt this way. This lost, angry, terrified kind of way. As a victim, the choice to fight was stripped the moment I was captured. But as the one left behind I had choices, decisions—hope.

But then fear struck, crushing that hope. What if I made the wrong decision? What if I trusted Franco to help but the window of time to get Q back was already gone? I played roulette with Q’s life depending on the decision I made.

Action.

I needed to do something.

But being a statue was all I seemed capable of as scenarios rushed through my head, all ending in horrific ways.

Chasing after Q to find a bullet lodged in his forehead in the lobby.

Not chasing after Q to find they’d sent a ransom note and it would be a simple matter of an exchange.

Chasing after Q only to watch him be tortured—all because of me.

They took him because of me.

“Oh, my God.” Why hadn’t I seen it? I was so stupid. I’d done this. I’d ruined his life. Destroyed it. Demolished it. A sob began, building in girth and volume until I knew I’d explode into pieces if I let it go.

Arms wrapped around me, jerking me close to a metallic smelling shirt and tense broken body. Franco pressed me hard against him, giving me a rock to cling to while my misery threatened to drown me.

“It’s because of me. It’s my fault!”

“Of course it’s your fault.”

My eyes popped wide. He agreed! I couldn’t do it. I curled over, nursing the ball of agony in my heart, wishing to die.

Franco gathered me closer. “It’s your fault he’s happy. It’s your fault he’s finally accepting his past and looking forward to a future he no longer has to hide from.” He winced as his body wobbled. “This would’ve happened with or without you, Tess. You’ve only seen a smidgen of men involved in this industry. But Q knows thousands. He’s personally ate with them, done deals with them. He was welcomed into a world where admission is for life and any misbehaving means death. Yes, hunting for you so recklessly sped up the realization of who Q really was, but it would’ve happened. Eventually.”

He pulled away, looking into my gritty eyes. “And when it happened, he wouldn’t be where he is today. He wouldn’t fight as hard as he will now because he has love giving him power.” His emerald eyes softened. “If they’d come for him, and you weren’t in his life he would’ve fought—of course, but ultimately, he would’ve given in. Because in some fucked-up way he believes he deserves it.”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t—”

“You know him—the parts he lets you see at least. But I’ve been with him for nine years. And believe me when I say, he’s always gone through life knowing he would die young. He never came out and said it, but he wasn’t planning for a long life, Tess. He just didn’t have the strength to keep battling whatever is inside him.”

My heart felt as if it’d been mined of all the goodness inside, leaving it riddled with holes. Only Q could patch those holes, and it didn’t matter what decision I went with because the conclusion was all the same.

I would get him back. Just like he saved me. I didn’t have the luxury of second guessing and denial. It was time to go.

Clutching my torn dress, I pulled away from Franco. He stumbled a little, drawing my eyes to his torn trousers and blood-stained shirt. “Shit, Franco. I’m so sorry.” I reached out to touch a gash on his arm only for him to flinch back.

Then I saw it.

A crimson-soaked tie wrapped around his thumb. Or rather…lack of one.

My eyes darted to his, filling with liquid. “What—what did they do?”

He shrugged. “It’s the only access to your room. Key-coded fingerprints. I refused when they asked. Guess they didn’t like that.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the severed appendage.

Bile swashed up my gullet and into my mouth.

I ran.

Skidding into the bathroom, I threw the toilet seat up and purged my system of lychee martinis and Italian entrées in a wicked wave of vomit.

Cold sweat dotted my spine as my stomach convulsed.

Franco’s thumb. They’d cut off his thumb.

I retched again.

If they did that to get to Q, what the hell would they do to him now he was in their clutches?

I moaned, convulsing harder; my soul tried to claw its way out of my mouth.

Gentle fingers whispered across my neck, tugging damp strands, twisting them into a messy bun.

I looked up, still hugging the porcelain. Franco gave me a sad smile. “It’s probably a good thing it’s all out of your system. But we need to go. Do you think you’ll be okay?” I couldn’t help looking at his left hand, saturated in blood, wrapped with his tie around the stump of where his thumb used to be.

My stomach rolled as an image of Q’s fingers being cut off consumed me, but I swallowed hard.

Stop being a fucking girl.

I refused to waste another minute. Wiping my mouth, I stood up and made my way to the sink. Franco shuffled with me, holding my hair so I could wash my face. The broken dress gaped and flashed my breasts but I was beyond caring. Franco and I were well past a bit of flesh. He’d just become my lifeline in order to get Q back.

“Give me one minute,” I croaked through my bile-scalded throat.

Franco nodded, releasing my hair.

Rushing to the wardrobe, I grabbed a thick black jumper and jeans. Shoving the dress down my hips, I quickly yanked the jeans on and threw the sweater over my head, before wedging my feet into some ballet flats.

Franco limped toward me, a slight smirk on his lips. “Have to say that brought back memories of watching you dress into that slinky gold number for Q’s dinner party.” Then his eyes darkened. “Has he told you why he did that yet?”

My mind flashed back to the past—the mermaid filigree dress that hid nothing and offered everything to the Russian in the white jump suit. Shaking my head, I muttered, “No. But whatever his reasoning, I accept it. I knew even then he wasn’t as bad as he came across. I think I loved him the moment you forced me to bow.”

Franco half-smiled. “I only forced you because I understood the look in his eyes. He’d never had that look before.”

Going to him, I slung his arm over my shoulders, taking some of his weight. “What look?” We hobbled to the exit.

It was good to keep my mind on other things. It distracted me from what Q might be suffering—kept me levelheaded.

