Quintessentially Q (Monsters in the Dark #2)(43)

I didn’t move a muscle, or let my face portray my hatred for him. I nursed my anger like a small flame, coaxing it to flare brighter, ready to explode.

I let him believe he owned me. All in the name of self-preservation.

“Good dog. Time to go and meet your new master.” He attached a chain to the collar and yanked me forward. I stumbled, following him from whatever mode of transport we’d been in—a large black van with no decals—and entered muggy night air.

I looked around greedily, imprinting as many details as possible.

Water lapping. A harbour. Bright lights in the distance. The reek of fish and salt. The balmy weather suggested somewhere tropical, and my heart curled in terror at the thought I might be back in Mexico.

If you are, who cares, Tess. It doesn’t matter where you are because you’ll be leaving soon.

You’re a survivor and today is not the day you give in.

*****

That was yesterday.

Today was entirely different.

I awoke to an ocean of icy water. It came from nowhere, drenching me, causing Q’s pale shirt to cling to my rapidly depleting curves.

Gasping with shock, I sat up, scooting to the end of the pallet. My eyes darted around the cell—dank, freezing, reeking of dried fish.

Three goons stood staring, raping me with their heinous eyes.

Whatever sickness I’d contracted had evolved into a full-blown attack last night. My skin burned, my throat felt like I’d swallowed a bunch of machetes, and my lungs wheezed with every breath. I couldn’t stop coughing every few minutes, and I was hungry. So hungry.

Leather Jacket stood to the side of his troop of traffickers, holding an empty bucket. “You awake now, bitch?”

Trying not to show my fear, I swiped my face free of excess water and wrung my hair out. I swear steam curled off my skin thanks to my fever. I coughed hard, smashing my hands against my mouth in the hopes of keeping my lungs in my body.

Once my coughing fit subsided, Leather Jacket muttered, “It’s that time of day. Guess what that is?” He tossed the bucket into the corner, putting his hands on his hips. When I didn’t answer, he gloated. “The answer is f*cking time for your medicine.”

He nodded at the two next to him, and they rushed forward.

No! Not again.

I cried out, scurrying backward, pressing against the freezing cold wall. I wanted to burrow my way through the concrete and run. Oh, how I wanted to run.

Four large hands dragged me down the bed and pinned me to the hard surface. “No!” A cough exploded out of my mouth, and every inch pounded like one giant headache. Bile rose in my throat even though I had nothing in my stomach to reject.

With no reserves and a wasting frame, I knew I didn’t stand a chance, but I couldn’t let them drug me again without a fight.

I fought because I couldn’t do anything else. I had to stop the inevitable, even if it killed me.

The men grunted, fingers digging harder into my body while Leather Jacket slapped me around the head. He laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit. I must say, I didn’t expect to see you again, but it proves wishes do come true.”

His black eyes glinted as he grabbed my upper arm. “You might as well give up, slut. I’ve been given orders to break you. Hurt you. Fuck you. Ruin you. Degrade you to the point where you’re nothing but a confused sack of shit who wishes daily for death, and then we’ll sell you.”

My throat clogged; I wanted to cut my ears off. I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to believe. I also hated myself because I saw the truth. Everything Leather Jacket promised would come true. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

He licked his lips, pulling another syringe from his pocket. “Turns out your f*cking master has enemies in high places. What did he do, puta? Who did he piss off, the stupid cunt?”

“Je suis à toi, Tess.” Q’s voice whispered in my head. I latched onto it, giving me courage to face whatever was coming.

Q would come for me.

Q is coming for me.

One of the thugs jerked my arm up, imprisoning me.

“Stop! You don’t have to drug me.”

Leather Jacket pressed his lips against my ear. “Oh, but we do. That’s the fun of it.” He pulled back and tapped a vein, then stabbed the needle into the crook of my arm. The sharp prick heralded more doom.

Instantly, the heat of my fever was replaced with numbness. My head lolled on my shoulders as liquid horror made its way around my body—stealing limb control, turning the volume down on my soul.

My personality faded, muted by distance and echoes. The drug stole my thoughts on why I should care, blurred boundaries of right and wrong.

I screamed silently as I drowned in venomous smog until finally I sighed, completely dead inside.

Leather Jacket chuckled, speaking in a string of words that made no sense. His head seemed to swell to gigantic proportions, and I giggled.

He’s a f*cking idiot—he can’t even speak properly.

Visions of dancing alphabets kept me company. Vowels pranced by in drag; consonants strutted past in dominatrix wear. An S tangoed with an X, while the Q—

Fuck, the Q.

Why did I hold such fondness for that letter? Such a lifeless character and yet it dragged hot, determined emotion from the dregs of my heart.

That letter belonged to someone else, someone worthy, not the drugged captive.