Twisted Together

Chapter One

But our demons didn’t play well with others, the beast broke free to make them suffer

“Do it, puta. Kill her.”

“No! Stop this. I’m done. No more—”

“Yes, more. Every night, you’re ours. Every time your pretty fucking eyes close, we’re waiting. Every time you succumb to sleep, we’re waiting to drag you into insanity.”

It’s not real. It’s not real.

No matter how many times I screamed the truth, the dream would never free me. Leather Jacket somehow tricked my mind into leaving the sanctity of Q’s presence, yanking me into the depths of despair.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Blonde Angel moaned.

I didn’t want to. I never wanted to hurt another living thing again.

“Don’t think about disobeying, puta. You know what happens.” Leather Jacket flickered into two monstrosities: one moment the man I knew—the man who’d tortured, hit, and taunted me—then another moment, the drooling carnivorous Jackal who’d raped Blonde Angel only minutes before Q found me.

The smog, the fog, crept over my mind, swarming around me with sickly warmth. “No! Not that.” I never wanted to be held hostage by chemicals again. Drugs made me forget. Drugs made me become them.

“Do it, precious. Otherwise I’ll do something worse,” Leather Jacket cooed.

My heart sank into the depths of my soul. Every night they visited. Every night they shattered my healing, throwing me back to a past I couldn’t forget. Every night they reminded me that pain was atrocious. Pain was the devil. Pain was horrendous and terrible and cruel.

Pain.

My nemesis.

My burden.

I shook my head, standing over Blonde Angel. Our eyes met—just like hundreds of times before—and I wordlessly shouted my grief, my sadness, my lifetime of apologies.

But it made no difference.

Just like the drugs made me incapacitated in Rio, the dream had power over me in the present. I wouldn’t be free until I gave into the inevitable. I wouldn’t wake until I killed her.

A heavy crowbar rested in my sweat-slippery hands. I tried to scuttle backward but some ominous force pressed against my shoulders. The phantom pressure raised my arms against my will—stealing all motor control, leaving me screaming until my throat rivered with blood and rawness.

Mildew and reeking rubbish clouded my nostrils even though I knew it wasn’t real. The only scent I should inhale was the comforting notes of citrus and sandalwood of my master sleeping beside me.

The master who swore to protect me from everything. The master who failed every night. How could a man fight nightmares? How could he slay men he’d already killed from taunting my mind in slumber?

Simple. He couldn’t.

Every night was the same. Q fought to save me from demons he couldn’t fight, and I fought to stop dreaming.

Once the nightmare claimed me, I couldn’t get free until the horrible conclusion. It happened differently every time. Sometimes by bullet. Sometimes by axe or blade. But no matter how I did it, committing murder was the only way to hurtle me back to consciousness.

If I concentrated hard enough I could feel him. If I squeezed my eyes and searched for the tether to my mortal body, I knew I wasn’t lying quietly and serene. My body was sweat-dewed and thrashing in tangled sheets; my cheek smarting from a stinging slap as Q tried to rouse me.

More pain.

Pain on top of pain.

It all had to stop, before I went mad.

“Little girl, I won’t ask again,” Leather Jacket sneered.

The crowbar was no longer heavy in my hands; the unseen malicious entity arched my back, swinging the weapon, high and deadly.

No. No, no, no. Not again.

Close your eyes. Don’t look. Don’t fill your mind with yet more killing.

Blonde Angel crawled backward, cradling her already broken wrist and knee. Her mouth twisted into pleas. “Don’t. Please don’t. Haven’t you done enough? You killed her! You killed the other girl. Do you have no mercy?” Her eyes were wild, green and clear as cut glass. Her blonde hair no longer shone like gold but hung in bloody clumps.

“I’m sorry!”

My heart-filled apology only made her snarl. “No, you’re not. You’re one of them. You’re lying to yourself, to him, to me. You loved killing the other blonde so much, you thirst to murder. You’re a monster. A fucking demon spawn.”

My lungs suffocated with her hatred, drowning in sorrow. The crowbar swung above my head, controlled by the puppeteer of this horrible dream.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Do it. What’s another life? You obeyed so brilliantly before. Every night you fucking murder. Every night you come back to us.”

The man who’d owned me. Who’d drugged me, sold me, and ultimately broken me, appeared from dream-mist. White Man looked suave and immaculate in a white shiny suit. His feral touch landed on my chin, cupping my jaw, holding me prisoner. “You’ll never be free of us. We took your mind back in Brazil. Your bastard of an owner might’ve slaughtered my men and whisked you away to safety, but you know the truth.” His mouth descended on mine, his monstrous tongue diving past my lips, making me retch.

Breathing hard he pulled away. Manic anger glowed in his blue gaze. “Tell me the truth.”

The truth?

What truth? I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Was my mind so twisted the truth was only visible in my sleep? Was I deceitful every moment I was awake—pretending to deplore pain and horror when really I craved it? Craved to inflict it. Craved to kill.

Questions and uncertainty sprouted like vile weeds, growing thick and fast, suffocating all reason and clarity.

Am I truly what they say? I’m no longer a protégé. I’m truly the devil.

I squeezed my eyes, blocking the dream, grasping with panicked fingers to latch onto the weak tethering of awareness.

Wake up, Tess.

Please.

“Tell. Me.” White Man’s breath fanned my eyelashes, smelling of candy floss. Why did the demon of my nightmares smell of innocence and sugar?

Shaking my head, I whimpered, “There’s nothing to tell.” My arms stayed raised above my head, holding the crowbar in an unnatural pose. I had no control. None.

“Oh, but there is.” His white slacks whispered as he stepped to the side, dragging me forward.

Blonde Angel shook so much, my ears rang with the jangling of her bones. “Night after night you return to me. Night after night you kill for me. You’re not free, pretty girl. And that’s the fucking truth.”

