Chapter 18

Tess

~Swan~

My new life began.

For two weeks, I only saw Q when he returned home from work, and even then, it was only brief.

With a smoldering, unreadable expression, Q would regard me before disappearing to areas of the house I wasn’t allowed to go.

Moments after, music erupted through speakers. Songs with laments or curses, lyrics full of rage and threats, rattled the windows.

Q had eclectic taste in music. Heavy metal screamed from the speakers one night and the verse slapped me with debilitating need.

~It’s awoken and refuses to go back into the dark~

Every moment, of every second, of every heartbeat, I fight the urge to hurt.

My resolve is weakening, my guilt lessening, my needs overpowering.

I am not responsible for what happens to you, you provoked me, awoke me, excited me.

My tongue aches for your blood, my heart beats for pain.

Fear is my calling card and I mean to earn your terror~

Q played the song twice, as if pounding the message into me: whatever he’d done was tame compared to what he wanted, and the longer I didn’t tell him my name, the more he needed to hurt me.

Withholding my name was my only weapon against Q. It drove him mad, and I loved it. I loved the power of dragging emotion from him.

I lay in bed at night, panting, so ready for my door to burst open and a wrathful Q to claim me. But stubbornness was my friend, and I wouldn’t spill my last secret.

Either I was crazy to provoke my master, or I’d gone mad with captivity. Either way didn’t matter, as I felt alive when I listened to the loud songs.

Obsessed with how my body tingled and tensed, consumed with fluttering wings of anticipation—completely bewitched by Q.

So we played our game, waiting to see who’d break first. Nights passed with relentless need, days inched by with excruciating impatience.

For fourteen days, Q stayed true to his promise and never came.

Winter thawed, and spring splattered the countryside with tulips and daffodils.

I accepted I would never know where I lived. Suzette wouldn’t tell when I asked, and I doubted Q ever would.

No one would ever find Tess Snow again. She no longer existed. ~I am Mon Amie l’Esclave.~

By day, I worked on my French with Suzette, by night I waited for Q. I was wet all the time, and when he didn’t appear, dreams consumed me.

Nightmares of Q throwing me away because he couldn’t stand me any longer.

Recurring dreams of Driver and Brute, raping me, about to kill, but instead of Q saving me, Leather Jacket stole me back to Mexico. Where he hurt, broke, and ultimately sold me to another.

Brax played center in my dreams, but he never rescued me. He would either sleep through my torture, or simply look on in despair.

My heart twinged. My subconscious blamed Brax for everything that had happened, but at the same time, it was my fault for not insisting we leave the café.

I couldn’t expect Brax to fight and kill—it wasn’t in his nature. I missed his gentleness, but at the time, it had annoyed me.

I always wore the pants in the relationship, but remained whiny, needy, and meek because he didn’t give me power.

Q hit me, fucked me, and turned me into a possession, yet somehow unlocked power inside me I didn’t even know was there.

Q took everything from me, but he didn’t so much as steal it, as I gave it willingly. By allowing him to rule, he gave me something tangible. He allowed me to be ~me~. To be ~real.~

I was no longer naïve and timid. I grew from girl to woman. A woman who wanted a place beside the complex, problem-riddled man. A woman who wouldn’t stop until she knew the truth.

“Ami, can you make the cheese soufflé for dinner?” Suzette asked, bumping my hip with hers as she passed. We were in the kitchen, enveloped with scents of fresh bread and baking.

The sliding doors were open to a crisp breeze, welcoming sounds of birds and spring. France had converted me. I missed the bright Australian sun, but I loved France’s cool, understated chic.

I smiled, nodding. “I can do that. Have nothing else to do.”

Suzette giggled. “You could always go and dress in something provocative to surprise Q when he gets home. I’ve been waiting to hear you again, little blasphemer. Why hasn’t he been to see you?”

Suzette had become overly interested in my love life; every day we had the same conversation. Just because I swore a few times when Q fucked me meant she had a new nickname for me: little blasphemer.

I hated that she heard us.

Mrs. Sucre swatted her with a dishtowel. “Suzette, stop being so nosy.” To me, she added, “She hasn’t stopped grinning since you let the master into your bed.”

I swiveled to stare. Mrs. Sucre’s large girth guarded the pot of lobster she stirred.

