My eyes rested on Q. His wonderful body, his gorgeous features. I fanned the love in my heart, cocooning myself with strength. On barely a whisper, I said, “You can’t give me what I want.”
Lynx pulled back, the fog retreating from his eyes, finally sensing my trap. But it was too late.
“You can’t give it to me because I want your fucking soul.” I pressed my weapon against his cock. I fired.
A second.
That’s all it took.
The bullet tore through soft intimate flesh, making him scream. And scream. And scream. His pistol swung upward but I was ready. I shot his hand. Blood filled the wound, spilling with a steady trickle. The weapon skittered away like a scared animal, sliding into a corner of the room.
Lynx crashed to the floor, holding his bloody trousers, incomprehensible with pain.
Franco tried to grab me, but I didn’t stop or care. Slapping him away, I knelt beside Lynx, letting his groaning agony wash over me. I pushed a fingertip into his blood, gathering the life-paint, smearing it across my cheek. The cooling ooze was a hard-won trophy. I swelled with retribution.
I did this for you, Q. I’ve avenged you.
“Help—someone!” Lynx spluttered between his screams. Slamming a hand over his mouth, I shut him up. His feeble fights were nothing to the rage making me inhumanly strong. I didn’t care my knees got wet as I kneeled by his head. I didn’t care his blood soaked through my clothes, baptising me in horror. All I cared about was the last words I wanted to say. To him. To the traffickers who’d taken me. To evil itself.
I bowed over him, whispering in his ear, “My name is Tess Mercer. I’m no longer weak or afraid or broken. I’ve taken control of my fate. I no longer need a tower or dark angels or help. I am fear. And I take your soul in penance for everything that was done to me. I take it for the women you’ve raped. I take it for the women you’ve sold. I take it for my master, soul-mate, and husband. I take you for me.”
Pressing the gun against his forehead, I locked eyes with his chaotic gaze. He begged me silently. He pleaded wordlessly. And no compassion filled me.
I hope you burn forever.
Trigger. Sulphur. Bullet.
He was dead.
No one moved or spoke as I rose gracefully from the puddle of blood, standing over the soulless corpse. I was a phoenix glowing bright with power. I took back everything that’d been stolen.
I didn’t find the old Tess. She was gone. But in her place stood a new Tess. A woman who no longer feared. I’d looked evil in the eye and won. I’d been reborn in blood.
Franco shuffled forward, gently prying my fingers from the gun. “Tess—are you okay?”
His voice cut through my silence inside, reminding me I’d taken one life, now it was time to mourn another.
Turning to Q, I wasn’t strong enough to fight the swell of grief this time.
Q hung there—his stomach didn’t rise with breath, his dark hair glistening with wetness. He was gone and it was time to smother my pointless hope and accept. “Cut him down.”
The team of men did as I asked, obeying my every command. A pulley in the wall dropped Q’s body to a height where a knife could be sliced through the rope around his ankles. Two men caught him. Franco collected his legs and in a sombre ceremony they carried him from the dungeon. They carried my reason for existing back into the sunlight.
I trailed behind, smearing Lynx’s blood between my fingers like a talisman. The emptiness inside rapidly filled with churning waves of sadness. My heartbeats were heavy and loud—gonging with every step.
One beat.
Two beats.
I focused on staying strong. I had to. Q was gone.
Once upstairs, the men placed Q on a couch in a small conservatory. It was the only room that looked peaceful with plants rather than stripper poles.
I allowed the men to untie him—unwrapping his ankles, freeing his arms. I kneeled on the floor by his head, never taking my gaze from his white face. His eyes remained closed, lips slightly parted.
The waves inside splashed against my crumbling self-control. The first tear escaped my control, sliding down my cheek.
Franco disappeared. He came back with a blue blanket draping it over Q’s nakedness.
He’s dead.
No matter how much I told myself, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. If I did it meant my life was over. Forever. I would remain alone.
Hope—that bastardly emotion—wouldn’t let me go.
He doesn’t feel dead.
He’s not gone. He can’t be gone.