Leather Jacket moved to my other side, grinning like a psychopath. “Truth’s a bitch and then she dies. You know how this ends, puta. Do it, then we’ll let you wake up.”

A gale whirled from nowhere, kicking up dust and mould from around the dungeon, howling in my ears: Do it. Do it. Do it.

“No! Not again. I can’t do it again.”

I’m crazy. I’ve lost it completely.

Blonde Angel stopped shaking and raised her head. Our eyes locked, understanding flowed. Mutual need to have this over with made her nod in heart-wrenching acceptance. In one fluid moment, she bowed forward. She didn’t say a word—she didn’t need to.

We could beg and cry and scream.

But ultimately, we had no power.

The truth burned my eyes, puncturing my heart.

I was a killer.

I am a killer.

I’m a monster.

The force holding my arms up suddenly released, and the weight of the bar came smashing down. Blonde Angel jerked and jolted. I blinked as the crunch of bone shattered beneath the weapon. Her arms splayed to the side as her body tipped over, succumbing to death.

I willed myself to wake up. Freedom normally came once I’d killed, but this black-laced dream was different.

Manic laughter filled the reeking dungeon. I dropped the crowbar and the clanging metal echoed in my ears. Something heavy morphed into my hands. Sinister and cold and deadly.

A gun.

The gun. The gun I’d used to take a life—a real life. The gun I’d tried to find freedom with. We had history, that gun and I. An intimate past with a murderous object forever linking me to this—this…never ending cycle of dreams.

“You tried to kill yourself last time, puta. Care to try again?”

I refused to look at Leather Jacket. His voice scurried like a thousand spiders over my skin. I craved the bland cushioning of the drugs. I wanted oblivion. Peace.

“Pull the trigger. Go on. You know you want to be free. This is your only way,” Leather Jacket said, prowling around me.

My malnourished, bleeding hands shook as I looked at the dead woman with her vacant eyes. Her skull looked odd—cracked and concaved from the killing blow.

I did that.

Me.

God, what has become of me?

Q sacrificed so much to bring me back—it was sacrilege not to keep fighting—to be worthy of his gift. But I had no reserves—no more strength to live these nightmares and stop them from trickling into reality. My nerves were raw. My mind broken. My spirit ruined.

No more.

One bullet, lightning pain, then it could be all over.

Leather Jacket yelled, spitting in my face. “Do it. You belong to us. You do what we command!”

I didn’t have the strength to fight back. I no longer wanted to exist in this world. Raising the gun, I opened my lips and guided the metallic chamber into my mouth. It tasted just like I remembered. The taste of finality. Closure. Squeezing my eyes, I tensed.

“That’s a good girl. Send yourself to hell. We’re waiting for you there.”

I pulled the trigger.

The sulphur of gunpowder itched my nose.

The loud detonation of a bullet rang in my ears.

Disbelieving tears streaked from my eyes.

Desperation and utter grief crushed my heart.

The dream howled and gusted and I split into identical images of myself.

One Tess jerked in death-throws as the back of her head exploded in a horrible mess of tissue and red rain. Another Tess, an omniscient dreamer, silently screamed—unable to do anything but watch.

“No!” This couldn’t be possible. I just killed myself.

I ended my own life.

I’m weak.

I’m a coward.

I’m worthless.

I screamed.

“Tess! Fuck, it’s okay.” Q caught me, just like he always did, as I shot upright and clung to his hard shoulders. I couldn’t suck in a breath; I scrambled nearer, trying to get closer, trying to morph into him to steal his endless reservoir of strength. Give it to me. Give me your sanity and warmth. I couldn’t let him see how rattled and ruined I’d become.

Q scooped me close, resting his chin on my head. “Goddammit, esclave. You’re ice cold.”

I shivered in his arms like a rapidly decaying leaf. “Sorry. Sorry—I’m—”

His muscles bunched beneath smooth, naked skin as his arms wrapped tighter, giving me safe harbour. “Arrête. Tout va bien.” Stop it. You’re okay. His voice was level and full of unmistakable authority, but he couldn’t hide his own trembling. His hard body quaked with silent flurries of tension. But Q didn’t tremble from horror. Oh, no. My maître shook with undiluted rage. He bristled with ferocity. He smouldered with temper. His anger wasn’t directed at me but at the ghosts haunting my mind.

“You have to stop fucking letting them in. You’re safe. How many times do I need to tell you that?” His anger heated the ice in my blood, reminding me I was still alive and survived. If I could survive being forced to kill, having my finger snapped with pliers, drug overdoses, and rank living conditions, I could survive the residual memories. I had to survive. I owed Q my life. I wouldn’t fail him—not after what he did to bring me back.

Maybe I need help.

The thought of talking to a therapist filled me with horror. I wouldn’t be able to stomach their carefully blank faces as I confessed to killing a woman. I wouldn’t be strong enough to look into their eyes while I spoke of being high on a cocktail of toxins all formulated to cripple my mind and make me their little toy to be sold and used.

And antidepressants? I would go completely mad if I ever took another mind-altering drug again.

You owe it to Q to put the past where it belongs. He believes you’re healing. I hated lying. I hated that I sucked at lying because Q saw everything I tried to hide. Getting professional help might be the only thing left for me.

I looked up, sucking in a breath as I made eye contact with the most amazing, kind, fearful, stunning male in my life. His hair was slightly longer but still showed his regal widow’s peak and perfect bone structure. His lips were twisted in anger, sending wings of gratitude and weakness through me.

After everything, he still cared for me. Still fought for me.

Q stared back, his pale jade gaze ripping me apart, seeing so far inside I had nowhere to hide. And that was what made it so damn hard to pretend.