Franco sighed. “Lust…attraction…maybe even love. Who knows.” Giving me a quick smile, he said, “Either way. I knew he wanted you, and I wanted to see him happy.”

Franco opened the doorknob; we made our way slowly into the corridor.

This is going to take forever. He’s too injured.

I didn’t want to seem ungrateful for having Franco’s help, but we needed to go. We needed to hunt. How could we do that if Franco could barely walk and needed urgent surgery?

Franco hissed as I propelled him faster. “There’s a plan in motion. It’s not just us. So you don’t have to panic.”

My heart raced. Q—hold on. “What plan?”

“We had a discussion after Q rescued you. We knew the likelihood of them coming for him was high, so we had a system put in place. It’s already started.” Franco looked at his watch. “I’d say about twenty-five minutes ago—the moment they barged into my room and beat the fuck out of me.”

My body grew hot then cold, roasting then frigid. I wanted to split myself into an army of people and scour Italy for Q. I wanted to know what plan was in effect.

He can’t die. I won’t let him.

The elevator up ahead pinged, delivering its cargo like a tsunami of weapons and badges. Franco and I slammed to a stop.

“What the—” he muttered as a hoard of policemen all in smart black uniforms and silver brocade rushed toward us.

We stood like an island as a sea of police officers darted past, disappearing into the room we’d just vacated. I blinked. Was this part of the plan? Enlisting the local force to help us track Q?

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. If they were here to help then great…but if they weren’t…

Franco tensed, pushing me away to stand on his own two feet. His jaw ticked as he shoved his bloody, thumb-missing hand into his pocket.

A detective with slicked black hair and greying temples climbed off the lift, coming toward us. He narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay, sir? Ma’am?”

My heart latched itself to my voice box; I squeaked some stupid reply. My instincts were prickling, warning. I didn’t like him. I didn’t like this. Which was ridiculous as they were the law. We’d done nothing wrong—we were the victims. So why did I suddenly feel like a criminal?

The detective’s gaze fell on Franco, taking in his bloody clothing and protective stance. “What happened here tonight?”

Franco glowered. “Nothing. What are you doing here?”

The officer scowled. “We don’t have to explain our presence to you. Especially when it looks as if we’ve come to a scene of a serious crime.” His eyes pierced mine, looking me up and down.

I was aware of how I must look: white face, smudged mascara, and a jitter that looked as if I was high and needing my next fix. How could I explain the adrenaline in my system was from watching my lover be shot and marched away?

“Ma’am. Did this man hurt you?” His hand fell to his holstered weapon.

“What? No!” I leapt in front of Franco. “Not at all. Look we—”

“Tess—shut up.” Franco yanked me back by my jeans loop. Looking at the officer, he snapped, “You’re interfering. This is a private undercover operation. Now, let us pass.”

The officer’s eyebrow rose; his chest puffed out, swelling with testosterone. “You’re not going anywhere until I determine what occurred here tonight.” Taking out a notepad from his breast pocket, he scanned his notes. “Do you know anything about an indecent exposure incident that happened about thirty minutes ago? A passer-by said they saw a disturbance in one of the suites on this floor.” His eyes zeroed in on Franco. “According to witnesses, a woman whose face was covered was forced against the glass while an unseen male had intercourse with her. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

Franco threw me an incredulous look, his eyes yelling a message: Q did what?

I would’ve blushed if I had any blood left in my head—it’d all congealed in my feet leaving me ice cold. The one time I let go and it landed me in police custody.

Shit, what could I do? Lie.

My instincts said to run. I needed to run before they—

“You’re under arrest,” the officer announced. “I don’t care if you had nothing to do with that charge. You’re covered in blood and running from the location of a complaint. You’re both coming with us until we can find the truth of this matter.”

Oh no. No!

“Sir, it isn’t what you think. Please—” I begged.

“Tess, shut—” Franco began, only to groan in agony as the officer grabbed his elbow, tearing his hand from his pocket to secure metal handcuffs.

“Che cazzo?!” The officer’s mouth fell open, staring at Franco’s butchered hand. The tie wrapped around the stump dripped crimson all over the pristine snowy carpet. The detective glared at us, confusion and a slight thread of fear entering his black gaze. “Someone better start talking about what happened here tonight.”

I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. This was beyond the realms of comprehension. Q had been stolen by men who would kill him—and we were being detained by a foreign police force who would delay us until it was too late.

A bubble of insane tearful laughter threatened to break.

Franco snapped, “Get me to the hospital. I’m not in a position to answer questions, as you can clearly see.”

Policemen returned from scouting our suite. “All clear, boss. No one’s there. However, we found blood and believe there were a few men who have left the premises.”

My heart lurched. Yes, they’d left. With Q. Hell, this was awful. My mind raced with thoughts of stealing a gun. I could hold one of them hostage to get out of the building.

But Franco couldn’t run. Shit.

“Arrest the woman. Take her for questioning. Take the man to the hospital.”

Franco and I yelled at the same time: “No! I have to go with him.” “She has to come with me.”

The detective pursed his lips, deliberating. Finally, he muttered, “Fine. Take them both to the hospital. I expect to be able to interview them in a few hours.”

I bit my lip, fighting the horror that had become my life as my arms were wrenched behind my back and the cold lick of handcuffs settled around my wrists. Franco wasn’t cuffed, only barred by two large policemen, caging him in with black uniforms and unclipped guns.

“Come on,” a policeman grumbled. I trembled, fighting another wave of nausea. Once again—this was my fault. It was my breasts strangers had seen. My little exposé that ended with us being marched away like heathens.

