Tears of Tess

by Pepper Winters

  I never thought I’d see Q terrified, but he fumbled upright, throwing the tub of arnica in the sink. It spun around and around, clattering to a noisy stop by the plughole.

  Q bared his teeth, swiping ruthless hands over his face. “Don’t talk to me about that. It’s none of your goddamn business. Merde, ne me demandez pas de nouveau.” Do not ask me again.

  I flinched, buffeted by his anger.

  He grabbed me, hauling me to my feet. I scrambled for his hands, trying to get free.

  Q glared into my eyes and all the connection we built disappeared. Only annoyance, frustration, and deep-seated loathing showed. “What is your name?” His voice rasped my skin, conjuring heat and yearning.

  The Old Tess may be dead, but New Tess didn’t want to share the secret either. I couldn’t remember exactly why, but it was fundamental to keep it.

  “Ami,” I whispered. If Suzette wanted to call me friend, who was I to argue? I could get used to it. Tess would be forgotten. The thought made me sad, but I couldn’t give Q my name. I’d given him everything else… that small part was mine.

  Q growled, pacing in front. “Even now, you don’t break. After everything, you’re still strong enough to defy me.” He stopped abruptly, seething, “Tell me! Give in, esclave. Give me your name!” His chest heaved with anger as eyes beat me into submission.

  I bowed my head. I would give him anything for saving me, but not that. My name belonged to my past. My past belonged to Brax. Q was something else entirely. He was my new everything.

  “Ami,” I repeated.

  “You are not my friend,” he snapped. “Stop lying.”

  I shook my head. I knew that. I didn’t want to be his friend. I wanted to be his everything, too. I wanted what he offered in his touch, in the undercurrent of need. I wanted him to be honest, just like our bodies were honest. I wasn’t the only one lying.

  Q stepped against me, the harbinger of citrus and crackling lust. “One last time, esclave. What. Is. Your. Name?”

  My stomach hurt to lie under the force of his demands, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak the truth. “Katrina.”

  “Lie.”

  “Sophie.”

  “Lie.”

  “Crystal.”

  “Goddammit, stop!” Q exploded. A hand lashed out, fingers diving into my hair, craning my neck back. I perished in his greeny gaze. “C'est quoi ton nom?” What is your name?

  “Esclave.”

  His eyes slammed shut, preventing me from seeing conflicting emotions darting in their depths: anger, remorse, tangible need.

  When he opened them, there was nothing but blankness. He nodded. “I will learn who you are one day. That is a promise. And my promises are law.”

  For some reason, my heart fluttered. He made a promise to keep trying, and by trying he would have to get to know me. Perhaps I could make him see me not as an object or possession, but as a person—a woman he ensnared just by being him, not by being my master. Every crazy little thing about him weaved a cage more unbreakable than his mansion and guards. What would he do if he knew that? Would he toss me out because I’d begun the journey of giving Q my biggest sense of all, or would he get on his knees and crush me in thanks for giving him something so precious?

  I didn’t know. And I wanted to know. Everything.

  * * * * *

  “No! It can’t be true. It can’t!”

  Brax thrashed in bed, kicking, failing, wrapped in a nightmare. Nightmare number four, this week alone, and I was tired. So tired.

  “Brax, wake up.” I gripped his sweaty shoulder, shaking him.

  He didn’t respond, face twisted in grief. I knew what he suffered—he told me his dreams, and all of them featured the car accident that killed his parents.

  Every night I held him, gave comfort, and every morning I woke tired and drained. But I soothed him because he needed me, and by being there for him, I felt I belonged.

  Brax swung wide, a punch landing on my jaw. “Ow, fuck, Brax. Wake up!” I pinched his nose, cutting off oxygen so he’d wake, but shadows at the bottom of the bed gathered—darker, changing, growing.

  My heart stopped as Brute and Driver leered above, licking their lips, cocks jutting from trousers, glistening and evil.

  They’d come to finish what they started. They would kill me.

  “Brax! Help!” I slapped him, but he never woke.

  Brute chuckled. “He isn’t strong enough for you, treasure. I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll wish you were dead.” He moved fast, grabbing my ankles beneath the sheets, dragging me to the end of the bed.