Q had turned himself into a human punching bag for me to take out the seething anger inside. He let himself be the scapegoat of the bastards in Rio, so I had someone to direct my rage onto. He did so much. Too much. But it wasn’t enough.

Love suffocated my heart, stitching me up until I felt mummified with confusion. Bandages upon bandages held me hostage with no way out of the horrible prison I was in.

“How many times must I wake to you screaming and crying? How many fucking times must I slap you, try and save you from whatever horrors you’re reliving, only for it to do no good?” Q’s French accent thickened as he sat higher, pummelling a pillow into comfortable submission behind him. Leaning back, his thumb caressed my hot and no doubt red cheek from his attempt at breaking my nightmare. “Contrary to what you think of me, hitting the woman I’m about to marry while she’s unconscious is not one of my perversions.”

A soft laugh escaped me. “God, Q. You have the strangest sense of humour.”

The sickly tension existing in the room and the fearful anxiety still thrumming in my blood dissipated. He not only put up with my screams, but he knew just how to free me from the residue of such terror.

The stitching in my heart tore wide, spilling my chest with love so deep and eternal I knew I would do anything, absolutely anything, for this man. He was the reason I was alive. The only reason I wanted to stay alive.

His forehead furrowed. “What makes you think I’m joking?” His fingers dropped from my cheek as his eyes darkened with self-hatred. “I have many perversions, esclave. You think because I fell in love with you, they’re miraculously cured?” He leaned closer, his nose an inch from mine. “You think you know me…” His voice trailed off as thoughts swooped him away from my arms and into the dark I’d hoped he’d left behind.

After I’d hurt him—made him bleed and escorted him to death’s door with a whip in my hand—I feared I’d ruined him. He’d been shut off—remote. Not cold or cruel but protecting his inner thoughts. He’d always been private around me—guarding his inner secrets like a sentinel with a castle full of unspeakables—but it wasn’t until yesterday when Q proposed and branded me that the crack in his façade finally gave me hope.

The burning on my neck amplified, taking over my senses with a dull throb. The scorched skin hurt—even the numbing balm Q rubbed into it yesterday hadn’t halted the singeing, searing ache. But unlike all the other parts of me that’d been hurt over the past month, I welcomed it. It gave me something to focus on.

It gave me purpose.

It reminded me I was owned, and my sanity wasn’t just my responsibility but a necessity. I’d made an oath to Q. I’d signed a contract the moment the ‘Q’ sigil scorched my neck. I was his as he was mine. Therefore, I had to be whole—not just for me but for him.

A chill scattered over my body. What was he thinking? What did he hide behind his tough outer-shell?

Wanting to dispel the darkness in his eyes, I murmured, “I know all I need to know. I know you’re kind and generous; the best lover, protector, and master I could ever want.”

Q clenched his teeth as a flash of ferocity etched his features. “Is that all I am?”

“You’re all that and more.”

“Are you forgetting the question I asked you yesterday? The one where you said yes?”

I smiled, ducking my eyes to trace the sweeping lines of his chest. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

“I’ll no longer just be your lover, esclave.”

The swell of love hit me again like a squall of hot air. I couldn’t contain it. I didn’t want to contain it. “You’ll be an amazing husband, too.”

Q tensed. “So amazing you didn’t want to run away and get married yesterday. So amazing you said you were tired and wanted to stay here for a few more days.”

My shoulders hunched. I knew he didn’t take my reasoning well. When he’d gone to whisk me away only moments after proposing, I’d been hit by a brick wall of grief. Not just grief but guilt and sorrow and every complicated emotion left over from what happened. How could I explain I wanted to embrace our future and happiness with wide open arms—to throw myself into eternal bliss—but couldn’t. Not while my entire soul was weighed down with the crimes and sins I’d committed. I can’t tell you my nightmares. I can’t share my guilt or trauma. I didn’t want to burden him any more than I had.

Speak to Suzette. Maybe she could help me. Then again, it wouldn’t be fair to talk about such darkness, not after everything she’d survived herself.

Suddenly, Q crushed me against him, dragging my head to rest against his chest. “So much has passed, yet it seems like just yesterday I had my first taste of you. I feel like I know everything about you—the fundamental parts of you. You’re like me in so many ways, but really…I don’t know you at all.” He pressed a fierce kiss to the top of my head. “Not anymore. Pas depuis qu'ils t’ont kidnappée” Not after they stole you.

I’d never seen Q so melancholy, so withdrawn. He held me as if he expected me to drift away—like he was petrified all of this—us, our connection—was an illusion.

I didn’t know how to bring him back. “All you need to know is that I adore you,” I whispered. The nightmare took what energy I had, so I did the only thing I could—I snuggled closer, letting him bind his relentless arms around me until my body creaked and pain echoed in my spine.

Q didn’t speak.

Closing my eyes, I let the clug-clug of his strong heart calm the flickering images of blood and murdered Blonde Angel. Her broken skull, the white shards of bone. I’d lost count how many times I’d killed her in my sleep. But no matter how many times I stole her life, she was always there—reincarnated for my torment night after night.

Q was right. He knew nothing. Because you haven’t told him.

I sighed. What could I tell him? He’d seen me snap and come undone when I beat him bloody. He knew whatever I lived with was too big, too hard to put into words. Only time could heal me. Only the tick-tock of life blotting out what I’d done stood a chance of making me whole again. There was no rushing the process, and that was why I didn’t want to talk to a psychiatrist or anyone who would judge me.

I carried my sins deep—after all, I was a murderer. For someone who’d been unwanted all her existence, the act of taking a cherished life filled me with something transcendent of guilt.

It filled me with shame and inner hatred.

It filled me with filth.

Q sighed hard, stirring the air in the bedroom. Each thought and conclusion jerked his muscles, transmitting his anger through body-Morse code.

