Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(70)

I didn’t know what time it was, but the staff had retired. I was too edgy to sleep. My body restless, needing something only Q could give.

A flash of vivid green eyes startled me as I floated down a corridor I’d never been in before. Franco scowled, but didn’t move to obstruct. Ever since the horrid night where Q turned murderer, Franco gave me more freedom. His eyes followed wherever I went, but he didn’t stop me. Maybe Q told him to let me wander, or maybe he sensed I wouldn’t run again. I was thankful my cage had expanded.

I continued past Franco, moving deeper into the west wing. I often saw Q disappear down here—it was time to find out why.

Opening double doors at the end of the corridor, I followed a long, Persian carpeted room, staring at massive canvases of photography. Not of wildlife or humans, but cityscapes and high-rise buildings. The harshness of concrete and metal seemed out of place, until I saw dates under each photo, a timeline of purchase and location.

These weren’t photos of pleasure, but documentation of ownership. Holy hell, does Q own all of these?

I spun in place. Countless snaps of impressive architecture, sprawling hotels, apartment complexes… so many types of property dotted the walls. He owned a small country if it were true.

Needing to know more, I kept going. Everything about the house spoke old money and charm, yet I couldn’t see Q in the artefacts, statues, or even the exotic plants flowering around the rooms.

Q remained closed off. I hoped by exploring, I’d find answers, but I only found confusion.

The French song chased with every step, soulful moans and hopeful sonnets. I hummed along to the chorus.




Tu ne vois pas mon sort, quand tout ce que je veux faire est de me battre,

Tu me peint dans une lumière que je ne pourrai jamais être,

Je suis encha?né avec l'obscurité, consommé par la rage et le feu,

Je suis proche de la rupture, l'envie est tremblant, le viol,

Je suis le diable, et il n'y à pas d'espoir.




Can’t you see my plight, when all I want to do is fight,

you paint me in a light I can never be,

I come shackled with shadow, consumed with rage and fire,

I’m close to breaking, the urge is quaking, raping,

I’m the devil, and there’s no hope.




The song dwindled to silence, leaving my heart racing. On instinct, I opened a huge door and entered paradise. A conservatory, the size of a four bedroom home, welcomed with vaulted glass and skyscraping palm trees. Sounds of a gurgling river and waterfall lilted behind luscious foliage. Stars twinkled above through the endless glass roof—no moon tonight.

My head cocked, listening. What is that?

Tweets and chitters, chirps and whistles. I battled leaves until I came face to face with a two-story-sized aviary.

Jewelled birds flittered and sang, happy in their cage. A lot of them roosted for the night, heads tucked under wings, little chests flurrying.

I looked closer. Instead of parrots and budgerigars I expected, clouds of sparrows, quails, wrens, and blackbirds, littered the aviary. Common, every day, winged creatures, but just as intricate and perfect.

I have to know what the birds mean.

My mind shot back to the mural and the sparrows on Q’s chest. The most amazing tattoo I’d ever seen.

Countless hours would’ve gone into the piece, unlike mine that only took ten minutes. Rubbing my barcode, I wondered if it could be changed. I didn’t want to be reminded of what happened… it was in the past, and slavery with Q didn’t compare.

A wave of guilt blistered as I ran a thumb over the black lines. I couldn’t think about the other women, where they ended up, who they now belonged to; it hurt too much.

A sparrow twirled a note, landing on a branch close by. Its black, intelligent eyes assessed me, its little head cocked.

What are you thinking little bird? Do you know your master? Can you tell me who he is?

It bobbed on the perch, then flew away, leaving in a gust of feathers.

The speakers crackled as a new song began. A deep, erotic beat, vibrating through the air. The bass so heavy, leaves shivered with the sound.

My body ached, needing a release. My sense of hearing belonged to Q. Did he know the song would frustrate the hell out of me—needing him, wanting him?

I refused to bring myself to an orgasm, but if he didn’t come soon, I’d hunt his ass down and make him break his stupid promise. I would win the competition, without revealing my name.

Watching the birds, my fingers trailed downward to where Q nicked me with the scissors. The cut was long gone, but I wanted another. I wanted rough and untamed. I wanted bruises and cuts, amplifying the thrill of pleasure.

I want him to spank me again.

“Esclave. Que fait tu ici?” What are you doing in here? Q’s voice vibrated in the conservatory.

Everything immediately tightened, liquefied, responded. I couldn’t see through thick foliage, and spun in a slow circle, searching.

“How did you know where I was?” I peered into the dark green haze, trying to see past the leaves.

He chuckled; it was low, gruff. “This entire house has cameras. Nothing happens without my knowledge.”

I should’ve known. Control freak Mr. Mercer kept tabs on his empire. Did my room have cameras? I wanted to demand if he saw my plaguing nightmares, if he counted the hours I stayed up for him, only he never showed.