I blew hair from my eyes. “Let him into my bed? Like I had a choice.” Turning to Suzette, I said, “Q is the one not coming to me, Suzette. He won’t until I tell him my name.”

She snorted. “Q is still your master and you are still his slave. Tell him what he wants to know. You shouldn’t keep secrets.”

I blushed, looking at the soft dough I kneaded. “He may be able to boss me around, but I don’t have to share every little detail. Besides, I am no longer that person.

“I’m Ami.” I shot her a smile, dropping my voice. “You don’t know anything about his sparrow tattoo, do you?”

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to trace him like a map, kiss every feather, understand every reason.

Suzette bit her lip. “Um—”

Mrs. Sucre spun around, wiping her hands on her apron. “Suzette, don’t you dare. It’s not your secret to tell.”

I glared, wishing I could torture them for answers. Not being with Q for so long made me rather desperate.

Suzette shrugged and disappeared into the huge walk-in pantry.

I huffed and went back to kneading.

That night, after dinner, Q returned home late and turned on French music. The lyrics quavered around the mansion, echoing in my blood.

The sorrowful tune left tangled threads everywhere, guiding me through the house.

I didn’t know what time it was, but the staff had retired. I was too edgy to sleep. My body restless, needing something only Q could give.

A flash of vivid green eyes startled me as I floated down a corridor I’d never been in before. Franco scowled, but didn’t move to obstruct.

Ever since the horrid night where Q turned murderer, Franco gave me more freedom. His eyes followed wherever I went, but he didn’t stop me.

Maybe Q told him to let me wander, or maybe he sensed I wouldn’t run again. I was thankful my cage had expanded.

I continued past Franco, moving deeper into the west wing. I often saw Q disappear down here—it was time to find out why.

Opening double doors at the end of the corridor, I followed a long, Persian carpeted room, staring at massive canvases of photography.

Not of wildlife or humans, but cityscapes and high-rise buildings. The harshness of concrete and metal seemed out of place, until I saw dates under each photo, a timeline of purchase and location.

These weren’t photos of pleasure, but documentation of ownership. ~Holy hell, does Q own all of these?~

I spun in place. Countless snaps of impressive architecture, sprawling hotels, apartment complexes… so many types of property dotted the walls. He owned a small country if it were true.

Needing to know more, I kept going. Everything about the house spoke old money and charm, yet I couldn’t see Q in the artifacts, statues, or even the exotic plants flowering around the rooms.

Q remained closed off. I hoped by exploring, I’d find answers, but I only found confusion.

The French song chased with every step, soulful moans and hopeful sonnets. I hummed along to the chorus.

~Personne ne voit ma situation, quand tout ce que je veux faire c’est me battre,

Tu me dépeins dans une lumière que je ne pourrai jamais être,

Je suis enchaîné dans l'obscurité, consommé par la rage et le feu,

Je suis proche de la rupture, l'envie est tremblante, violente,~

~Je suis le diable, et il n'y a aucun espoir.

Can’t you see my plight, when all I want to do is fight,

you paint me in a light I can never be,

I come shackled with shadow, consumed with rage and fire,

I’m close to breaking, the urge is quaking, raping,

I’m the devil, and there’s no hope.~

The song dwindled to silence, leaving my heart racing. On instinct, I opened a huge door and entered paradise.

A conservatory, the size of a four-bedroom home, welcomed with vaulted glass and sky-scraping palm trees. Sounds of a gurgling river and waterfall lilted behind luscious foliage.

Stars twinkled above through the endless glass roof—no moon tonight.

My head cocked, listening. ~What is that?~

Tweets and chitters, chirps and whistles. I battled leaves until I came face to face with a two-story-sized aviary.

Jeweled birds flittered and sang, happy in their cage. A lot of them roosted for the night, heads tucked under wings, little chests flurrying.

I looked closer. Instead of parrots and budgerigars I expected, clouds of sparrows, quails, wrens, and blackbirds littered the aviary.

Common, everyday, winged creatures, but just as intricate and perfect.

~I have to know what the birds mean.~

My mind shot back to the mural and the sparrows on Q’s chest. The most amazing tattoo I’d ever seen.

Countless hours would’ve gone into the piece, unlike mine that only took ten minutes. Rubbing my barcode, I wondered if it could be changed.

I didn’t want to be reminded of what happened… it was in the past, and slavery with Q didn’t compare.

