Quintessentially Q (Monsters in the Dark #2)(39)

“Tess, où es tu?” Where are you? I whisper-growled, inching into the walk-in wardrobe.

A single empty hanger lay on the floor.

My heart exploded through my ribs; my headache stole my vision, leaving me completely blind for a second.

I grabbed hold of the shelf holding my shoes, trying to stabilize myself and bring my heart rate into submission.

Frederick didn’t say a word while I suffered and blinked, coaxing my eyesight to return.

Finally, a scramble of images came back to me, and I motioned for him to have my back as I moved toward the bathroom.

On the carpet, leading the way like a sinister path, were droplets of water. Staining the beige carpet a darker brown. It started off as a trickle, until splashes grew bigger and drenched the carpet outside the bathroom door.

Gulping back nausea and violence, I nudged open the door with my toe and charged in, waving the pistol into every corner.

Only once I knew the room was clear did I let myself take in the scene of my worst f*cking nightmare.

“Q, don’t move. I’ll call the police.”

I stood in a puddle, staring at a bath full of water and no Tess. The towel rail dangled from the wall, and Tess’s clothes from that morning were on a chair.

The migraine swelled to epic proportions. I stumbled against the wall, shaking off the blackness, the cloak of unconsciousness. I wouldn’t let a weakness stop me from understanding.

Slapping myself, I managed to shake away the stupor long enough to move forward and dip my fingers into the water.

Lukewarm.

Tess had taken a bath like I told her, and while I sat in a meeting she suffered a f*cking nightmare.

My broken eyes found Frederick’s. “How did they get up here, Roux? What happened to the goddamn security cameras and guards?” My heart beat thickly, sending more pressure to my skull.

I wobbled, but righted myself before Frederick could help. I didn’t want his help. I wasn’t an invalid! I was a bastard of an idiot for thinking Tess was safe.

How the hell did the motherf*ckers find me? How did they manage to capture Tess right from under my nose!

I sagged against the wall as the migraine seized control. The mirrored tiles reflected a man with demons snarling at his heels and his world imploding around him.

“I don’t know. But I’ll find out. We’ll get her back, man,” Frederick said, his voice low. He left the bathroom, leaving me with horrible images: images of Tess beaten, raped, and sold. Ruined, and broken. Gone.

I couldn’t let that happen. Disregarding the fact I could barely see, I lurched out the bathroom and collided with Frederick, who’d stooped to pick up a piece of paper from the floor.

I snatched it off him, trying to read the scrawl, but the writing turned into insects on the page, scurrying away from understanding.

“Q. You really need to lie down. You’ll have a stroke at the rate you’re going.”

I snarled, “Don’t tell me to f*cking calm down. A woman who was supposed to be in my protection has been taken. A woman who has lived through so much already has been snatched from my very f*cking arms, and I failed her! So don’t tell me to f*cking calm down until I find her and make the bastards pay.”

Shoving the note back under his nose, I demanded, “Read.”

Frederick took the paper, swallowing hard.

“Deal’s off, Mercer.”

My heart seized, and the room warped, squeezing in on me, crushing me.

Something smashed free inside, tearing at every bar, every lock I’d ever created. The last few days I’d tried desperately hard to tame myself. Brainwash myself into being a better man for Tess, but with those three words, I shrugged off the falseness that I could never be. I growled and welcomed the feralness, the raging psychotic temper.

The beast sprung free, and I breathed hard. This was who I was. A man who craved blood. A man who laughed when breaking a bone, and didn’t flinch when shooting a bullet into a rapist.

Frederick continued. I didn’t want to hear anymore.

“I’ve taken back what was mine and sold for a better deal.

Fuck you.

Gerald Dubolazov.”

Gerald? In my moment of migraine weakness, I couldn’t remember which cockroach he was.

Frederick smoothed the crinkled paper, muttering, “The seal is the Red Wolverine.”

I spun and punched the wall so hard my fist disappeared through the drywall. I wished it was someone’s head.

That f*cking Russian bastard. Dubolazov. The man who practically owned all of Russia. The Russian president thought he ruled, the mafia thought they controlled, but they were in the pockets of one man: Gerald Dubolazov, the king of everything dirty and wrong.

“Merde!”

Stalking back into the bathroom, I searched for clues. Anything that might shed light on how they found Tess and where they took her. The window of time to get her back was terrifyingly small.

Blonde strands littered the floor, and I clenched my jaw. Just the thought of someone hurting Tess made me see litres of blood and acres of f*cking carnage.

In my mind the sound of a huge, ominous clock began to sound. Tick, tick, ticking the seconds away, marking the moments Tess’s life hung in the balance. I had to find her before it was too late.

Something crunched under my shoe, and I bent to investigate. The moment I set eyes on it, my migraine left the realm of excruciating and amplified into kill-worthy.