Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(102)

I threw myself against him, kissing, climbing him. He crushed me, teeth bruising lips as if he wanted to replace all my thoughts with only him. He didn’t need to try. He did it effortlessly. When I could breathe again, I muttered, “That goes for you, too. No other women. I’m the one you whip and f*ck.” Flashing him my tattoo, I said, “This little bird belongs in your cage. No one else.”

He groaned, backing me against the desk again, rocking. I leaned back till my shoulders pressed hard wood. I grabbed his tie and forced him to fold over, warming me. His naked chest teased between the unbuttoned shirt and I ran fingers up his back, hissing as he bucked into me. Not caring I was wanton and brash and horny and all manner of hot, bothered things. It had been so long; I needed him so bad.

Q nodded. “Sounds like a fair trade.”

I smacked him lightly. “And your last condition?” I panted as his lips trailed down the side of my neck, disappearing between the valley of my breasts.

Q bit my nipple through my dress and jagged lightning erupted through my belly. “I want to commit murder.”

My heart stopped beating.

“I’m going to put the bastards down who hurt you. I’ll personally make sure

their entire operation is burned to the ground.”

I jerked back, looking into furious eyes. I couldn’t breathe. He wants the same revenge I do. I didn’t even have to ask. He saw deeper than he even realized. However unconventional our relationship, it rang with rightness. Q spoke to me on a much deeper level than man and woman.

I fully believed I was made for him and he was made for me. Two halves of the same f*cked-upness. Two souls from the same twisted desires, unable to fully be free until we found each other.

Throwing my arms around him, I breathed deep his heady scent of citrus and something darker, something pulling energy from my body. Transcending my soul from my mortal shell, ready to be claimed and taken.

“You’re the one, Q Mercer. You were always the one.”

Q blushed. The first time I’d ever seen shyness on a man so strong and bold. Pink tinged his perfectly sculpted cheekbones, melting me into a puddle. Will I ever get used to how much he means to me? Do I ever want to? I wanted to live my life in seventh heaven. Constantly in awe. Constantly needing.

Q gritted his teeth, pulling the letter opener through a fleshy palm. A small line of blood welled. With his other palm, he grabbed my hand, locking eyes as he sliced my skin the same way.

The burn was nothing. I welcomed it. I knew what Q wanted to do. It made complete and utter sense. Anyone else wouldn’t see how much I needed to mix our essence, our life force. But he did.

This was a contract between two monsters fighting in the dark. Our blood was basic ink for such a deal—a deal of pain and endless pleasure.

We clasped hands and sonnets and thunder and every element in the universe shot through him to me. I shivered as Q growled, “I promise to protect you, ravage you, hunt those who hurt you, and give you the life you deserve. My fortune is yours. My secrets are yours. And I will give you the corpses of the men who hurt you.”

My body hummed with the pact we made.

“I promise to fight you every hour of every day.”

His lips curled in a cruel smile. “Welcome to my world, esclave. I fight my desires every second.”

Unlatching our grip, he smeared our combined blood on my tattoo. “You’re the first bird I released who came back. The only bird.”

Tears glassed my vision as I caressed his cheek. “I was always running to you. I just didn’t know it. My freedom is in your captivity, Q. I fly when I’m with you.”

He licked his lips, worshipping awe and rapture in his gaze. “Je suis à toi.” I am yours.

I shook my head. “Nous sommes les uns des autres.” We are each other’s.





Q Mercer



Twenty years ago



Silence was my friend. Always had been. Probably always will be.

Somehow, the air carried me, killing any noise I made, turning me into a shadow. I moved with stealth—a ghost—a phantom. Never a peep—never a sound.

My parents lost me for two days once, and I never left the house. I disappeared inside the huge, rambling mansion we called home, drifting from room to room. Stealing food from the kitchen and camping inside giant, unused fireplaces.

Secrets were hard to keep hidden from a silent, inquisitive eight-year-old. I saw the truth of what went on, and it made me sick to my stomach.

My mother knew, but did nothing, preferring Peach Snapps and Baileys to my father. And my father preferred slaves to his wife.

I was five when I first heard the screams. Guttural calls for help, full of distress and heartache, followed by a horrible groan of pleasure and ecstasy.

That was the first day I slipped into the forbidden room, and watched my father beat and rape a girl. Her ass blazed red as he pumped into her from behind.

My little heart raced. I knew I shouldn’t see this. I didn’t understand it. Something bad was happening, but I was too na?ve to know. But, on some level, I knew exactly what it was.

My father hurt a woman who didn’t want to be hurt. She hadn’t been naughty like I was sometimes. All she did was cry and curl into a ball. Yet my father beat her with fists and whips. Enjoying her cries, he turned into a purple faced baboon with pleasure.