My stomach shrivelled with yet more guilt. Guilt for hurting him yet again. “I’m sorry, Q,” I whispered. My lips sealed over the small bandage over the ‘T’ branded above his heart. The mark I’d seared into his skin.

I still couldn’t understand how he’d forgiven me. He’d tried everything over the past month, all in the name of fixing me: being tender. Firm. Angry. Gentle. I pretended each day it was easier. I smiled and nodded and let him believe he was fixing me with every passing moment.

I’d become a better actress than I ever dreamed of, but it made no difference when he could strip me of my lies with one look. Some moments I even believed my pantomime. I swallowed my fibs and felt pure happiness at being better.

But then I remembered.

I wasn’t better. I’d just learned how to bury it so the horror became a part of me. The flashbacks, the recollections—they were a constant companion, and I fought so hard to keep my reactions free from my face.

I couldn’t tell him the truth. It wasn’t fair after everything he sacrificed. I lied when I told him I was strong enough. I spun tales every time I assured him I no longer thought of my tower or felt the urge to barricade myself behind its rotund walls.

I whispered, “I’ll get better. I’m sorry you have to put up with the sleepless nights. I’ll understand if you want me to move downstairs for a while.”

Q squeezed me angrily. “Get that ridiculous thought out of your head. You’re not moving from my fucking side. Tu m'entends?” Do you hear me?

Of course, I heard him. He was my master. Obeying him gave me a sanctuary I never knew I needed. It took away the pressure of thinking for myself when my mind was too jumbled with remorse.

I nodded.

Q swallowed his temper, softening his voice. “Do you want a bath?” His voice may be whisper-soft, but his body didn’t relax. The vice of his arms cut off the blood supply to my fingertips, but I didn’t care. He needed to hold me tightly. He needed to convince himself I was still there and no matter how bad the nightmares got, I would never leave him the way I had before.

I gave him a promise.

Pulling back, I shook my head. Yet another thing tarnished in my life. I used to love baths. Hot water never failed to wash away my worries and turn me into a puddle of contentedness. That was before Leather Jacket almost drowned me, then drugged me while I’d dozed in Q’s tub in Paris.

I couldn’t stomach the thought of submersing myself anymore. I didn’t think I’d ever want a bath again. Not that I’d ever tell Q that. He didn’t need to know the stupid things I feared. I would cease to be the strong woman he needed. And I refused to have him see me as one of his rehabilitated slaves who needed help, rather than an equal who deserved him.

The moment Q stopped seeing me as strong was the day our relationship was over.

Sucking in a breath, I pushed him away, smiling bravely. Locking away my fear and torment, I turned my worries onto the man who would kill for me. The man who had killed for me. The man who’d proposed. The man I was going to marry.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

Q frowned. The silver of the moon had given way to pink and purple bruises of dawn. The fading scars looked darker across his face in the gloom. He wore my mark in more ways than one.

I did that. I scarred his beautiful face. I hurt him so much he almost died; all because I couldn’t differentiate between real life and nightmares. I knew Q had undergone a massive transformation when he allowed me to whip him. The fresh scars on his face and body highlighted just how much he surrendered.

How much does he expect in return?

I would gladly pay anything to show him my eternity of gratitude, but I couldn’t deny I was different.

Q clenched his jaw; his five o’clock shadow was thick. The stress of the past few months decorated both our faces, and I feared we’d never go back to who we were.

“I told you not to lie to me. You can’t fool a seasoned bastard like me. Do you think I can’t smell your tales?” His voice rasped, bringing comfort and reprimand.

Dropping my eyes, I focused on the room rather than him. The huge bed cocooned us in a sea of black sheets, and if I looked up to the ceiling, the silver chains from where he’d secured and fucked me glinted in the new dawn.

The fireplace of hunted deer and the mirrored chest at the foot of the bed granted a strange blend of trepidation and homeliness. Both emotions plaited together, forever linked where Q was concerned.

My eyes fell on the chest holding Q’s myriad of toys. Toys he’d locked away. Will I ever crave pain the same as before?

The memory of forcing him to orgasm overwhelmed me. The carpet burn on my knees, the ache in my jaw as I sucked his cock, the salty taste of him as he exploded down my throat. I missed the passion. I missed the inhibitions between us. I miss liking pain.

“I’m not lying. I truly am better. I don’t need a bath.”

“Then what do you need?” He reached for my hand, planting it over his left pectoral. The heat of his skin set fire to my fingertips; I couldn’t stop staring at the sparrows and barbwire on his chest.

“I need you,” I whispered, wishing for the burn, the overwhelming sexual hunger. However, it was scarily absent. Either my libido hadn’t woken up or that too was broken.

You know what’s broken. You just don’t want to acknowledge it.

I slapped the voice away, raising my eyes.

Q sat stonily, looking part-sculpture, part-monster. “Yet another lie. Qu’est-ce que je vais faire de toi?” What am I going to do with you? Leaning forward, his pale eyes searched mine, tearing through my defences, uncovering things I never wanted him to see.

“I told you to stop lying to me.”

“And I don’t.”

He snorted, his mouth tightening.

I said, “There is such a thing as too much knowledge. Give me time, then I’ll have no need to keep things from you.”

“I gave you time before and look what happened. You built a fortress and blocked me out. You were so damn cold, so fucking untouchable. Forgive me if I don’t trust you won’t do it again.” Q’s hand flew up, his fingers latching around my throat.

I froze, battling two emotions: I knew Q wouldn’t hurt me—not like Leather Jacket—I knew it was love driving him to anger. But I couldn’t stop the panic bubbling in my veins or my wide eyes from giving away too many secrets. I was a victim, and Q didn’t do well with brokenness.

His gaze darkened as my heart thrummed under his thumb. “For God’s sake, Tess. You can’t even let me touch you. How ever did you let me fuck you yesterday?”