The cord linking our souls together wasn’t completely sundered. Or was I believing my own lies? Numbing myself to the truth?
Q please. Don’t leave.
The first wave broke my iron control, sending a torrent of tears up my spine.
I cupped Q’s cheek. I froze.
He was clammy. Not cold.
Hope took over my waves of tears, building a wall of wishes.
“Franco…” I looked up, begging him to confirm.
Franco hovered over me, his body seizing with injury. He lowered his good hand beneath Q’s nostrils. Ducking beneath his arm, I pressed my ear against Q’s damp chest, willing a heartbeat to thud.
My ear grew warm as I pressed harder, throbbing with the need to hear the fundamental part of him thrum.
Moments ticked past while we listened and waited.
Then my hope was confirmed.
Franco and I jerked back together. Our eyes met, wide with awe. “He’s breathing,” Franco said. I blurted, “His heartbeat is faint but it’s there.”
The churning waves vanished, leaving me with frantic calm. “Someone get more blankets. Water. Call an ambulance.” I pressed my ear to Q’s chest again, needing to hear.
Thud…thud…
You’re going to be okay.
Q’s unconscious form became the hub of commotion. Men dashed around, delivering blankets, first aid kits, and water.
I didn’t move from Q’s side. With gentle fingertips, I traced his cheekbones, whispering over his lips. “You’re safe. Wake up. Please wake up.”
Tears breached my eyelashes, dripping over my cheeks. But these were hopeful tears rather than heavy with grief. My body remembered how to feel, thawing the ice in my blood, bringing me up from the darkness and back into the sunshine. “Q—please.”
Kneeling higher, I pressed my lips to his. In my mind I tasted his agony—the torture he’d endured. I licked away his screams, letting him know we’d come for him.
We weren’t too late.
I’m here.
My body began to quake, exceeding any Richter scale as I filled with shaking gratefulness.
I kissed him again. Hard and fierce.
He didn’t move but something shifted in my heart. I knew he’d heard me—sensed me. An awareness gathered in the space as Q clawed his way from unconsciousness, fighting to return.
In increments, he came alive.
His chest raised higher, his lips tightening as pain registered.
Then his eyes went from closed to narrowed to open. Pale jade blazed while the whites of his eyes were bloodshot and raw.
What the hell did they do to him?
I shook my head. I didn’t want to know. I never wanted to picture him in such pain. I couldn’t handle it. I’d never forgive myself for not extracting a worse toll on Lynx if I knew.
Q’s gaze focused on mine, pulling me inside him, sewing us together stronger, deeper than ever before. “Te—Tess?”
I burst into tears. Throwing my arms around his neck, I peppered his face with kisses. I wasn’t gentle. I couldn’t be gentle.
He half-laughed, half-groaned. “Tout va bien.” It’s okay. His voice was cracked and rough, breathless with pain.
“You’re alive. Q—” I couldn’t stop kissing him, layering him with all the love I had. “We thought you were dead. How is this possible?” I stroked his cheek, imprinting his glorious face
onto my heart.
Q stiffened, wincing as a flush of agony paled his features. “He d—did kill me, a f—few times. Or at least, I think so—I remember leaving—falling...” His eyes clouded. “I followed you, esclave. I thought you’d come—”
“We did come.”
He smiled. “Kiss me again. I need to know this is real.” His voice was barely audible, cracking and wheezing but I understood every word.
My lips caressed his, drinking him, loving him. It was a chaste kiss. No tongue, only breath and heat and a promise of never leaving.
Pulling away, I asked, “If he killed you—how are you alive?”
Q looked away, hiding the torrent of memories. “He had ta—Taser. Amazing what a volt of el—electricity to the heart can do—to prolong things.”
His grogginess evaporated as his hand suddenly shot between his legs. Relief slackened his face. “Thank God.”
I pulled back. “What? What is it?”
Q shook his head, alertness battling back his weakness. “Nothing. I’m still in one piece. That’s all.” He sighed heavily, looking worn-out and barely conscious. His eyes narrowed. “Why is there blood on your cheek?”