Then livid anger filled me. If these men turned out to be the reason Q died, I would hunt down every last one and murder them in their sleep.

I wouldn’t let them stop me from finding him. I’d become a wanted fugitive before I let that happen.

Franco looked over his shoulder. His emerald eyes looked like terrible glinting gems. “Ne dis rien. Tout est sous contrôle.”Don’t say a word. I have everything under control.

I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe that whatever plan was in action it would save Q even while we rotted in some Italian cell. But pessimism was my new friend and the black void of grief tempted, called to me.

We were stuffed into the lift side by side. Franco bent his head to my ear. “He isn’t lost, Tess. He put a tracker in your engagement ring—did you not think he’d do the same precaution for himself? Especially when he knew he’d stirred up the attention of fuckwits who would try to kill him?”

I froze, his hot breath on my ear giving me much needed information.

I kept my voice low, aware of the six other men in the lift with us. “He’s got a tracker in a ring?” Q didn’t wear jewellery. And we weren’t married yet so he didn’t have a wedding ring.

Franco shook his head. “Not a ring. Deeper than that.” He tapped the underside of his wrist, raising an eyebrow. The puzzle slotted into place.

Oh, my God. Q wore a tracker.

Not in jewellery or clothing or something that could easily be removed. He’d gone further than that. He’d given himself the best chance at being found even if they stripped him naked and threw away all his possessions.

He’d tagged himself like a pet—micro-chipped his body so his army of guards could follow his trail and bring him home.

He wasn’t lost.

It was just up to us to find him before it was too late.

Time had become my number one nemesis.

Four hours.

Four long, excruciating, teeth-clenching hours.

Every second drifted me further away from Q. Every minute built a wall I would have to clamber over to find him. Is this how he felt when searching for me? This crippling helplessness?

Tick…

Tock…

Franco had been rushed to surgery to reattach his thumb. He refused to allow them to put him under, settling instead with a local anaesthetic to endure the procedure.

His list of injuries curdled my stomach.

Mild concussion. Dislocated shoulder. Twisted kneecap. Missing thumb. Not including the multiple contusions, bruises, and scrapes from the assholes who’d almost killed him in order to get to Q.

I lived an entire lifetime in those four hours. More than one. Multiple.

I went insane—hemmed in a private room, barricaded by two police officers waiting for Franco. At least they’d removed the handcuffs, but I was no less a prisoner.

My mind was my enemy, constantly flinging horror and torture of Q’s demise. I finally gritted my teeth, humming nonsense under my breath, just to keep my brain occupied and not conjuring such awfulness.

Three times the officers tried to question me. Three times I refused. I wouldn’t talk—not until I knew what Franco wanted me to say. I wasn’t privy to what was in motion outside our sad little group. I didn’t want to ruin Q’s chances any more than I already had by being so reckless in a foreign country and getting arrested.

I looked up as the white door swung open. Franco was wheeled into the room by an orderly. One arm was in a sling, leading to a thick bandage around his hand. Only the tips of his fingers showed.

His face was black and yellow as bruises painted him like a watercolour.

I shot off the bed where I’d been going mad with waiting. The door swung closed behind the man in scrubs. “Are you okay? Did it work?” I looked at the bandage, eyeing it for any sign of a thumb tip. My eyes widened. “But there’s no…”

“They tried, but the way the cocksuckers smashed the joint means it’s pretty much useless. Plus, this is a local hospital. They don’t have too many specialists on call unless I’m flown elsewhere.”

I was torn. Completely cleaved down the centre. I wanted to run after Q but I didn’t want Franco to live a thumbless life. Hell, that was the most important finger. I would be on my own. “Well, go. Tell me what the plan is and leave. I’ll do the rest.”

He shook his head. “I signed the paperwork already. Even if they did manage to attach it, I’d have to stay in for observation for a week. This way, I only have to pop in for a check-up in twenty-four hours.” His eyes flashed. “I refuse to sit on my broken ass. Not while he’s out there. A thumb can wait—we don’t know…” his voice trailed off, filling me with terror.

We don’t know what they’re doing to him.

The sentence was left unsaid but it might as well have been scrawled in permanent marker and left to drift around like a haunting banner. It was undeniable which made it all the more awful.

“As much as I’m grateful for your loyalty to him, you can’t throw away your thumb.”

He shrugged. “I’m a millionaire thanks to Q’s generosity. Plus, he’s fucking loaded. If I save his scrawny ass, I know he won’t mind forking out for some crazy expensive, new-fangled robot thumb.” Franco locked the wheelchair with his good arm, flipped up the footholds, and held out his hand. “Now help me up. We’re leaving.”

Going to the side, I grabbed his elbow. I did the best I could to hoist his bulk from the chair. The moment he stood, he limped to the wardrobe where the doctors had put his clothes and with no embarrassment whatsoever untied the backless hospital gown and let it fall.

I coughed, averting my eyes. But not before I got an eyeful. He was built bigger than Q. Stocky, hard-packed muscle that wasn’t as elegant as Q’s sleek sensual form. But what he lacked in sexual appeal he made up for in sheer power.

He hopped and cursed, wrangling his trousers up over the bandage around his knee to his hips. With his face scrunched in concentration, he zipped his fly one-handed. Once that part of him was covered, he turned, holding out his blood-stained shirt.

“Help me. I can’t do it.”

Keeping my eyes downcast, I took the clothing and moved to his side to carefully remove his arm from his sling. “Did they put your shoulder back into place?” I kept my voice low, distracting him as I pushed the cuff over his hand, drawing it upward.