I bit my lip to keep from spilling my dirty lies. I let Q hit me yesterday as he needed to remember himself before it was too late. I gifted my pain and would gladly do it every night for the rest of my life to keep him happy. But I would have to fake it. Fake something that before was as much a part of me as inflicting pain was for Q. We’d been the perfect mirror image of each other, and now the image was dimmed, clouded.

When he took me yesterday, I forced the memories and horrible history away. When he hit me, the clenching of my insides wasn’t from pleasure, but instead from panic. I allowed Q to believe it was lust.

I didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t need to know my dreadful secret. It would break his heart and wedge a canyon between us. Time would heal me. Time would fix everything.

It would.

I had to believe that.

Keeping my voice as steady as possible, I said, “I love it when you touch me. And sleeping with you yesterday meant the world to me.” I brought my arm up, breaking his contact around my throat. Flashing my diamond ring in his face, I added, “You proposed yesterday. You offered me your life, your fortune. Everything you’ve done for me, I’ll never be able to repay. Let me try to find normalcy by loving you and accepting everything you need to give me.”

Q scowled. “You’re saying you would happily let me string you up and use the cat o’ nine tails on you right now?” His gaze glinted. “You would grow wet for me and pant for my cock just like you did before?”

My heart galloped. Why did he have to ask such probing questions? He knows. I was stupid to think he didn’t. Did he guess I no longer craved the delicious line of pain and pleasure? “Yes,” I breathed. “I would give you everything. Just like you’ve given me.”

Q grabbed my hand, twisting the filigree wings wrapping around my wedding finger. The diamonds glittered even in the dawn, and my heart glowed knowing Q had imbedded a tracker in the gold so he would always know where I was. The comfort knowing he would hunt for me was tremendous. My monster would come. Just like he’d done before.

“You hide so much from me, but you forget I can smell fear.” His eyes locked onto mine. “Do you regret saying yes? Have you had second thoughts about marrying me?”

“What? No!” A spike of horror pierced my heart. “Why on earth would you ask that?” Yanking my hand back, I glared. “Accepting you was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If I smell of fear, it’s because I don’t feel worthy of you.”

“Worthy?” Q snarled. “You don’t feel fucking worthy after everything you’ve lived through because of me?” Dragging hands through his hair, he glowered. “You still don’t get it.”

My pulse thudded. The memories I never allowed to surface bombarded me: the grisly bloody heart Q lay at my feet. The black raven wings he’d worn as my dark angel when I was drugged up and hallucinating. How could I feel worthy of someone so much more than me?

“No. You don’t get it. I came to you as a gift. You tormented my mind, turned my body against me, and showed me things I never would’ve been strong enough to want before you. Not only did you send me away because you thought you would ruin me, but you massacred an entire trafficking ring to save me.” My larynx snapped closed with emotion. I wished I could make him see how in awe I was. How much I loved him. Half of my soul throbbed with cosmically bright love while the other dripped in filth and ruin.

“You gave me not only your empire and love but also your greatest fear. Don’t you think I know how hard it was for you to let me tie you up and abuse you? You let me be your master, Q. How can I ever repay that?”

I expected Q to scream. To list the ways I’d repaid him in his fucked-up rationality, but instead he propelled himself off the bed and stalked to the bathroom.

The door slammed shut; I waited in the centre of the bed for the shower to turn on or for something to smash as he took his violence out on the amenities.

Seconds after the door rattled in its hinges, Q stormed back out. “I’ll tell you how you can fucking repay me. You can marry me. Today. I’m not waiting any longer.” Q’s melodic accent cut through the room, whipping me with urgency.

“Any longer? You proposed yesterday.”

“Don’t answer back, Tess. Not unless you want me to drag your delicious body down the bed and fuck you. Having you argue is the worst kind of aphrodisiac, and I know you don’t want me.” Pacing like a caged animal, he snarled, “The knowledge you’d still spread your legs for me is wreaking havoc with my barometer of right and wrong.”

He took all choice away. He was right. I didn’t want him. Not while anger poured off him in crimson waves. But I did want the connection. I wanted to be reminded I hadn’t pushed him away even though I’d tried so damn hard. I wanted to apologise in more ways than words.

Q spun away and yanked open a dresser. Grabbing shirts and underwear, he snapped, “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

I scooted off the bed, obeying instantly. “Where are we going?”

“Away from here. Away from memories.”

Stopping at the end of the bed, I frowned. “You can’t run from this. Only time will help us forget.”

Q stalked toward me. His low-slung cotton trousers defined his hard erection, clinging to his powerful thighs. He bristled, towering over me with authority. “I’m not running from, esclave. I’m running toward. Our future is unwritten. I’m sick of living in the past. It’s time to make you mine permanently. I’m taking you to a place where no one can find us.”

“Tess. Tu dors?” Are you asleep?

My eyes shot wide, connecting instantly with Q’s pale ones. Giving him a gentle smile, I shook my head. “Not asleep.” If I could have my way, I would never sleep again. I wanted to quit reliving my nightmares and live in the present where I had so much to be thankful for.

Q scowled, but slowly a soft smile danced on his lips. “We’re almost there. I didn’t want you to miss it.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, affirming I was still alive and the catastrophe of our past was over.

Looking out the oval plane window, I glimpsed glittering ocean and landmasses on the horizon. I’m on my way to get married! Ever since Q placed the ring on my finger, he’d seemed possessed. Rushing forward, dragging me faster and faster toward the moment where we said ‘I do.’ It was crazy to hurry, madness to marry so fast, but all I could do was hold on and not let go of this magical whirlwind.

“I won’t miss a second.” I forced my smile to beam; Q relaxed under my gaze. He looked so dashing, so understatedly powerful. The corner of the bandage over his brand peeked through the open buttons of his green shirt.