Because it was my blood to take.
Franco appeared in the doorway, using the dreaded walking stick he’d scorned before. “Ambulance is on its way.” Smiling at Q, he added, “You should’ve seen her, Mercer. Fucking scary as hell. But she killed him for you.” Franco glared in my direction. His eyes blatantly vowing that what happened downstairs would remain between us.
I nodded, accepting his promise. I’d done what I needed to do. Q didn’t need to know the details.
Q’s face darkened, overshadowed with the strain of talking. “What?” He growl-croaked, “You killed Lynx? That’s his blood on your face?”
I made him believe my lies and stole his life.
I nodded, fierce pride resonating in my heart. “He stole you from me. He had to die. And I had to be the one to do it.” Taking his hand, I squeezed. “I know you’ll understand, and I know you’ll accept when I say it’s done and I don’t want to talk about it.”
Q flinched, untangling his arm from the blanket. With a shaky hold, he cupped the back of my neck. I bowed over him, never looking away from his eyes. “What did you do, Tess? Please tell me you didn’t undo my hard work.” He stopped, sucking in a breath. His eyes were tight with agony. “Tell me you didn’t ruin yourself by killing him for me. You didn’t have to do that. I never wanted—”
“It won’t happen.” I knew his fears. He worried I’d relapse for hurting another like killing Blonde Hummingbird. But I wouldn’t because I’d done the right thing. I was happy. I accepted my brutality and would gladly live with the knowledge I wasn’t pure anymore. I was never pure. And if I went to hell for saving the man I loved—then that was the final debt I would pay.
I kissed him softly. “Taking his life granted me power. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m in control of my fate, and I give it to you wholeheartedly.” My stomach clenched, remembering his letter. “But if you ever leave me a note again, after planning your death and telling me nothing of the dangers you’re in, I’ll kill you, too.”
Q leaned back on the cushion, his energy rapidly fading. “I did that to protect you.”
“Well—I want to protect you in return.” My heart lurched realizing just how vulnerable we all were. How quickly life passed—how much I wanted to live it. “Marry me, Q. Now. I don’t care where or how.”
Q’s fingers added pressure to the base of my skull, bringing me down to kiss him. His lips moved against mine in a dance belonging completely to us. His tongue entered sweetly, seductively. He didn’t kiss with misery or happiness or lust.
He kissed me with reverence. Thankfulness.
When we broke apart, he murmured, “Je t’ai déjà épousée dans mon cœur, Tess. Au moment où j'ai posé les yeux sur toi, tu étais à moi pour toujours, mon amour.” I’ve already married you in my heart, Tess. The moment I set eyes on you, you were mine forever.
Looking over my head, he said to Franco, “Call Suzette. Find out where she organised the wedding.”
“Wait—Suzette?”
Q smiled, reopening the small cut on his lower lip. “We’re getting married tomorrow. Suzette’s been arranging it.” His last reservoir of strength petered out, leaving him pale and breathing hard.
Franco towered over us, two injured warriors together. “I’ll call her, and I’ll do anything else that needs to be done—but you—you’re going to the hospital.”
Q opened his lips to argue but winced as Franco deliberately patted his sliced up legs beneath the blanket. “Hospital, Mercer. Then wedding. Don’t make me kick your ass.”
A tense moment existed before Q nodded. “I think that ass kicking can wait, don’t you?” His gaze fell to Franco’s missing thumb. A rosebud of blood decorated the bandage where his digit used to be. Q frowned, taking in the sling and Franco’s cane. “Thank you for coming.”
Franco shrugged. “Couldn’t be late to this party. Look how much fun you were having.”
I cringed at the morbid humour, but Q smiled. “The fun I could’ve done without—but I’m grateful to you, Franco.” His eyes fell on me. “And forever in your debt, Tess. You should never have had to do that on my behalf. I’m sorry.”