He gritted his teeth. “Yes, it’s workable, just sore. It’ll swell soon, and it’ll get worse before it gets better, but I’ll live.”

“You’ve done it before?”

He chuckled, wincing as I wrapped the shirt around his back. “I’ve been with Q for a while, Tess. I’ve been in worse condition. He’s been in worse. And we’ve both walked away, while the ones who challenged us didn’t.”

His body vibrated with dangerous tension; I allowed his strength to wash over me. Being around him half-naked made me extremely uncomfortable, but also strangely calmed me. I trusted in his abilities to bring Q home.

Franco placed his arm back for me to slink up the other cuff, settling the shirt into place. Once it clung to his shoulders, he faced me with a quirked eyebrow. “Do it up, please. Missing a thumb over here.”

I laughed which turned into a weird snort-sob thing.

Q, I’m missing you so damn much.

I wanted someone to reassure me. I wanted a crystal ball to know he would survive and stay in one piece until we found him. It felt so wrong doing such normal things when every instinct inside wanted to hunt and murder.

Franco dropped the quip in his voice. “We’ll find him, Tess. You’ll see. The only one losing any body parts is me. After all, I’m the bodyguard. I take the hard hits so he doesn’t have to.” His large knuckles brushed under my eye, catching a renegade tear. “Believe me. I’m not going to let him die.”

Franco was strong; I had to trust him. It was just easier thought than done.

The door swung open just as I finished securing the last button. A doctor, with hair so black it looked like polished obsidian, blinked in surprise. “What do you think you are doing? You’re not discharged. Get back into bed, sir.”

Franco growled under his breath. “I’m done. I’ve allowed you to poke and prod me. But now I’m leaving. I thank you for your expertise, but you can’t hold me against my will.”

“He might not be able to. But I can.” The detective with black hair and silver temples appeared behind the doctor. His smooth jaw was stiff with authority; his body pompous and full of power granted to him by the badge over his heart. “Seeing as you’re well enough to check yourself out, you’re well enough to come in for questioning.”

Nodding to a few of the men standing outside, he ordered, “Please escort these two to the station. I’ll interrogate them myself.”

Two policemen entered the room, pushing aside the doctor who clutched a clipboard to his chest. He didn’t protest as one man came for me and the other beelined for Franco.

Franco shoved the scrawny cop away and made a show of shrugging into his blazer unassisted. Once the black jacket was in place, he gingerly looped his sore arm back into the sling. “If you want to start questioning, I have one. You have something of mine. Two things actually, and I want them back. My guns. Where are they?”

I jerked away as a pudgy baby-faced cop took my elbow. “Take your hands off me.” I glowered. I had no intention of being separated from Franco. I didn’t care who they were and what law they were upholding. I would fight all of them.

The detective bared his teeth. “Yes, and it’s another reason why we are going to talk. Bringing weapons into Italia is a serious offence. I hope you have the necessary international paperwork, otherwise it could be a long holiday for both of you behind bars.”

My heart sped up as panic filled my stomach. “Please, this is a terrible misunderstanding. Let us go. We’ll come back for questioning when we’ve done what we need to do.”

When I’ve got my fiancé back. When he’s in my arms and home. Then they could lock me up and torture me for all I cared. At least Q would be safe.

The detective laughed—obnoxiously loud. “You think you can just pop in whenever you feel like it? Who the hell do you think you are? Some uppity tourist thinking they can flaunt the rules. I’m sick of your kind coming to my country and not respecting our laws. You’re coming with us. And there is nothing you can say to prevent that.” He nodded at the man beside me.

I cried out as he shoved me forward.

Franco swore as he suffered the same treatment.

Corralling us through the door, we were pushed down a long white corridor reeking of bleach and medicine. Bright lights pained my eyes as my brain worked overtime.

Think! I had to get out of this.

A wash of hot anger stole my panic, leaving me clearheaded and completely in control.

Q gave me his company. I was his intended. He’d given me nine billion pieces of power.

Money was power.

Use it.

Straightening my back, I planted my feet onto the linoleum and swung around.

The detective jerked to a halt. His badge was at eyelevel and I latched onto his name. Sergio Ponzio.

“Listen here, Mr. Ponzio. We’re not criminals. We don’t have time to explain but you’re making a big mistake.”

Sergio’s black eyes flashed with a mixture of annoyance and mirth. “Really? And why is that? To me it looks as if I’m doing my job.” Rubbing his chin, he tapped his foot dramatically. “Please…by all means. Enlighten me.”

“Tess…don’t,” Franco hissed.

I wasn’t going to mention Q. I didn’t want pompous asshats getting in the way of whatever plan Q had in motion to find him. But I wouldn’t put up with being manhandled and kept from doing my part in saving him.

Standing as tall as I could in my scruffy ballet flats, I snapped, “You’re to let us go this instant. This man is my personal protection, and we have urgent business to attend to back in France. You do not want to delay me.”

I wished I oozed wealth like Q. I wished I knew how to wield something so ostentatious but powerful. I was a fraud in jeans and a jumper but conviction radiated in my eyes.

Sergio’s face darkened. “Was that a threat, miss?”

Oh, shit.

I cried out as an officer grabbed my arms, twisting it behind my back. Handcuffs snapped around my wrists, bruising the bone beneath.

“Wait!”

No. Please no.