  I screamed.

  No, this couldn’t happen. “Brax!”

  He lay there, wrapped in his own misery, unaware of mine. Driver laughed, ripping off my pyjama bottoms, tossing them to the side.

  My body felt weighed down, moving as if drugged. “Stop. Fucking stop!”

  They just laughed.

  I wished I were dead, tears leaking. Another shadow crystallized behind Brute and Driver, flocking into being with raven wingbeats and murder. But instead of instilling fear, hope starburst through me.

  Master.

  Q stood, staring at me with unbridled rage and transcendent power. Time slowed as he pulled free a silver gun and shot Brute, then Driver with sharp-edged finesse. Red rain splattered, but I didn’t care. I crawled toward shadowy Q, climbing over corpses, focused only on my owner.

  “You saved me.”

  His smile sent a melody of feeling through me. “You’re mine. It’s my honour to protect you.” He gathered me closer and shadows kissed with icy teeth. “Je reviendrai toujours pour toi.” I’ll always come for you….

  I woke in a room of luxury. The mattress cradled like fluffy clouds, and stencils of carousels made me feel young, fanciful. Not like a slave who’d been fucked by two different men last night, then put to bed like a naughty girl because I wouldn’t tell Q my name.

  A knock sounded and I scrambled upright, wincing at the lashes on my legs. I checked during the night to see how torn and bruised I was, but Q and his attentiveness halted the injuries. They looked ten times better already, but I couldn’t wait for them to be gone. Each welt reminded me of Brute and Driver, Q committing murder, every nasty little thing of running away.

  Q was right, though. By fucking me, he overshadowed Brute completely. The fear and crippling memories were there, but every time recollections tried to suck me dry, Q would be there. Touching, kissing, ordering me to only think about him. He stopped my sadness and grief, tinging it with lust and acceptance.

  Q stole their power, freeing me by fucking me.

  The knock came again and the door opened, without waiting for my reply.

  Suzette bustled in with a breakfast tray full of homemade jam and warm croissants. She smiled, placing it on my lap. “Bonjour, Ami.”

  I blinked with how happy she was. Hazel eyes sparkled and dusky skin positively glowed.

  I narrowed my eyes, female intuition said why she couldn’t stop grinning. “You know he took me last night, don’t you?” It was strange to be so open, but she couldn’t hide her gloat. She’d been waiting for this day for longer than I wanted to contemplate.

  She nodded, perching on the end of the bed. “Yes. But mostly I’m glad to see you in one piece.” She dropped her eyes, plucking her pinafore. “Running away was so stupid. I could’ve warned you about some of the locals around here. Franco isn’t a guard to keep you in. He’s a guard to protect us from them.”

  I stopped mid-bite of a croissant. “What do you mean?”

  She sighed and glanced toward the door, as if expecting Q to storm through at any moment. Before she could speak, I asked another question. “Were you Q’s slave, too, Suzette?”

  She froze.

  I didn’t really expect her to answer. My eyes widened when she said, “Q set me free when I was sold to him. I’ll always love him for that.” She bit her lip, before adding, “Q has never taken me, not for my lack of trying. When I arri
ved, I was broken beyond repair. I had things done to me that I can’t even think about, let alone talk about, but Q… Q brought me back to life.”

  I pushed the tray away, breakfast forgotten. Would I finally learn about my mysterious owner? “How did he bring you back to life?”

  She looked up, eyes glittering with tears and memories. “He gave me freedom. Gave me everything I needed to get well again. For a year, he put up with me bowing and crawling, until he finally managed to get me to stand. But it took him another year to get me to open, to talk when I wanted, not just when I was asked a question. He slowly broke the brokenness in me.”

  She gripped my hand, squeezing fingers hard. “You don’t get it, Ami. And you won’t until he tells you himself, but he’s the best man I know. Out of all of us, he’s the one who’s ruined. I’ve never been able to help him. For five years, I’ve worked for him, never left his side, but nothing I’ve tried works.”

  My heart raced. Suzette confirmed my thoughts from last night. Q may be a dominant but he suffered more than anyone. With what? Perhaps he was terribly disfigured. Was that why he refused to remove his shirt? I’d never seen him naked, or touched his skin.

