Chains. Water. Blackness.
My eyes took everything in at once—a panoramic shot of horror. Two men stood in front of a male carcass hanging from the ceiling. Naked, bleeding, cuts upon cuts. Empty buckets littered the floor while a full one rested on a small table.
The man I focused on wore a dark red suit, his hair styled into a black and red mohawk, brandishing a bloody knife in my direction.
“Who the fuck are you? How did you get down here?” His Spanish accent echoed in the tomb.
Him. Lynx. My nemesis. My target.
Then my eyes landed on the massacre behind him.
All the hope I’d nursed sputtered out. All my love and prayers siphoned away.
Sparrows. Clouds. Barbwire.
My heart died.
No! Q was gone. I couldn’t deny it anymore. No one could survive and have so much blood paint their body. No one could hang completely limp and lifeless if they weren’t dead.
Someone cut him down!
Franco careened into the room. His large arm wrapped around my waist, jerking me backward. Shoving me away, he raised his weapon and shot the second man wearing drenched black clothing.
The man’s neck flung back before his body fell like its puppeteer cut his strings, collapsing to the floor. The muted pop sounded so innocent compared to the sudden firework of gristle and blood decorating the wall behind the man.
Lynx reached into his waistband, pulling out an old fashioned pistol. “Don’t fucking move!”
The hairs on my arms stood up, feeding off the anger in the room—the fine edge of living and death.
I didn’t care which happened—live or die—as long as I killed Lynx first.
Blair catapulted into the room. Men crowded behind us, filling the corridor, providing back-up but also ensuring we had no way out.
Not that I needed a way out.
Q.
Franco grabbed me. I squirmed against his hold losing my ceaseless rage, filling with hot horror. Q just hung there, arms tied to his sides, black ropes binding his ankles to the ceiling.
Please, move! Let me know you haven’t left me.
My eyes hurt, searching for breath, a quiver of a feather on his chest.
Nothing.
I swallowed back a rush of sickness. He hung upside down, butchered. His legs and stomach rivered with copious amounts of blood. His tattoo barely visible beneath the deep rust. A black towel covered his face, dripping with loud droplets onto the floor below.
I needed him down. I needed him in my arms.
Lynx glared. “I wasn’t expecting an audience. But feel free to watch.” He tore the towel from Q’s head, revealing the bruised, slack face of my master.
The rage inside billowed, gathering momentum, hurtling toward one outcome. Him or me. One of us would be dead within minutes.
“Don’t touch him,” I hissed. I tore from Franco’s grip, stepping forward. I stood in the centre, wedged between right and wrong.
Franco and Alpha team shifted but remained silent. Unspoken law put me in charge. Nothing would be done or finished without my say so. And no one would kill Lynx because I would.
Lynx smiled, ignoring the men behind me—dismissing them just as I had. His gaze locked with mine and it was just us—us in this arena of death. “Who are you?” He stepped back, placing himself beside Q’s upside down body. Pressing the muzzle of his gun against Q’s temple, he said, “Wait, I know who you are. You’ve come for him then. Come to watch him die.”
I hated his mind games—holding a gun to an already deceased body. Teasing me with hope—damn fucking hope. I wouldn’t play his games. I knew the truth. He couldn’t hurt Q anymore because he was dead. The tracker in his arm spoke the truth—not this liar.
I glided forward, compelled to touch—to confirm the white pallor wasn’t fake. I couldn’t ignore the pull, a vortex sucking me stronger and stronger toward Q.
I wanted to scream at Franco to cut Q down, but Lynx protected his prize.
The link between us sputtered, weak…gone. “I’ve come to watch but you’re wrong about what. I’m here to watch your blood coat the floor.”
Lynx’s lips twisted. “You’re as delusional as he was. Do you want to know what he did only hours ago? What another slave did to the man you love?”
I slammed to a halt, bombarded by images of Q sleeping with another, loving another.
He wouldn’t.
“You can lie all you want, but I don’t believe you.”
Franco shuffled behind me. “Put down your gun, Lynx. Now.”
Blair fanned to the side, building a wall of men all bristling with weapons.
“Stand down. This is mine. Do not move.” My voice echoed with authority. The men fell silent.
Lynx smiled. “A woman with power. I like it.” He stroked the muzzle over Q’s cheek, indenting his skin, making him sway in the bindings.
My stomach snarled.
No one had the right to touch him. No one! He’s mine!
Another step. I raised my gun. Give him to me. There would be no reasoning with him. In order to get to Q, I had to win. I had to take not ask.