Franco yelled, “Get your hands off her. She’s the owner of Moineau fucking Holdings. Do your homework and you’ll find out she’s about to marry Frances’ most powerful CEO.” Franco cursed as a cop grabbed his unslinged arm, handcuffing him to his belt.

Then the corridor erupted with rapid chiming.

A cell-phone.

Everyone froze. Franco lowered his head, his body rolling in on itself. “Fuck.” His eyes latched onto mine.

My instincts soared out of control. Whoever was calling had something to do with Q.

I went crazy. Twisting, turning, trying to get free. I had to answer that phone. “Please. Let us answer it!”

Sergio planted a hand on my sternum, slamming me against the wall. The cuts on my shoulder blade from Q screamed. “Behave. Otherwise we’ll be carrying you out of here in a straitjacket.”

Chiming escalated to techno bells and squeals. The phone’s ring sliced my brain; I thought I’d pass out if it wasn’t answered.

Franco snapped, “You have to let me get that. You’re messing with things you don’t understand.”

I froze, never taking my eyes from him. My heart hammered in hope. Franco would get us free.

Sergio laughed. “And what don’t I understand? Feel free to inform me because I’m dying to know.”

The phone ceased its awful chime.

My heart died with it. Q—something had happened, and we hadn’t picked up the phone. Had we ruined his chance of survival? Had these bastards taken away our one shot at finding him alive?

“Franco,” I whimpered. “What are we going to do?”

Sergio crossed his arms, watching us carefully.

Franco spoke only to me. “I didn’t answer, so the next stage of the operation is in effect. They’ll assume I’m dead and go straight to Blair as team leader.”

My face drained of all feeling. Would this unknown Blair come through for us? Would he be as ruthless and focused as Franco? God, I hoped so.

Franco softened. “Don’t worry. They’ll find him.”

“Find who?” Sergio jumped in.

Franco lost his peace, looking like a monster confined to a cage. A monster who would gladly kill to get free. “The man you’re stopping us from saving, you fucking asshole. If he dies while you’re acting out some egotistical power trip, you’re going to be very fucking sorry.”

Sergio’s face glowed with righteous happiness. “Threat number two. You’re now classified as high risk prisoners, and I have full right to detain you until I feel you aren’t a risk to my fellow officers.”

Grabbing my elbow, he forced me forward. “Let’s go. A cell has your name on it.”

I had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to hide because if they locked me up, I knew in my bones I would never see Q again. I would die alone. I would cease to exist the moment I felt Q’s life snip from my own. “Please! It wasn’t a threat. It’s the truth.” I swallowed tears. “They took him. Quincy Mercer. Five men came and took him. You have to believe us!”

Sergio didn’t say another word as he stomped us through the hospital, past gawking patients and wide-eyed nurses.

With a punch to the large swinging doors of the exit, Sergio dragged me from bright hospital to dark evening.

A patrol car waited at the curb.

I struggled. “No! You don’t have any reason to arrest us. No reason at all!”

Sergio nodded for one of his men to open the car door. “No reason? Care to explain why pedestrians reported a topless woman pressed against the glass.” His eyes flew between Franco and me.

Franco raised his eyebrow in my direction. “Damn fucking Mercer. He always has to go one step too far.” He caught my eye, a half-smile on his lips. “Always cleaning up his mess.”

My tummy clenched, remembering Q inside me. The burn of him cutting my shoulder. I’d give anything to be curled up in bed with him talking, watching a movie.

I’d sell my soul to find him unharmed.

Bowing my head, I mumbled, “That was me. I take full responsibility. Can you write me a ticket and let me go?”

Sergio chuckled. “Public indecency is more than a ticket, miss. But it’s above that now. I believe there’s a conspiracy here. I believe some man—possibly not this man with you—but another, forced you to have intercourse. I also believe the sexual activity was interrupted by someone in a jealous rage and is now injured—by him.” Sergio pointed at Franco. “And until I understand the full story, no-one is leaving, capisci?”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt the man—but they fucking hurt me.” Franco pointed wryly to his bandaged hand and sling. “As you can see by evidence A.”

Sergio’s eyes narrowed. “Just how many men had a turn with you, miss? A threesome? A bloody orgy in my city? How many infractions do you want to add to this tally?”

Franco shook his head, breathing hard. “It’s not like that. If you stopped and listened for one goddamn second you’d be saved a lot of paperwork and possibly a man’s life!”

Sergio lost his smooth good-cop routine, launching himself at Franco. Shoving him against the side of the car, he grunted, “We found blood on the carpet. And a bullet casing by the window. If we find out the bullet matches the guns we took from you, you’re in serious fucking trouble. So don’t start waving your dick around here because it won’t fucking work.”

Spinning away, he dragged a hand through his hair. “Get them in the car. Let’s go.”

My heart infested with panic as someone pressed my shoulders, shoving me into the vehicle. The vinyl seats squeaked as I fell sideways. I couldn’t push myself up with my wrists handcuffed behind my back.

Tears bubbled in my spine but I refused to let them drip.

Franco’s body partially landed on mine. He grunted in pain but managed to sit upright and with a bit of effort drag me into a sitting position. “You okay?”

My mind swam. How could this have got completely out of control?

Tick…

Tock…

Every passing minute took Q further and further away. I didn’t want to look at a clock. I didn’t want to see just how much time was being wasted by idiots of the Italian police force.

Q. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.

A sob clawed up my throat.

Franco patted my knee. “Don’t worry, Tess. It will be okay.”

Sergio climbed into the front seat, looking at us through the barred partition. “That’s what you think.”

The interview room was frozen-over hell.