Sirens sliced the morning peace. A flashing ambulance pulled into the driveway, its lights visible through the windows. Kissing Q’s cheek, I whispered, “No apologises. I did what I needed to do.” I nuzzled his cheek. “Your chariot awaits, maître. And your bride will be with you every step until she becomes your wife.”
Q’s body stiffened, fighting off a wave of pain. “And once you’re my wife—you intend to leave my side?”
My heart was no longer a heart—it became a beacon, beaming with brightness, lighting the way to my future. “When I’m your wife, our lives will become one. I won’t be by your side. I’ll be inside you. Forever.”
Q sucked in a breath, his eyes glowing with love. “In that case—get me to the hospital.”
Chapter Fourteen
Quincy
You are my saviour
My forever
The hospital was a necessary evil.
As much as I wanted to leave Spain and never return, I had to endure needles, questions, and doctors.
Hours upon hours of tests, MRIs, and stitching up the slices on my legs frayed my patience, giving time the opportunity to turn my injuries into bone-deep aches. My head pounded from hanging upside down and everything inside was bruised—my kidneys, my stomach—even my spleen. My heart was also banged up, but surprisingly fine—despite the rigorous assault it’d endured. My spine was swollen from the baseball bat, but I had sensation in my legs. Thank fucking God. And the bullet hole was no longer a hole after surgery sewed me up.
The catalogue of injuries went on forever but after everything I’d endured the only broken part of me was a cracked rib. That and my heart. Tess had done something irreversible down there. I’d hung unconscious while she did something I would never be able to delete.
Twisting my head on the pillow, I looked at her.
She hadn’t moved from my side. She’d been there while the doctors numbed my legs and practiced fucking cross-stitch with my flesh. She’d held my hand while we waited for the results of my heart and blood pressure readings. She screamed at any doctor who tried to remove her from a procedure.
I fucking loved her. I couldn’t stop looking at her—knowing she’d killed for me. She’d willingly crossed that threshold where no human should have to go. She took a life in payment for mine. She truly was my perfect other.
Tess glowed, a smile spreading her lips. “Do you need anything? Something to eat? Water?”
I couldn’t stop the involuntary shudder at the mention of fucking water. Vile liquid. Killing liquid. I never wanted another sip or to see a bucket or towel again. That had been the worst part. I didn’t care about the baseball bat or even the cuts
on my legs. It was the black wetness that turned my stomach.
It was the breathless horror whenever my mind relived the past. I’d died. I’d given up. And that made me fucking weak. While I’d given up, Tess had become my saviour.
It made me proud. It also made me furious. Hospital staff looked at me as if I were a fucking invalid—compounding the emotions I battled. How could I ever thank Tess for what she did? How could I ever live with myself for being so fucking stupid?
Police had arrived to take my statement and for once I could tell the truth—the whole truth and not fear any repercussions. They’d left us in peace after the main activities and needlepoint on my legs.
Finally, after what seemed like days, I’d finally been left alone in a private room. Finally able to breathe without disinfectant or antiseptic stinging my nostrils. The grogginess from the anaesthesia wore off, leaving me stiff and sore.
My nervous system had a hard time tabulating it all. One moment an ache flared in my chest, the next my lower back. But despite the flushes of agony, I felt fine. I felt whole. I felt content.
I survived.
Tess squeezed my hand, bringing my scattered thoughts back to her. “Q—would you like a drink?”
I smiled, soaking in her perfect face. “I would murder for a shot of whiskey.” My voice cracked and failed. According to the doctor, my throat suffered multiple lacerations from either screaming or trying to breathe H2O instead of oxygen.
The fucking bastard really hurt me. But I was alive, and he was not. All because I had people behind me. I had goodness on my side. I had my esclave. My fearless strong esclave.
“You’re not drinking.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Who knows what you’ll get up to if you have alcohol on top of the painkillers they’ve administered.”
I chuckled. “I can think of a few things.” I wanted to try out my cock—make sure it hadn’t died in sheer terror at the threat of being cut off. I didn’t know how close Lynx came to delivering his final threat. All I remembered was endless water torture, more cuts, more electricity, and welcoming darkness.
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