Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(52)

I took the red case and flipped open a serrated blade. I blew blonde bangs from my eyes, sawing through thick plastic. It took a lot of energy, and my skin grew clammy beneath the jumper by the time it snapped and fell away.

The moment it dropped to the floor, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The nightmare was almost over, one step closer to Brax.

The guy watched closely. His intense gaze sent flutters of awareness as I returned the knife. I kept my face blank when he palmed it, shoving it back in his pocket.

Perhaps I should’ve kept it? You’re not thinking clearly, Tess. Don’t trust anyone.

He gave me half a smile, light returning to his eyes. Fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “What happened?”

I managed three words: “Q Mercer happened.” Then weariness smothered and the thought of reliving it was too much. I couldn’t talk about it; I might not ever be ready to talk, and that was fine by me. It would become an unspoken moment of time and fade into oblivion.

Huddling, my chest clogged with emotion. So close… so close. I grew heavy as the adrenaline in my blood abandoned me. “I just need to get to the police.”

He nodded. The afternoon sun dipped through the windshield, highlighting the red in his hair. “Pas de problème.”

I gave a watery smile and settled back, looking forward to the future.



*



The sound of tyres on gravel roused me, panic flared like an old enemy. Gravel—please tell me we aren’t back at Q’s.

I shot upright, blinking out the window. Adrenaline and jittery warmth made my breath come fast. I’d become so used to terror overflowing, I wondered if I’d ever feel safe again.

It was dark; no population, no township, nothing in the looming blackness. I glared at the man supposedly saving me, trying to figure it out.

He smirked, slowing to a stop. I stared out the window again, disbelieving. Where were the bright lights of a police station? The comforting sounds of people?

Brakes squeaked and he grinned in the shadows. “Come with me.”

“But this isn’t a police station.”

He chuckled. “No. Not going to the police. But you’re home now, just the same.”

My world slammed to a halt; I gawked. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. It couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Hadn’t I dealt with enough in Mexico and with Q?

Ripe anger gushed, and all I saw was red. I wouldn’t let this happen. I wrenched open the door and toppled from the car.

“Hey, arrêt!” The man fumbled with the seat belt, but he was too late. I shot to my feet and ran.

He screamed obscenities, curses licking my heels, urging me faster. My head swivelled, looking for solitude, a place to run to. But all around, rolling country hills and patchwork farmland imprisoned better than any barbwire. I didn’t even know where he’d taken me. I could run for miles and never find help.

My heart ached, pushing my body past endurance. I burst past a row of soaring pine trees and my mouth fell open.

A sprawling country estate rested under moonlight. Inviting with arched windows and Tuscany appeal, but instincts beat an uneven tattoo in my chest. Evil. The house reeked of evil.

I darted to the right, running as far from the estate as possible. I came to a wooden fence and scaled it. The moment my feet touched ground again, I jerked my arms, propelling forward. Pain from bruises and ribs were inconsequential—running was paramount.

I stumbled in the dark, the only light came from the silver, pregnant moon. My ankle rolled on a row of potatoes ready for hoeing. I looked around—acres and acres of potatoes, all resting in blankets of dirt.

Keep running!

Breath rasped in the silent night, and legs burned, but I never let up the pace. I bounded over rows of potatoes like a gazelle hunted by a lion.

A little further, then I would be hidden by the night. I could find help elsewhere. But as I ran, my faith in humanity died a fiery death. All my life, I believed in the goodness of people. Never seeing darkness for myself. But now, I hated everyone, suspected everything. Another part was broken: the ability to trust.

A shape blurred in the corner of my eye and I screamed. A hard form slammed into mine, crushing me against soil and produce. The smell of earth assaulted and I flared with pain.

Heavy breathing filled my ear as I fought. We rolled, caking ourselves in dirt; I tried to bite but nothing came within teeth distance.

I was no match for the new brute. A boulder from the night—he loomed twice the size of Q and fear sliced as hands pawed, rough and angry.

He pulled me to my feet, black eyes glinting. “Hello, treasure.”

I kicked and snarled. “Let me go.”

He threw his head back, laughing. Thinning brown hair and wrinkled face put him somewhere in his mid-fifties. But no middle-age spread covered his body—it rippled with compacted muscle. With barely any energy, he dragged me across the field as if I were a flea. I stopped struggling; this battle I lost, but I’d save my strength to fight again.

The driver waited, slouched over the wooden fence. He leered as the brute picked me up, helping me over the slats. The driver caught me, running hands sickeningly up my ribcage, brushing the sides of my breasts. “Nice of you to try and run. We always like a chase.”

I dropped my eyes, taking in my dirt stained clothing. I prayed for that vacant part again, the cloud of uncaring, but as they pulled me, struggling, into the Tuscan inspired house, it never came. My mind shackled me to endure whatever would come next.