All metal and mirror and steel. My hands and feet were blue with a mixture of fear and ice. I’d been uncuffed and thrown into the room about fifteen minutes ago.

Franco had been taken somewhere else.

I paced around the small space like a caged animal. My brain wouldn’t stop whizzing. My heart wouldn’t stop clanging. Claustrophobia clawed at my throat as the walls frosted over with icicles, crowding closer and closer and closer. Burying me alive in an icy tomb where Q would never find me.

I’m alone.

Curling my hands, I shoved the self-pity away. I refused to bow to such useless emotions. I would get out of this. I would find Q. I would find him alive, and I would marry him the second I fell into his arms.

The heavy door clanked open.

Sergio Ponzio entered looking like a stuck-up peacock with way too much power. I hated the uncaring glint in his eyes. The unforgiving jaded look that said he’d heard every story, listened to every lie. He was finished having people make a fool of him.

Which was fine. I understood that. But when he was so blind he couldn’t see the truth—putting another’s life in jeopardy, then I couldn’t understand that. I couldn’t control the lava of frustration and hatred flowing in my veins. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to stop myself from ripping his heart out—because he obviously didn’t have one.

“Please. Sit,” he said, pointing at the metal chairs.

I moved stiffly, sitting with my hands balled tightly in my lap. I had enough infractions to battle through, without adding battery and assault to a police chief.

“Water?” His bushy eyebrow rose.

I shook my head, looking into the top right corner of the room.

Enemy. Saboteur. Betrayer.

The clock.

Tick…

Tock…

It was four a.m. Q had been taken almost five hours ago. Six life-altering, terror-filled hours.

The sob that built like a thunderstorm inside threatened to break free. It took all my strength to force it back down.

“Name?”

I glared from beneath my brow. I wanted to spit and tell him to shove his damn questions. But I had to cooperate. I had to be as polite and demure as possible if I had any chance of talking my way out of this.

Don’t get angry. Stay calm.

“Tess Snow.”

“Nationality.”

“Australian.”

He looked up, a smile tugging his lips. “Long way from home. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get tough with a drunken countryman of yours, or slap a citation for disorderly conduct.”

I ignored that. I didn’t want to interact at all—let alone reminisce about his other trophies. He viewed me as a troublemaker. I meant to come across as the opposite.

I’m rich. I’m powerful. I’m Q’s.

Besides, I no longer felt Australian. In fact, after spending so much time with Q, I’d even begun to think in French, trading English as my favoured language, blending the two.

I’m no longer Tess Snow.

My eyes flared. “I gave you the wrong name.”

Sergio scowled. “You’re lying again? You do realize every lie makes your case worse.” He shook his head, tutting under his breath, “You seem to like breaking the rules.” His eyes fell to my jumper-covered breasts. “I admit, I would’ve liked to see the show you put on and not just write the reports.”

You fucking pervert.

My spine stiffened. “I’m not lying. I am Tess Snow. But I’m also about to become Tess Mercer. My fiancé has already given me ownership of his fortune and I wield the power of the Mercer name.”

His dark eyes tightened; face twitched. “Mercer?”

I sensed a crack. Please let it be a crack. “Yes of Moineau Holdings. Franco told you that. If you know of the company and the CEO, you’d be wise to release me and my employee.”

Sergio chuckled, scraping his chair back as he popped the buttons of his uniform jacket. “You sure about that, Miss Snow? You’re not lying again, are you?”

I ground my teeth. “How do you explain me staying in one of the most expensive hotels in Rome?” I rolled my eyes. “Did you even look at the check-in registry? Quincy Mercer—my fiancé—will be on the registration.”

Sergio placed his wrists on the table, linking his fingers together in a threatening display. “See, that’s where your little story falls apart. A man named Joseph Roy checked in with no extra guest into the suite earlier this evening.”

The breath in my lungs clogged, but then cleared in a rush. Of course Q wouldn’t travel under his real name. Not now. Not with men hunting him.

I winced as a spike to the heart caught me by surprise. It didn’t matter what precautions he’d taken—he’d still be stolen.

Stay alive. Please stay alive.

I placed my elbows on the table, pressing my forehead against my palms. The world had become too much. I never thought I would want to be in captivity again but at least being the one stolen lent a certain luxury to my fate. I either survived or died. I wasn’t responsible for someone else. I didn’t feel the weight of an entire galaxy pressing down upon me with every passing second of failure.

Tick…

Tock…

Sergio kicked back his chair, standing over me. “Do you wish to change any of the details you’ve given? Last chance to stop lying before I go run your records.”

I looked up. I didn’t have any effort to speak. I shook my head.

Without a word, he disappeared.

Tick…

Tock…

The clock taunted me with every passing second. One minute passed, then ten, then twenty.

My body vibrated with the need to run. I couldn’t sit there for too much longer without going certifiably insane. I felt so useless.

Finally the door opened. Sergio returned with a stack of paper and a blank face.

Grabbing the chair, he shuffled closer to the table, placing everything in front of him. He dragged out the suspense, spreading the papers, fanning them into some sort of order, driving me mad.

“Do you know what I found when I called up your file?” he asked, almost softly. He’d lost some of the arrogant tone. He still wasn’t friendly, but he seemed…what? Open to listening. Less likely to laugh and throw me in a cell and swallow the key?

I sat straighter, feeding off his change of mood. Hope trilled through me, fast and sweet. “I don’t know.” Glancing at the upside down copies, I couldn’t read them—all in Italian.