A wave of guilt blistered as I ran a thumb over the black lines. I couldn’t think about the other women, where they ended up, who they now belonged to; it hurt too much.

A sparrow twirled a note, landing on a branch close by. Its black, intelligent eyes assessed me, its little head cocked.

~What are you thinking, little bird? Do you know your master? Can you tell me who he is?~

It bobbed on the perch, then flew away, leaving in a gust of feathers.

The speakers crackled as a new song began. A deep, erotic beat, vibrating through the air. The bass so heavy, leaves shivered with the sound.

My body ached, needing a release. My sense of hearing belonged to Q. Did he know the song would frustrate the hell out of me—needing him, wanting him?

I refused to bring myself to an orgasm, but if he didn’t come soon, I’d hunt his ass down and make him break his stupid promise. I would win the competition, without revealing my name.

Watching the birds, my fingers trailed downward to where Q nicked me with the scissors. The cut was long gone, but I wanted another. I wanted rough and untamed.

I wanted bruises and cuts, amplifying the thrill of pleasure.

~I want him to spank me again.

“Esclave. Qu’est-ce que tu fais ici?” What are you doing in here? Q’s voice vibrated in the conservatory.

Everything immediately tightened, liquefied, responded. I couldn’t see through thick foliage and spun in a slow circle, searching.

“How did you know where I was?” I peered into the dark green haze, trying to see past the leaves.

He chuckled; it was low, gruff. “This entire house has cameras. Nothing happens without my knowledge.”

I should’ve known. Control freak Mr. Mercer kept tabs on his empire. Did my room have cameras?

I wanted to demand if he saw my plaguing nightmares, if he counted the hours I stayed up for him, only he never showed.

Q appeared, emerging from behind a palm tree. He wore a white linen suit, no wrinkles marring his perfection. The grey shirt looked like a cold winter’s day, highlighting pale eyes.

He held a black leather folder in his hand, pressing it against a thigh.

My ass stung as a fantasy of being hit with the file charged like wildfire.

I sighed, smiling slightly. Everything was exactly as it should be. My place in the world was by Q’s side. I accepted it. It’d been too long.

My body warmed, melting, remembering his demands, the way he slapped me as he came. He said he wanted to make me scream. After two weeks of loneliness, I would let him—gladly.

Q came closer, shoulders tense, eyes strained.

I frowned at the stress lines on his forehead and mouth. His gaze met mine, but instead of the usual soft jade, they were faded, like watered-down lime, throbbing with pain. I paused.

I knew that look—I suffered myself.

Q had a migraine.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” He sighed, dragging a hand over his short hair, face strained and tired.

My heart sped up. He looked human. Wrecked. The cruel, confusing master was hidden beneath an overworked, hurting man. Tenderness rose; I wanted to care for him, take away his stress.

There wouldn’t be angry dominance tonight, but I didn’t care. Seeing Q this way gave me another piece of the puzzle. It showed the depth of my own feelings.

All the normal emotions where Q was concerned were gone: fear, awareness, heat… all hidden under the need to soothe.

Leaving the noisy birds in the aviary, I stepped closer and pressed a kiss ever so softly on the corner of his mouth. “You’re not well.”

His nostrils flared and he jerked back. “My well-being is none of your concern.”

I scowled, crossing my arms. “Your well-being ~is~ my concern. And I’ll tell you why. If you get sick, what happens to me? Where do I go? Who do I end up with?”

Q shifted, eyes going to the cage of birds. Shadows wrapped around him, and I tried to read his secrets. ~Why can’t he let me see all sides of him?~ What the hell was he hiding?

“I’m fine. Nothing will happen to me or you.” Anger blazed in his eyes.

I offered comfort, and he didn’t want it. I overstepped the boundary from scared slave to equal, and it pissed me off he didn’t let me.

I wheeled around, charging for the door. Bloody bastard. If he wanted to lie and wallow in pain, fine by me. Didn’t mean I had to stick around and worry.

If he wanted me to stay in my little box of possession and didn’t want a woman who could help—awesome. I would.

“Wait!” He winced, dropping the folder. I glanced at the exit. I should leave. I no longer wanted to encroach on Q’s space, seeing as he didn’t want me.

Q moaned slightly, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m not used to slaves wandering around, rooting through my stuff.” He smiled slightly. “You’re inquisitive, I’ll give you that.”