The plane’s engines softened, nudging the nose toward earth. I’d grown so used to Q’s wealth—his helicopter, mansion, and property empire—but I would never like this aircraft.

Too many bad memories existed in the cream leather and honey wood. First being sold to him and freaking out while Franco watched, grinning like the devil, then when Q sent me home to Brax after turning my world upside down.

“I fucking love it when you smile.” Standing, he crossed the small aisle to kneel by my legs. My stomach twisted at seeing him bow before me. I’d never get used to the way he looked at me, or the sheer gratefulness glowing in his eyes.

Once, I’d believed life made me go through hell in order to deserve Q—to be worthy of the priceless gift of true love. Now, after Rio, my thoughts hadn’t changed. If anything, it’d been confirmed. I’d lived through hell in order to be deserving of this precious connection.

I had to be purged by evil to know perfection.

“Do you feel it? Do you feel lighter? Freer? There’s no better medicine for troubles than going somewhere new.” Sitting on his knees, he leaned forward, coming within kissing distance. His tongue came out, licking his bottom lip, drawing my attention.

My stomach clenched; I sucked in a fluttering breath. “I do feel it. I feel….” Scared and hopeful and frightened and happy and…

Q’s eyes dropped to my mouth; I couldn’t breathe. “What do you feel, esclave?” Slowly, his large hands landed on my denim-clad knees. While he wore stylish black slacks and a light-green shirt, I wore designer jeans and a wraparound cardigan with matching white scarf. France hadn’t been warm when Q rushed me out of the house and up the plane steps.

Q’s hands trailed higher, branding me beneath the heavy cotton. The ‘Q’ he’d burned onto my neck flared with heat, willing him to kiss me there—to take possession.

“Tell me. What do you feel?” His voice turned gruff and gravelly while his chest rose and fell.

I couldn’t sit upright. My bones melted—my entire body became hypnotized by his spell. I let myself drift, trying so hard to stay in the moment, chasing the slow burn of lust in my blood. “Your fingers. I feel your heat. I feel your breath on my face. I feel your lips achingly close to mine.”

Q’s fingers turned to talons on my upper thighs, pressing me into the plush leather. “Do you feel how much I need you? How much I want to take you. My way. All the fucking way.” His eyes flashed, sending sparks through my heart. “I want you, Tess. So damn much.”

Memories of him taking me in his helicopter clouded my mind. I’d wanted him past all sanity that day. I’d been wild at the thought of him spanking me, filling me…now all I felt was a hum of need—a dull light-bulb compared to the lightning bolt it used to be.

Add fuel. Coax it to grow.

Throwing myself into his control, I willed my need to build. I nodded. A small moan escaped my lips as his hands caressed upward. Gliding over my hips, he gripped my waist, holding me in place.

“Would you let me take you? Here? Now?” Q murmured, brushing his lips over mine in a teasing barely-there kiss.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Take me. Here. Now. Anywhere. I want—” I want to be me again. I want to be free.

Deliberately keeping my thoughts from skipping, I cupped his face, thrilling at the rough-smoothness of his jaw. He’d shaved but not to bare skin. I loved how untamed he looked even while he wore expensive clothing.

“What do you want?” he murmured, his lips a fraction from mine.

“I want—” I want to be able to love pain again. But it was like wishing upon a useless star. I might never be able to find passion in pain again. Not after what they made me do.

“Say it, esclave.”

Say what? The dreadful truth that I’d ruined our marriage before it’d even begun, or perhaps he wanted to hear yet more lies about how I hadn’t changed into a shadow of myself.

Q didn’t move, waiting for me to speak.

My chest hurt as I sucked in courage. “I want you to kiss me. Make me forget everything but your tongue and taste and need.”

Q didn’t hesitate.

His lips crashed against mine, pinning the back of my head against the leather. I moaned as his tongue speared into my mouth with his trademark self-assurance and domination. He tasted of darkness and sin, making me want to follow him to the ends of the earth.

Tilting his head, he licked my tongue, encouraging me to kiss him back. Willingly, I kissed harder, shivering in his hold as he groaned. Intensity built between us, wrapping us in a tight web of heat and want. Needing more—to show him how indebted I was—I grabbed his hands, placing them on my breasts. The instant his large grip covered me, he lost control, kissing me brutally.

His lips bruised mine, heating, melting. It was soul-scorchingly deep as he devoured me into his world. Every sweep of his tongue helped bring me back to life. Every lick shed the greyness, granting colour once again.

His touch turned hard; I flinched as he twisted my nipples through the material. The threat of pain would’ve sent me skyrocketing before but now it dampened my lust. The needful bubbles and sexual frustration popped in my blood, leaving me cold and lifeless.

No. Stop.

I hated how frigid I’d become. How conditioned I was to run from all types of pain.

Q stiffened; his touch froze.

I couldn’t let him guess how much I hated all forms of agony. It turned me from wet to dry. From willing to averse.

He can’t know.

“Q—God, make me forget. Please make me forget,” I panted into his mouth. Please don’t guess.

Q didn’t kiss me back, instead he pulled away, pinning me with his pale stare. Goosebumps broke out over my skin as I shuddered. Ominous foreshadowing prickled my spine. What if I never found that part of myself again? I couldn’t let him marry me thinking I was his perfect other when I no longer wanted his belts or chains or whips.

Cupping his cheek I breathed hard, fighting against the prick of tears. “Kiss me. Do anything you want to me.”

The pain in his eyes almost unravelled my despair. His face shut down to unreadable. Tenderly, he turned his head, pressing a kiss against my palm. “God, I want to. How I want to hurt you, kiss you, fuck you. ” Hiding his emotions behind a careful mask, he smiled. “But I rather like denying myself. Looking at you, fantasising of all the things I want to do but not giving myself permission to do them.”