I’d never contemplated if I had a file. Briefly, when I returned home to Australia after Q sent me back, I wondered why the police hadn’t come knocking. I’d been reported as missing after all—but no one came to question, no one asked a thing.

Sergio held up a piece of paper. “It says here you were listed as missing by the Australian Federal Police. Then a few weeks later, your parents, Stephen and Mary Snow, closed your file under pretence of death overseas and asked for a death certificate.”

My chair legs squeaked against the floor as I jumped in dismay. A rush of grief mixed with disbelief. My own parents told the police to stop looking for me? They’d been so eager to close that messy chapter and become the grieving parents. All to garner the sympathy vote at their next bowling club rally.

I always knew they didn’t love me. It wasn’t news, but it still hurt like a bitch.

Sergio watched my reaction, but I kept my tormenting emotions free from my impassive face.

He continued, “Your file was closed, but then reopened when you magically reappeared, with no flight manifest or record of how you entered the country, and slotted right back into life with”—his eyes dropped to the paperwork—“Brax Cliffingstone.

“You retuned to university, finished your degree, then a month later picked up and flew to France.”

Shuffling the pages, he said, “Why wasn’t there a wrap-up interview from your disappearance. Why was there no closure or interrogation on your supposed kidnapping, brought to the attention of the AFP by Brax Cliffingstone? Care to explain how you had the AFP close your file with no conclusion whatsoever?”

The all-consuming love I had for my monstrous master overflowed. It was like swallowing a bowl of colourless light, trickling through my body, giving me strength I sorely need.

I laughed.

Q.

He tampered with my file. Somehow, he had contacts to ensure his anonymity and unique charity remained a secret. There was no explaining how I came into his company, or talking away the length of my stay at his chateau. So he did what he had to. He swept it all away.

God, I loved him. I’d never met a man with more resources, intelligence, or a bigger heart than him. And he was mine. And I was failing him by allowing this stupid cop to detain me.

I was done.

“Quincy Mercer can explain. Let me go and I’ll fetch him for you.”

Sergio ran a finger along his bottom lip. “Yes, and that brings me to him. You say you’re together? But I don’t see any mention of a marriage announcement or any news related articles of your relationship.”

Tick…

Tock…

I didn’t care. It no longer mattered.

I was getting out of there.

Now.

Crossing my arms, I demanded, “I want my phone call.”

He glowered, his black eyes battering me with law-keeping authority. But I wasn’t ruffled. I glowered right back, not backing down.

Finally, he huffed. “Fine.” He stalked to the door, holding it open. “This way.”

The moment light from the corridor bounced into the interrogation room, my heart leapt from my chest and flew away. Flew to find Q. Flew to give him hope.

I’m coming.

We’re coming.

I struggled to keep my feet slow and plodding as Sergio guided me through a typical police station with cubicle workstations, brown walls, and oscillating ceiling fans. The reek of burned coffee hung stagnant in the air.

He stopped beside a desk strewn with notes and empty cups. He pointed to a phone partially buried beneath manila files. “You have two minutes.”

Not for the first time, I thanked my photographic memory. Ever since Q gave me the note hidden in the pocket of the dress I’d worn back to Australia, I’d memorized his office number. It’d been embossed in gold on the heavy parchment of his business card.

By knowing his number, I felt like I’d never be too far from him—even while I slept beside Brax at night and went to university by day.

I also knew he allowed the office line to link to his home after hours. I just hoped either Frederick picked up or Suzette. Either would do. Both had Q’s power behind them. They would get Franco and me free.

Picking up the receiver, I curled over the handset, punching in the number. It connected.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Please pick up. Terror squashed my hope like a bug. This was my only chance—who knew when I’d get another one. Who knew how much more time would pass.

Sergio looked at his watch.

Finally the ringing stopped, clicking into connection.

“Bonjour?”

Masculine.

For a flicker of a second, I suffered a stab of grief. I’d wanted to talk to Suzette. To lean on the girl who was so strong and my friend.

“Frederick,” I whispered.

“Tess?”

My heart bounced, whizzing into action. Frederick would get things done. He’d get us out.

“Yes, it’s me. Look, something happened.” The tears I’d been fighting all rushed in a quake, obstructing my throat. I forced through, cursing the wobble in my tone. “They took him.”

“It’s okay. I know. It’s all under control.”

His soothing voice robbed me of strength, knowing Q’s network of people were on the hunt. It wasn’t just me. I wasn’t alone in fighting for his life. “Thank God.”

At that point, I didn’t care about myself. All I cared about was Frederick using the resources to find Q. I completely forgot about my predicament or why I’d called.

My mind shut down as I went into shock.

“Tess? You still there?”

I clutched the receiver, wishing I could stuff myself down the phone line and be with him. I wanted to be beside the man who Q called his best friend.

What about his other best friend?

Shit, Franco.

“Frederick. I need your help.” I pulled myself together, running a hand through my hair. “Franco and I—we’re in jail. We need you to get us out.”

I tensed, waiting for a barrage of questions. But he just chuckled. “You’re about ten minutes too late. Already done. You’ll be out within the hour.”

My mouth hung open. “Ho—how?”

“Money buys a lot of things, and contacts in high places is one of them.” His voice dropped. I pressed the phone harder to my ear. “He’s okay, Tess. The tracker stays active as long as there’s a heartbeat. It’s programed to emit a new signal if that changes.”

My heart seized. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ll know if they cut it out. The frequency would be interrupted. We’ll also know if they…”

If they what…

My heart lurched. He didn’t have to say anymore. I knew.

“If he dies….” My eyes turned blind, filling with liquid.