I was insulted and happy at the same time. My feet turned, and I went to stand in front of him. Trying to seem cold and unaffected by his pain, I stooped to pick up the file, passing it to him.

He accepted it with a small nod.

“Did you take some painkillers? Should I find some for you?” I wondered where Suzette kept aspirin. Not that it would help—or at least it didn’t for me.

The only thing to break a migraine was a head massage with menthol and a nap to dispel the pain.

Q shook his head, motioning for me to walk in front. I obeyed, striding through the overgrown conservatory until we stopped in a small seating area next to a large pond, with a gentle waterfall.

Q groaned and slouched in one of the rattan armchairs, sighing heavily. He threw the folder on the matching coffee table, placing his legs on top.

With another sigh, he stretched his long body, as if working out the kinks would help his headache.

I didn’t know what he wanted—if I should leave or stay, but an enterprising idea popped into my head. Q wasn’t as guarded as he normally was. If I stayed and offered support, he might spill something.

Sitting on the chair next to his, I watched while his forehead furrowed and eyes closed.

We stayed silent, listening to the gentle noises of flowing water. Q shifted, rubbing his neck with strong fingers.

I stood, moving behind his chair. I didn’t think how he’d react to me touching without permission. I didn’t let my mind linger on retribution, only the need to help. ~Do you really want to do this?~

If I cared, opened my heart to another side of Q, there would be no escaping new feelings for him. If I touched him, it was because ~I~ wanted to, not because I had to obey.

The dynamics of our twisted relationship would shift toward gentler things.

Without his knowledge, Q would give me the very thing I needed to allow him to hurt and abuse me with sex. If he gave me soft, I could give him hard.

His leaning on me gave the light I needed to temper the darkness I embraced.

Every thought clambered for space, and I paused trying to figure it out.

Q sucked in a harsh breath, slouching further in the chair. I made my decision. If I cared, he might open. He might see me more than a slave and more as… Tess.

Oh, my God. I wanted to tell Q my name. I wanted to hear him whisper it with love. To hear him order in his sexy, controlling voice. To yell my name when he fucked me roughly.

I no longer wanted to be unidentified.

~What’s happening to me?~

My hands dropped to Q’s head, fingers slinking through his pelt-like hair. I moaned with how soft it was. I swayed, wanting to smell, to drug myself with his citrus and sandalwood scent.

He froze, hands covering mine. “What are you doing, ~esclave?~”

~Tess.~

I added pressure, massaging his scalp with firm strokes. He shuddered under my touch.

“Helping rid your headache.” Sliding fingers lower, cupping the base of his skull, I leaned forward and brushed his ear with my lips. “If you’ll let me?”

Q sucked in a breath, chest straining against his suit. My knees locked as lust kindled hot and twisty in my belly.

He squeezed my hands, bordering on pain, before falling away, granting permission.

The thrill at being allowed made me lightheaded. I pressed harder, swirling with pads of my fingers, adding a touch of nail.

Q moaned, eyes drifting closed as I ran my fingers down to his upper neck all the while pressing, coaxing, stealing the pain through touch.

I ran my hands from the base of his skull, all the way to the front of his forehead.

~“Ouf, c’est une sensation incroyable.”~ That feels amazing. He groaned louder as I circled around his ears, pressing fingers against his temples.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I cared for my master, and he liked it. Would he reward me?

I smiled softly. Q had won. He won the battle of wills by granting his vulnerability. I would give him my name, the next time he asked—not because he demanded, but because I wanted.

My back ached as I massaged, pressing, kneading. I kept going—as long as he needed.

Eventually, he covered my hands again, ordering softly, “You can sit now. The pain has broken a little. ~Merci~.”

I didn’t want to stop; standing over him gave a sense of ownership. With one last caress, I obeyed and perched on a chair.

He watched with half-lidded eyes. The lines on his forehead were diminished, and the tightness around his mouth less prominent. His eyes were still bruised, but weren’t glazed and unfocused.

We stared, lust sparking, both unable to look away. Q was the black storm cloud, sucking me toward him like I was a rapidly flying sparrow.

The difference between his tattoo, and now, was I wanted to stop flying and let the cloud capture me.

“Thank you, ~esclave~.” He dropped his eyes, sitting straighter in the chair.

A shiver danced on my skin, and I reached for the folder, giving myself something to do.