My heart broke. Q just lied. He lied to give me space. He lied to keep me from going back to the one thing he hated and feared the most—my tower.

He leaned closer, bringing his intoxicating heat and smell of citrus. “Stop.”

I didn’t know what to stop. My black thoughts? My terror at fucking up the best thing that’d ever happened to me?

I threw my arms around his neck, dragging his mouth to mine. I blocked off my endless questions and pretended. I found solace in acting the part of unbroken Slave Fifty-eight who Quincy Mercer hadn’t been able to send away. I gave him everything I could.

But it wasn’t enough.

Q slammed the heel of his palm against my chest, holding me against the chair. “You can’t lie with words, and you can’t lie by actions. Stop. Stop making a fool out of me by thinking I buy your bullshit, Tess.”

Smashing my lips together, I looked down. I hated myself. I hated this. I fucking hated Leather Jacket and White Man.

“I don’t know how to stop,” I whispered. There was no ‘get well’ help-book or guidelines on how to evict the slime from my soul. I entered into a relationship with Q never believing he would change or that he would find a balance between light and dark. I gave him my heart, all the while knowing I might only get a small sliver back in return.

But Q surprised me completely. He’d given his life freely to save mine. He let me murder his sense of self all in the name of bringing me back. And now I was asking for more. More—too much more.

Q seemed to follow my thoughts, my fears. His lips curled in frustration. “Toujours en train de mentir” Still lying.

I sucked in a breath as he jerked me forward; the thrill of his sharp teeth teased my ear lobe. His hot mouth made me tremble as he nibbled my skin. “It makes me so fucking hard for you, esclave, knowing you’ll be mine. All mine. My wife. It gives me unbelievable power knowing I’ll be responsible for your happiness.”

My head fell back as Q trailed threatening kisses down my neck to my collarbone. “And I take my responsibilities very seriously. I’ll make you happy again. I swear it.”

Tears sprang to my eyes; all I wanted to do was sink. Sink into his promises. Sink into the safety of letting him fight my battles.

Q’s body bristled, his hands dug into my thighs as his voice changed to a growl. “And when you’re happy again, I’m going to take you so hard you’ll scream. I’ll show you just how fucking happy you’ve made me by saying yes.” His teeth sank into my skin.

Pain.

“Kill her. If you don’t, we’ll cut off her fingers one by one.” Leather Jacket’s voice roared into my head.

I froze.

No. Stay. Don’t remember.

Piercing panic bulldozed its way through my heart. Horror and repulsion doused me in sleet and ice.

“Hit her, puta. Obey us otherwise we’ll do it ten times worse.”

Pain—it wasn’t a tool of love but a weapon of hate. It was heinous. It was barbaric.

Please...

I hated that I had no power to keep the badness from staining my life. I hated that I was so weak.

Squeezing my eyes, I focused on Q’s hot breath, the predatory way his teeth clamped hard. He didn’t break my skin, but the threat of pain was enough to make me lose it.

Blonde Hummingbird came alive behind my eyes. She’d been scratched and mutilated—by me. My stomach rolled. I wanted to throw up.

Stay with him. Stay in the present. Stay safe.

The cabin was too small. The air too stifling. The light tinged to soot while the scents of mould and sweat rose from the bowels of my nightmares.

“Tess. Tess!” Q reared back, grabbing my cheeks in both hands. “Goddammit, Tess.” His harsh temper acted like a vacuum, sucking up the horror as fast as it consumed me.

Where there had been rottenness and rank recollections, all that remained was my hyperventilating and jittery nausea.

I opened my eyes. Q’s gaze delved into mine, looking as if he’d reach in and tear my demons free if he could. I smiled as bright as possible. “Sorry. Airsickness.”

Q growled, standing upright. “Lies. What did I just say?” His face twisted into a mask of hurt anger. “That’s the last one I’ll let you say. The next one I don’t fucking care if you’re terrified, I’ll make you speak the truth.” He stalked across the small aisle and sat stiffly in his chair.

Shit.

Breathing hard, I looked around the cabin, trying to think of some way to fix this—fix myself. Nothing about the luxury interior or cylindrical aircraft gave hints of how to clear my mind from fear and be free.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I crossed the small distance between us. It was my turn to kneel, settling myself between Q’s spread thighs. The sheer size of him, the air of ruthlessness, let me place all my trust in his belief—his belief that he could fix me.

“I wish I had something else to say. It seems as though all I do these days is apologise.”

Q sighed and for a moment I worried he’d cross his arms and ignore me. But then he brushed a blonde curl off my forehead, his jaw tight. “I wish I could tear out your memories so they leave you in peace. I wish I could kill those fucking bastards all over again. I want to forget about being human and let my inner monster tear them limb from limb.”

Q’s entire body tensed, vibrating with rage. Once upon a time I would’ve been turned on, scared, and intrigued by Q’s wrath. Now, after everything we’d been through, he no longer scared me. His anger filled me with happiness—he would do anything, be anyone, for me. To have such a wondrous gift made me ache with gratefulness.

I placed my hands on his knees. “I wish that, too.” The smoothness of the material over the hardness of his body sent my heart skipping a beat.

“What else do you wish for?” he demanded, sensing everything I wasn’t saying. Demanding to know the truth.

Sitting straighter, I confessed, “I need you to promise you won’t hate me. If I know you’ll be patient, I’ll fix myself. I swear it.”

Q shook his head sadly. “That’s what you’re afraid of? That I’ll grow impatient and leave you because you’re battling things you refuse to tell me?” Sitting tall, he glared into my eyes. “Have I given you any reason to doubt that I won’t wait for you past death if I must? Have I given you any cause for insecurity?”

Shit, he had a gift at making me suffer guilt. How could I ask him to wait for me when secretly I believed he’d walk away long before I was repaired?