“You like power? You have none. Take a look. You’re outnumbered. I have a gun trained on your heart and your threats mean nothing to me. Stop touching him and I might let you die cleanly.”
“I told you I’d come for you, Tess. Never doubt how much I love you.” Q’s voice echoed in my head. He’d sacrificed so much for me. He’d brought me back to life. And I’d repaid him by sliding into the darkest part of me. The part I never wanted to know. I have to. I’m doing this for you.
A moment spread like an eternity. Finally Lynx removed his weapon from Q, training it on me. His crocodile gaze glinted, lips pulling back against crooked teeth. “What’s your name?”
I took another step, my finger trembling over the trigger. “Why?”
He cricked his neck, the gun steady in his hands. “Because I’d like to know the name of the woman I’m about to slaughter. I’ll murmur it in a curse every night while I rape a woman—all the while imagining she’s you.”
The vile sentence didn’t affect me. I was beyond affecting. “My name is Tess Snow. And you won’t be cursing it. You’ll be whimpering it.”
He laughed. “Come closer and we’ll see.” His red shoes inched toward me, closing the gap, bringing us closer to the final conclusion.
“Tess! Don’t.” Franco’s voice rang around the space. I ignored him.
“Do you know what I am?” I whispered.
Lynx’s nostrils flared. “What you are? You’re nothing but a—” He shook his head. “Wait, no…I see it—you’re…”
“I’m his. I married the night and became his monster. And you should fear me.” Nothing else existed inside. No residual issues of kidnapping, death, or pain. Nothing but peace.
I controlled my fate. Right here. Right now. And my fate was to kill and be killed. We would die together. I would wear his blood as I descended into the underworld.
“You ask if I see what you are. I do.” His demeanour changed from angry to smooth. “You’re not worthy of death, Tess Snow. Your previous owner is dead. I claim you as my new property. Come to me and I’ll let you live.” His gaze slithered over my body. “I’ll treat you right. I’ve searched all my life for a woman like you.”
Another step. Only a metre left. Grabbing distance. Shooting distance.
“A woman like me?”
“A woman so broken she doesn’t even know. A woman strong enough to survive anything because she no longer feels anything.” His arm lowered a little, believing his fantasy—that he could win me. That he could acquire me.
I laughed.
Everyone froze—the dungeon pulsed as I slipped from sanity to insane. I lowered my gun.
I’d never felt more clear. More powerful. He’s already dead. I knew how I’d do it. “You want to own me?” Softness entered my voice, ghosting over the tiles toward Lynx.
“Tess—come back h
ere,” Franco ordered. “Whatever you’re doing—stop it.”
The awareness between me and Q’s killer grew stronger, blocking everyone out. I didn’t look at Q or pay attention to Franco. I was single-minded. Locked on my prey. Mouth watering with the knowledge I’d won.
Lynx smiled, eye’s glinting with interest. “Yes. Stand by my side. I would be proud to keep you. You’d have my word I would never sell you—as long as you stayed this cold.” His accent danced with sensuality, dragging me closer toward him. Idiot. Buffoon.
“You want to own my body. But what about my mind?” One last step. Space meant nothing anymore. Such a short space. A killable space.
His pistol lowered, hypnotised by his own illusion. “I want to own all of you. Give it to me and I’ll treat you better than he ever did.”
He. Q. My heart launched out of my chest, winging to my dead master. My skin was sleet and snow, but it was almost over. Soon, my maître. Soon, I’m coming for you. I noticed everything as if I’d stepped outside my body. Every nuance, every threat was achingly clear.
One more step. Lynx’s body heat buffeted me—his expensive cologne made me want to vomit. But I looked into his eyes, invoking the sweetest poison of my soul. I made him believe. “I doubt you can,” I murmured, looking up through lowered lashes. The room was stagnant with tension—it was soup—unstrained syrup.
Lynx was bewitched. “Doubt I can what?” He leaned forward, eyes latching onto my lips.
“Treat me better than he ever did.” His body curved, swaying toward me, drugged on the poison I fed. “I’ll accept your terms, if you do one thing for me. One tiny thing.”
His lips hovered a fraction above mine. “Do what?”
I tilted my head, hair falling over one eye. “Ask what I want in return. Then I’ll give you all that I am.”
His forehead furrowed, his temper growing. “You’re too bold. But I’ll do it—one request, then no more.” He reached for my chin, holding me. I ignored the insects crawling beneath his touch. Soon. It would be over….soon. “What do you want?”
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—”
Twisted Together Page 41