Q watched with unreadable eyes. I sneaked glances at him as I fiddled with the file. I changed our relationship by tending.

As his slave, I shouldn’t want anything to do with him, let alone nurse him back to health. But the knowledge that my master—my angry, crazy, lusty master—let me care, made me wet and tingly.

My mind pretzeled, trying to figure out my feelings. Why did caring for Q make me powerful and content and lost, all at the same time?

Q didn’t say a word as I opened the folder, peering inside.

I frowned at the scrawling French text. I may understand spoken French with ease, but I wasn’t very good at reading.

Q inched forward, linking hands between open thighs. Just like he did when I first arrived and he secured the tracking anklet on me.

My ankle itched, thinking about the device, funny how I’d grown so used to it. It was my safety blanket—the knowledge Q would always come for me—just like he said in my dreams.

He pointed at the top of the page where a logo stood out: a bird silhouette in flight with a background of sweeping skyscrapers. “~Moineau~ Holdings,” Q said.

My heart rate quickened. I looked into his eyes. “Sparrow Holdings.”

He nodded, opening his mouth to answer, then stopped. He cleared his throat. “You said you knew about property. This is my legacy.

“I’ve procured over five hundred acquisitions in under twelve years.” His eyes glazed. “I took over when I was sixteen. It rules my life, but I’m thankful for what it gives me in return.

“What I’m able to do with the money.”

He never spoke like this. I couldn’t move, in case I broke the spell and he shut down.

Pride filled his gaze; for once, the aura of anger and self-deprecation left, suffocated beneath a powerful CEO who ruled an empire.

“It used to be called Mercer Conglomerates when my father owned it.” Hate thickened his voice, hands curled. “The moment he died, I changed it. Not only the name, but the entire company’s structure.”

Silence fell, and I didn’t want to speak, move, or bring any attention to myself. Q spoke as if I were more than just a sex toy or belonging.

He allowed me to see the passion in his heart for a company I knew nothing about. He hinted at a wealth I couldn’t comprehend, and a lifetime of servitude to a company he ran from a teenager.

Q bristled with anger, mentioning his father. Curiosity burned, and I wished I knew what happened. Did his father beat him?

Blinking away memories, he waved a hand at the folder. “Read it. I’d like to know your thoughts on this particular acquisition.”

“What?” I couldn’t stop my incredulous tone. I stared at the folder as if it stole my slave status and flung me into an employee. I didn’t want to be Q’s employee, I wanted him equally.

~Then answer him... he’s asking you as a woman—he’s~ seeing~ you.~

Heart racing, I looked at the page, tracing the sparrow logo with a shaking finger.

Q breathed hard, rubbing a temple. “I’m asking what you think, esclave. You studied property feasibilities at university, didn’t you? Unless you lied about that, too?”

His dig at lying about my name irked. I’m ready to tell you. Just ask.

Temper filled me, slapping away my nerves. Q wanted my opinion, yet wasn’t prepared to give me rights as a human. My eyes flashed. “You’re asking me?

“The slave you’ll never let leave the house, or use a phone, or go on the internet. The girl you accepted as a bribe.” Horror throttled and I finally knew what I’d been a bribe for.

My lips curled as I looked back at the folder. “I was a bribe for a building contract, wasn’t I?” I frantically flicked through the pages, expecting it to give answers.

“The Russian gave me to you for something illegal.” My tone blazed, self-righteous. “What did you agree to do?”

I couldn’t think straight—I’d been nothing but a business transaction, yet Q shot the Russian for hurting me. Where did his loyalties lie? To me—his ~esclave—or the people who made him a fortune?

Q straightened, withdrawing the connection between us. “That is none of your business. I’m asking about this merger. Not another.”

I shook my head, unable to let it go. I finally had one answer, and the rest started falling into place. “Is that why you have other girls?

“You accept women as bribes to allow buildings and things you shouldn’t dabble in gain approval?” I breathed hard; it all made sense.

“What happened to the other girls?” My eyes flew to the aviary, hidden behind foliage. “Why is it just me in this house? Will you throw me away when you tire of me?

“Or wait till a better replacement comes along?”

Q glared, sparking with temper.

My hands curled, and I wanted to slap him. “Tell me the truth! What will happen to me?” The fear of the future crippled, turning my lungs into whistling, useless things.

I thought if Q came to care for me, he’d keep me, and I’d never have to re-enter the world.