“No. I’m sorry.” My shoulders slouched. Every part of me was heavy and cold. “You’ve been nothing but gentle and supportive.”

“I may get angry and pissed off at everything they’ve done to you—that’s my right as your future husband—but I give you my word: I take our relationship seriously. When I say the words ‘til death do us part’ I’ll mean them. There’s no escape once you sign that contract, Tess. Call me old fashioned or a possessive bastard, but you’re mine. Forever.”

My heart grew wings, and the fear that he’d throw me away dissolved. I believed him. No matter how long I took to come right, he would be there for me every step.

“I haven’t been fair to you. Je suis à toi, Q.” I’m yours.

His face lost the hardness; a flicker of adoration warmed his gaze. Pulling me upright, he placed me in the seat beside his. He pursed his lips as a thought flickered, then he shifted to reach into his back pocket. A crinkling sounded as he pulled something free. “I wasn’t going to give this to you, but I think you need reminding how strongly I feel for you. Yes, you’re mine, but I’m fucking yours through and through.” Passing the tattered piece of paper to me, he twisted in his seat, scowling out the window.

The plane’s engines whirred and purred as we descended faster from clouds to earth. The islands on the horizon were now spread below us, dotted with buildings and a slash of grey runway. My engagement ring flashed with expensive rainbows as I stroked the still-warm note.

I stared at the folded piece of paper as if it only had doom to tell me. I never expected Q to write a love letter. If he hadn’t wanted me to read it, why had he given it to me?

“Read it, woman. It’s not going to bite you,” Q muttered, still staring out the window.

Sucking in a breath, I unfolded the crinkles and smoothed it out. The sight of Q’s masculine cursive made me fall in love all over again. Everything he did was flawless.

Esclave…Tess

You won’t see this—just like I won’t tell you certain things about me no matter how long we’re married.

Fuck me. Married.

Me? I never thought I’d experience what others took for granted—until you, of course. You landed on my doorstep and stole my fucking heart the moment you fought me over the pool table. I’d never been so turned on and so utterly confused.

I tried to keep you safe from me, but I never thought I’d have to keep you safe from the bastards in my sordid life. I failed you, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over how much you’ve suffered—all because of me.

You were tortured because of me.

I could promise you the world. I could cut out my heart and present it at your feet. I could write sonnets and poems and lyrics all designed to spill my fucking guilt and remorse, but nothing will make the ache go away.

You were so strong once and now you’re stronger still. You think you’re broken, but I see the truth. Not only did you cut me out and force me to face my worst nightmare, but I feel as if you’ll disappear at any moment.

But you won’t be able to leave once you’ve said ‘I do.’ The moment you’ve signed and become Tess Mercer, your soul belongs to me. You’ll truly be mine, and I’ll own you forever. Maybe then the fear will go away.

Fuck, I truly hope so, because every day I’m going mad. Going insane with the thought of you walking out the door and leaving.

Once you’re truly mine, I might find the guts to show you a little of what I’ve hidden all my life. I want to welcome you into my world. I want to share everything that I am. I want to teach you everything that I know.

Fuck, Tess, you don’t get it. Do you understand that I’m not the one with the power—it’s you. You’re the one in control, and it kills me to admit it.

Will you ever forgive me? Will you ever look at me the same? Will you ever stop thinking that if you had never met me, you’d never have been taken the second time? If only I fucking sent you home when I had the chance. If only I stopped the darkness from building. If only—hindsight is a fucking bitch.

But if I had sent you away, my life would’ve remained the same. Empty. Lonely. So then I can’t regret falling for you even though my need for you almost killed you.

So you see? Vicious circle. Around and around. I’m the cause of your pain, yet I want more of it. I’m the reason you’re shattered but I want to be the one to glue you back together.

I’m such a selfish bastard.

Forgive me. Forgive my sins and I’ll split open my soul and let you in.

How ironic that you think I’ll leave you. How pathetic that you think you don’t deserve me. The truth is, I’m petrified you’ll finally see me as a monster and despise me. I’m a fucking mess.

You think I’m invincible. But I’m not. I’m weak. Weak for you and everything I taste when I’m with you.

Say yes. Please fucking say yes.

If you do, then I’ll be the best master and husband the world has ever seen. I’ll give you a life full of experiences and passion.

We’ll finally find peace in the dark—

There was no ending, almost as if Q couldn’t bear to write another word. Not even a full-stop gave closure to such a brutally exposing letter.

I’d been living a lie. A lie where I thought I only loved Q. I didn’t love him. I adored him. I worshipped him. I was alive because of him.

Light and colour and effervescent joy gave me the strength to slap away my guilt and embrace what Q just showed me.

Forgive him? There was nothing to forgive. We were both victims of cause and effect—pawns in a game of happiness and loss. We had each other—we won in the end despite everything we’d been through.

“I don’t need to say any vows, Q. You own my soul already.” I glanced at his frozen form. “I don’t need to forgive you because there’s nothing, nothing, that you’re guilty of. No crimes. No sins.” I waited for some acknowledgement that he was listening. He remained unyielding in the chair, only a twitch of his hand signalled he’d heard.

The airplane tyres slammed against tarmac as we went from flying to charging down the runway. My heart had been left in the clouds, dancing with the knowledge that a man so loyal and amazing as Q loved me.

I’d gone from unwanted to idolized. The shift in my world was so earth-shattering, I didn’t know how I stood or followed Q down the steps after we’d taxied to the airport. I existed in a bubble of awe as Q guided me into a sleek black limousine, and we pulled out of the airport. We hadn’t spoken, too flayed open to risk admitting that his letter had done what words could not. It gave us hope.

Safely seated in the back of the limo, Q turned to me, asking softly, “Now, do you understand?”

My eyes shot to his, holding his tortured gaze. “Now, I understand.”