  “Tell me, Suzette. Tell me why he’s more broken than you or I.”

  She hung her head. “That isn’t my story to tell, Ami. You’ll have to earn his trust and show you care to learn about your master.”

  “And if I don’t want to learn?”

  Suzette stood, looking overcome with endless sadness. “Then you don’t deserve him.”

  * * * * *

  That night, Q came for me.

  I spent the day with Suzette and Mrs. Sucre, battling two different emotions. One moment, my body would warm and liquefy, remembering Q’s strength, his lust in the shower. The next, I’d freeze and swallow nausea while memories of Brute crushed.

  The two extremes never ended, and by the time we finished dinner in the kitchen, my eyes were heavy, body lethargic. I needed sleep and hoped I wouldn’t be hounded by nightmares.

  I lay in bed, staring at the silver canopy above. I hadn’t cleared it with anyone if I could remain in the carousel room, but Franco spotted me opening the door earlier, giving a slight nod. I hoped his nod meant I could remain on the second level, and not banish myself to the cell of a maid’s room.

  The door creaked ever so quietly, sending my heart into hyper-drive. I didn’t need to ask who. My entire body knew the answer—master.

  Q padded across thick carpet, his silhouette proud and stealthy. I wriggled beneath my sheets. What exactly was he doing here at two in the morning on a week day? I knew how hard he worked. I expected him to be in bed. The moment I thought of Q in bed my mouth went dry. Where did he sleep? What did his room look like?

  Then again, I assumed Q worked hard. I knew nothing about him, and after the comments from Brute about Q’s family, I didn’t want to know. If I learned the truth, and it was disastrously horrid, I would have to run again.

  And I didn’t want to run. The world was dangerous; I preferred to live with the devil I knew.

  I held my breath as Q padded closer. It seemed with every step, he pulled energy toward him until the gloom sparkled. An image of Q naked and asleep in bed assaulted me. My mouth watered at the thought of seeing him so vulnerable.

  He stopped by the side of the bed. I couldn’t see his features in the dark, but his breathing was measured and strong.

  He stood in faded jeans and a scruffy white t-shirt. I’d never seen him in something so…ordinary. He wore suits like a persona—a uniform amplifying his demands for submission. It worked. It turned him into a sharp, merciless weapon; the female in me licked her lips at his dangerous edge. But Q in jeans and t-shirt showed another side. A clue into the man behind the suits, a man with too many thoughts and no one to talk to.

  He didn’t say a word, but simply placed two items on the foot of the bed. He paused, lurking in the dark.

  I lay, unmoving, waiting to see what he’d do. I wouldn’t let him walk out the door without getting what I wanted. I wanted to talk to him, unravel his secrets. I needed to know if he wanted me so much, he came to wake me in the middle of the night. Waiting in the dark, I ached for an order to serve.

  I licked my lips as he ran a hand over his head, deliberating.

  Finally, he stepped toward the door, stopped, and turned back. Sucking in a breath, he ordered, “Wake up, esclave.”

  His voice stroked my skin; I embarrassed myself with a small pant. I couldn’t help it—my hearing belonged to him.

  He chuckled. “Unless you’re awake already.”

  Dammit.

  Coming closer, he leaned down and turned on the diamante side lamp, casting a soft glow, an oasis of illumination. “Bon soir.” His lips twitched a little as he stared from above. I grew too hot under the covers but daren’t kick them off. I wore a large t-shirt and shorts, but somehow they were insubstantial when Q looked at me. Like I was a chocolate éclair, and he desperately needed a sugar fix.

  “Hello,” I murmured, loving the thrill of lust and fear. The knowledge I’d give him what he wanted and no longer suffer guilt. I was free from my feelings of Brax—I let him go. It hurt if I remembered his quirks and kindness, but there was no point torturing myself. Q owned me—that was all I needed to remember.

  “I have gifts for you.” Q sat on the edge of the bed. His warm weight pressed hard against my thigh beneath the covers. I shivered.

  He grabbed the sheets, fumbling beneath the quilt. I yelped as his hand found my ankle, tugging my leg out of bed.