But, once again, he spun a lie. I’d never be able to stay here permanently, as more girls would arrive. More contracts would be signed.

Some other slave would spread her legs for Q to hit and fuck and rule.

Blackness tinged my vision as panic rushed. If I used up my welcome, I would be cast out, or killed, or sold to another.

Q sat, deathly still, watching me break apart. He pinched the brow of his nose, trying to find relief from the headache.

“You have the wrong idea, ~esclave~, and I’m not in the mood to set you straight.”

My God, I was ~so~ happy I never told him my name. It would be worthless to him. He didn’t care.

I bet he called all his bribes ~esclave~, because he didn’t keep them long enough to learn their true personalities.

My heart broke. I stood, holding out my hand. “I want my bracelet back. I want you to let me go.”

Q chuckled, wincing. “The bracelet is mine. Just like ~you~ are mine. I thought you’d accepted that.”

“Never. You think ~I~ lie. Everything about you lies. I don’t want a master who isn’t truthful. I deserve better.” The urge to hurt made me yell. “I want a master who buys me!

“Not accepts me because he has no other choice.”

His eyes flashed dangerously; he growled, “Take that back or I’ll make your captivity long and full of hardship.”

I wanted to laugh, or cry, or both. Somehow, the threat sounded like a lie. If he meant it, surely he would’ve done untold terribleness by now.

For two weeks, he didn’t touch me, while I begged in my dreams for him to tie me up. The songs he played about living with demons and uncontrollable urges were bullshit.

He was a cold-hearted man who teased and cajoled, showing glimpses of the woman I could become, before slapping me down to nothingness.

I was done.

Q tensed his jaw, standing in one fluid move. He slapped me so hard, my neck snapped back. Tears gushed as I cupped my burning cheek. Fear chased away my fight and I cowered.

Q’s face raged with anguish and undeniable hunger. He rubbed his palm, smiling darkly. “You can’t speak that way and not be punished, ~esclave~.” Grabbing the back of my neck, he jerked me forward.

A tongue captured salty tears. “First sensible thing I’ve seen you do.” His accent was low, exotic, turning his praise into dark and sensual.

Despite my pain and anger, his voice wrapped around my heart.

I struggled with visions of fighting harder, pushing him to the floor, straddling, begging him to deliver on whatever sinful promise he hinted.

But my fear of abandonment ruled stronger. I bowed my head. “And what is that?”

Q let me go. “Recognize me. See me. I am your master.”

My throat closed, fighting with injustice. He was my master, but for how long? ~I don’t have a choice in the length of my captivity.~ I never did. I never would.

He would never see me as Tess. As a girl. A woman who refused to bow to anyone. A woman who was more than just a fucking bribe.

I glared. “See ~me~. I am not yours to torment.”

Our eyes clashed, locking with a battle of wills. How many of these nonverbal fights must we have? My breathing came hard as Q blazed with black desire.

The air crackled with monstrous urges; even the birds shut up.

My body warmed, heated, melted. ~No, do not betray me.~ I couldn’t stop slickness building between my legs, or fantasies darting in my twisted mind.

It had been too long since my last orgasm. I’d saved myself for Q, now I never wanted him to visit me again.

Remorse and guilt sucked me into a pit. How could I think Q might be the one for me? He didn’t make my soul sing. He made it weep, and scream, and tear itself into pieces.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You just don’t want to see.”

“See what?” I snapped.

Grabbing my barcoded wrist, he jerked me against him. His body infernoed with heat. “You are mine. I can do what I want with you. I can dress you. Fuck you. Send you away. Loan you to others.

“You ~belong~ to me. And you’ve finally realized it isn’t romantic, it isn’t sexy, or fun. It’s something no one should want or desire. You’re a captive.”

He shook me, his headache etching his eyes with pain. “My role as your master is to debase you to the point of having no feelings, no emotion, no hopes or dreams.

“I tell you to fuck another man, you ask for how long. I tell you to wear something, you do not fucking chop it up in defiance. You wear it, and appreciate what I give you. You’re mine, ~esclave~.

“And it isn’t a fucking happy ever after.”

He let go, pushing so I stumbled. “How does it feel to face the truth?”

I couldn’t breathe. Facing the truth terrified me more than anything. In that moment, I fully believed Q would do everything he said. He would debase me to the point of being empty.