Frederick murmured, “It’s okay. That won’t happen. But yes. As long as his heart is beating, the tracker will guide us to him.”

I wanted to scream! I wanted to hunt every cocksucking motherfucking trafficker and drain them until they turned from human to withered corpse.

The sweetness inside rapidly faded in favour of ruthlessness. I grew harder—colder.

He’s still alive. Focus on that.

“Do you know where? Where is he?”

“He’s been moved. They’ve taken him to Spain.”

“Spain?”

The voices of the men who’d barged into our suite echoed in my ears. I’d been too afraid of Q being hit and then shot to pay any attention to nationality.

Sergio waved a hand in front of my face, tapping his watch. I wanted to bite his finger for being so cocky and horrible and ruining everything.

“Why? Why did they take him at all?”

Frederick sighed. “Because he pissed off a man called Lynx. And now the bastard wants payback.”

Half an hour later Franco and I zoomed in a taxi to the airport. Sergio had escorted us out of the building himself. Glaring as if we’d single-handedly robbed him of any accolades or good-doing by arresting us.

Franco looked as if he would hit him, so I was glad when a taxi coasted past the second the handcuffs were undone.

My fingers were wrapped around Franco’s phone, glued to the app that’d turned Q—my amazing tattooed sadistic lover—into a red blip on the screen.

Frederick was right.

Q was in Spain.

And alive. He was still alive.

I jumped a foot as Franco placed a hand on my knee. “You okay?”

He asked that a lot. I hated that I acted as if I needed reassurance. The meek girl I’d been slowly changed, embracing vengeance.

I nodded. I was numb with shock, high on hope, and shaking with terror—but yes, I was okay. “I’m alright.”

Franco nodded, leaning into the seat, adjusting his sling with a small groan.

Tearing my eyes from the red blip, I asked, “How about you. How are you holding up?”

His piercing green eyes were tight with pain; his forehead furrowed as whatever painkillers the doctors had given wore off.

He gave me a cold smile, his teeth glinting in the streetlights whizzing past the window. “I’ll be a lot happier the minute I’ve shot some motherfucking rapists.” He sighed. “Seriously, I just want to find Mercer and then crash—for a thousand years.”

He winced as the taxi bounced over a pothole. Squeezing his eyes, he muttered, “You’ve always had strong instincts, Tess. Right from the beginning. What are they telling you now?” He kept his eyes closed but his body hummed with tension. “Would you say they’re keeping him for ransom or torture?”

Torture.

I didn’t need to think. Or guess.

The most morbid conclusion doused my system in horror. No matter how I tried to deny it. I couldn’t stop the images.

Fingernails being pulled.

His beautiful strong body being mutilated.

His gorgeous tattoo being sliced from his chest.

My tummy rolled; I slapped a hand over my mouth. Swallowing hard, I forced away the toe-curling images and worked on blanking my mind.

Franco sucked in a breath. “That bad, huh. Shit.”

I wouldn’t speak my nightmares—I didn’t want to give them power. But I did know as long as I was alive, I wouldn’t let that happen. Curling my hands, I hissed, “I’m sick of evil intervening with my life. I’m sick of paying a toll for doing nothing more than falling in love. Whoever this bastard is who took Q—he’s going to scream before I let him die.”

Franco twisted in the seat, his aura thickening, darkening, filling the taxi cab with a threat so ferocious it scared even me. His eyes flashed green fire. “And if I could make that wish come true?”

“What wish?”

“That I’d help you make him scream. That I’d allow you to do the honours to avenge your man. Would you be able to pull the trigger, Tess? Have you fully faced your nightmares to do for Q what he did for you?”

My skin prickled with foreboding. Franco looked cold, calculating, already slipping into the persona of a killer.

My heart thumped harder, my soul churning with a complex mix of right and wrong. Was I bluffing? Could I take a life? For all my bravado, when it came down to it—could I make a grown man scream before stealing his life?

“Shoot her, puta.”

“Do it or we’ll snap her fingers until you do.”

I swallowed hard against the bile searing my throat.

Could I once again become a murderer and welcome more grime into my soul?

My eyes closed.

Q sprang to mind. Covered in blood, his incredible beauty ravaged by horror. They did that to him.

Gruesome heat.

Blood- smeared men.

Screams.

A cold-hearted power filled me. I was protecting what was mine.Je suis à lui. I was his. Retribution superseded right or wrong.

It reverted me to nothing more than a mate fighting for her lover. Delivering justice like for like.

I would rip out the hearts of the men who hurt him. I would willingly butcher and torture and maim.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I would never stop being haunted by Blonde Hummingbird or Angel. But this time, it was the right thing to do. I wanted to hunt.

Q wanted me to stand by his side and help women who didn’t have someone fighting on their behalf. Someone had to clean up the garbage in the world. He trusted me to be strong enough.

I am.

“Yes.” My voice sliced through the thick cloud between us, sounding vicious, merciless. “I’m ready to kill.”

Franco nodded, his lips twisting into a grim smile. “Who are you, Tess?”

“I’m his. I’m Tess. I’m his esclave.”

The final piece that was missing—the final piece that made me me—slotted into place. My true identity.

I’m a survivor. I’m strong. I’m ready.

Franco’s face darkened with fierce pride. “And what do you want?”

“I want them to die. I want the blood of the men who took him to grow cold and turn to rust.”

Franco reached into his holster, pulling out one of the guns Sergio had returned.

Handing it to me, he muttered, “Good answer.” His voice dropped to a guttural growl, “I’ll be beside you every step.”