  I couldn’t speak as he rested my leg on his thighs, running a thumb around my bony ankle. “Something’s missing.”

  His touch resonated directly between my legs. I trembled as he bent and pressed a possessive kiss on my shin. Reaching behind himself, he pulled a black bracelet into view, dangling it.

  I gulped. Another GPS tracker.

  “This saved your life, esclave, yet you cut it off to escape. If you’d have thrown it out the window while driving, instead of leaving it in the car, I would never have found you in time.” His voice verged on menacing, shooting horror into my heart.

  Oh, my God, he was right. If I hadn’t thought I’d be free and in police custody, I might be buried with all the potatoes by now…or wishing I was.

  In one swift move, I sat upright, stole the tracker, and secured it around my ankle. The snap of plastic echoed around the hushed space; heart thudded. I’d tagged myself. I willingly admitted I wouldn’t run again.

  Q sucked in a breath, capturing my wrist when I went to pull away. He traced the barcode tattooed on my flesh. His face flashed with hatred and anger, but his ire wasn’t directed at me. My heart warmed, knowing he hated the people who stole me.

  His fingers turned harsh, eyes captured mine. “How bad was it, when they took you?”

  I waited for anger and terror for what they did, but I felt nothing. I didn’t know if I blocked it out, or if the rape dulled my senses.

  Shrugging, I tried to tug my arm back. “It was the worst week of my life, until last night.”

  “Worse than me?” he murmured. His voice held an edge, almost as if his question meant a lot more than what he asked.

  Wanting to give him something, after all he did for me last night, I nodded. “A lot worse.”

  He shook his head, eyes unfocused. Memories swirled in their depths and I wanted to chase him wherever he went. I wanted to know him. Would he ever let me get close? Was a slave allowed to help her owner, while letting him use her body? I didn’t know the rules.

  Q finally released me, presenting the other package. “This is for you.” His jaw clenched as I held my hands out, accepting the large sketchpad and charcoal pencils. I opened it and couldn’t breathe. Inside, architectural graph paper—the exact kind I used in my university course—glowed fresh and new.

  My eyes widened. “You remembered what I told you…that first breakfast when you kissed me.”

  He sat strai
ghter, tension rippling in his body. “I remember everything, esclave. I remember how you smell, how you taste. I remember how you feel inside and how terrified you were when I found you at Lefebvre’s residence. I also know things you haven’t told me. You secretly like what I do to you, you think you hide it, but I know that darkness in your eyes. It feeds me, calls to me.”

  He fisted the covers, throwing them off me, exposing my body. “Why else do you think I can’t leave you alone?”

  I couldn’t look away from his gaze; his intensity trapped me, searing with need and want. When I didn’t answer, he ordered, “Get out of bed.”

  For a moment, I wanted to disobey, to see what he’d do, but some small part was truly scared of him. I hustled to leave the warm nest. Swinging my legs over the edge, I stood.

  Immediately, he grabbed my hips, positioning me in front of him. Breathing grew harsh as he ran his gaze over my unsexy ensemble.

  He frowned, thoughts running over his face. He pushed away, stalking to the dresser. Opening a drawer, he fumbled inside before withdrawing a lacy G-string. I gulped as he came back, swinging the knickers on his middle finger.

  “Stand by the bed post.” His voice dropped even lower, yelling intentions in every syllable.

  I didn’t move, fighting too many complexities to order my legs to work.

  Grinding his teeth, he grabbed my arm, tugging me down the bed to stand in front of a white lacquered bed post. “Put your arms above your head.”

  He was so close; a heavy cloud of sandalwood and spice buffeted, turning knees to water. I stretched, arching my back against the pillar, deliberately forcing my breasts to touch his chest. He startled, raising an eyebrow, before reaching up and securing my wrists with the G-string. The lacy material bit into skin, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as being chained in the sparrow room. At least my feet were on carpet, and no guests saw my suffering.

  Q bent his head, leaning his length against mine. His hips pressed hard, dominating.

  I tilted my chin, positioning lips for him to kiss me. He never closed his eyes and pale green irises made me feel as if I’d entered a wood glen where naughty fairy men took advantage of fair maidens.