Happily treating me like a shoe or a tatty suitcase.

I was nothing.

Q advanced, grimacing with pain. “Get on your knees, ~esclave~.” He pressed a heavy hand on my shoulder.

I was too numb to kick or run. So many emotions in such a short amount of time. What the hell just happened? One moment, I wanted to hear him call me Tess, the next, I wanted him dead.

I couldn’t keep up.

Q forced me to my knees. “Undo my trousers.”

I didn’t think I’d ever find numbness again, but as I fumbled with Q’s belt, the cloud of indifference swept me away.

My heart raced as I undid the zipper, pulling his hard cock free, but my mind went blank.

Q rocked on his feet, fisting my hair for balance. “Suck me. Make my headache go away by other means.”

I looked up, circling my fingers around his hot girth. A non-interested thought flickered in the blankness.

Either he was really brave, yelling at me then expecting me to suck him and not bite, or just incredibly stupid. I didn’t care either way, I’d obey.

I pumped once, shuffling forward on my knees to bring the tip of him to my lips. Q exhaled heavily, pushing his hips forward.

I tongued him, tasting saltiness. The sense tried to shoot me back to reality—I could hold him ransom while I sucked. I could bite and cause immeasurable pain. I could barter for my freedom.

Opening wide, I deep throated him.

He groaned, tugging my hair as his ass clenched. I could bite, but I didn’t want to. Even now, my body betrayed me. I trembled with lust, tinging vacancy with desire.

I withdrew, fisting him, licking.

“Oh, ~merde~!”

I froze; Q scrambled back, holding his wet cock.

Suzette stood behind, mouth hanging open. “I’m sorry! I—eh—” Spinning around, she mumbled, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I rocked on my heels, keeping my head down. Q was livid, shoving himself into his trousers. He winced when the zipper came exceedingly close to sensitive skin. “ ~C'est quoi ce bordel~?” What the fuck?

She bounced, looking at the ceiling, fingers fluttering at her sides. “ ~Je suis désolée~, but there are some men here to see you, ~maître~.”

Q breathed hard, smoothing his hair and suit, glaring at me so intensely it felt like another slap. My cheek smarted in response. “Send them away. I’m not prepared to accept guests so late.”

Suzette looked over her shoulder, relief on her face. Spinning all the way around, she looked at me with her soul bared.

Heartbeats galloped out of control. Instincts screamed into being, and I wanted to block my ears. Looming palm trees seemed to inch closer, branching with doom. I didn’t want her to speak.

“They won’t leave, Q. They have a warrant.”

He spun to face her. “Warrant?”

I slapped a hand over my mouth. My world imploded. The police. Brax. He got my message. He was alive! ~Brax is alive and sent someone to rescue me!~

My heart bucked; I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything but kneel.

Hopelessness squeezed as Q turned to face me slowly. I shriveled. The consequences of running away, once again, ruined my life.

The police had come for Q. ~I~ ruined his life—just like he ruined mine.

~That’s not true, and you know it. He gave you back your life. He introduced you to a new life. A ~better~ life. I forced my brain to quiet, risking a look at Suzette.

Her eyes brimmed with disappointment and overwhelming sadness. I folded closer to the floor, hating betraying her.

She broke eye contact, looking at Q. “The police believe you’re holding a girl called Tess Snow,” Suzette whispered, voice breaking.

She took two angry steps toward me, but Q held up his arm, barricading. “How could you? You—you…” She trailed off, mouth twisting with grief. “We all trusted you.”

My life shattered for the fourth and final time.

Q froze, all trace of pain and emotion gone. “That’s your name? Tess?”

My body fissured with longing. He spoke my name. Finally, after almost two months of ~esclave~.

It rolled off his tongue in one beautiful French twist; I wanted his tongue on me.

I wanted to forget everything—to pretend he never said such horrid things or that I brought his life and business to ruin. I wanted to give him my heart and forget.

“Tess…” Q whispered, before baring his teeth. Shadows cloaked him, and the look of betrayal flayed more than any whip.

“You called the police.” His shoulders sagged, and the pain he hid smothered again.

Suzette leaned into him; he welcomed her, tugging her close.

My body rebelled as jealousy glowed bright and green. How dare he find solace in his maid. I was his slave. ~Find solace with me—even though I’m the crux of your ruin!~

He nodded once. “So be it.”