Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(21)

Men closed the distance and I added another burst of speed. If only I could truly fly. Perhaps I could get free.

A cannonball of a body came from nowhere, cutting off my trajectory.

We toppled to the ground. The tarmac grated my thigh and I cried out in agony.

My tackler sat up, straddling me. He looked like the other guards—eyes hidden behind dark glasses, and his black suit crisp and all business.

My chest heaved with air and regret, stabbing me with pain from my rib. I tried. I failed. The second lot of tears burned, streaking down my flushed cheeks as the man hauled me upright.

I limped, wincing on a sprained ankle. I wanted to wail and shout. My body shackled me with yet another injury; I couldn’t outrun anyone.

Head down and hope gone, I hobbled back to the plane under the stern grip of guard Number Four.

I didn’t make eye contact with any of the men, and meekly climbed the steps into the private plane. The men muttered and laughed while I plonked into a white leather chair in defeat.

I tried. I failed. I tried. I failed. It repeated, over and over.

Don’t give up. Next time, you could win. Next time, it might work. My hands curled—I would never stop looking for a way out.

Never.



*



“Get up. We’re here.” A foot prodded my swollen ankle.

I flinched and opened my eyes. Faking sleep hadn’t worked. Every moment we flew in the height of luxury, I seethed with thoughts of how to maim the guards and take the plane hostage.

But I didn’t do anything. I sat in the chair, like a blow up doll.

It seemed so long ago I’d hounded Brax for more kinkiness in our love life. I’d do anything to have my old life back, my old love returned. I’d give anything for sweet and pure instead of the dark, sinister, and sadistic ownership that awaited.

If I could press a rewind button, I would, beginning with never going to Mexico.

I stood, and guard Number Four helped me down the plush, carpeted aisle. Coarse fingers wrapped around my burning wrists, passing me to a colleague at the bottom of the small flight of stairs. The bandage over the tattoo provided very little protection. The pain flared and itched. I hated it.

The moment I was on the ground, I froze. We stood in the middle of a manicured, grassy airstrip, frosty with ice, dark as the depths of hell, apart from the most gorgeous manor house I’d ever seen in the distance. Subtle outdoor lighting illuminated the soft pastel creams, blues, and pinks; French architecture at its finest.

The guard pulled my elbow and we trudged across the grass. I stumbled, stunned by incomprehensible wealth. Who could afford their own plane and mansion to house it?

My toes were numb by the time we climbed the front steps. Four story high pillars and intricate plasterwork with cherubs and rosettes welcomed. The three-horse water fountain gurgled and trickled, looking far too perfect to belong to a man that purchased women.

Our breath steamed in the cold as my guard rapped on the huge silver door before turning the knob and pushing me through.

Once inside the warm embrace of the house, he took off the shades, propping them on his head. His irises were green and vivid. I searched for evilness—the same vileness from the men who’d stolen me in Mexico, but surprise radiated down my spine. His eyes were compassionate, human.

He bowed his head, looking in front and above.

This was it. My new beginning. My new ending.

“Bon soir, esclave.”

My eyes soared up to the first landing of the giant blue, velvet staircase. Massive works of art hung like armament on gold gilded walls.

A man in a grey chequered suit, complete with black shirt, silver tie, and short dark hair watched from the landing.

My entire body ignited as his jaw clenched. His gaze unclothed and terrified me. Everything about him screamed ruthlessness and power. He held himself proud and regal as if this was his castle and I was the latest subject.

Our eyes locked, and something tingled across my flesh. Fear? Terror? Something inside knew he was dangerous.

His lips twitched as I sucked in a breath. He removed hands from his pockets and placed them on the banister, his fingers long and strong, even from this distance. The way he stared became too much. I felt undone, stripped to my soul.

I stepped back, bumping against the guard behind. He bent his head, whispering in my ear, “Say hello to your new master.”





Sparrow



The word master echoed like a bad tuning fork.

Master. Master.

No, he wasn’t my master. Not with his short, sleek hair and sharp widows peak. Not with his clenched, stubble-smooth jaw and trim physique. He was not my master. No one was.

Tears pricked as I thought about Brax. He seemed a world away compared to this reality. Brax was rough and boyish, a hard worker through and through. The man, staring with pale jade eyes and an unreadable chiselled face, lived in total contrast. Power radiated like visible waves, unsettling me more than anything.

He wasn’t the fat, repulsive bastard who used wealth to buy sex slaves. He wasn’t gross or any other monstrous things. Who is this man?

My eyes widened, drinking him in—the owner of this house. The owner of… me. No, never.

I didn’t care who he was, because my life belonged to me. I stuck out my chin, glaring. I wouldn’t be intimidated by wealth or stature. I didn’t care he was tall and moved like he expected the world to lick his shoes. I would never lick anything of his.