Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(88)

The lash marks Q gave me last night stood out in stark relief as my skin whitened in panic, reality hitting home. There was no stopping this. “I hated you that day and I hate you now.”

He nodded. “I understand, but I’m only following orders.”

In the same manicured field, with its windsock and landing lights, rested Q’s private plane with his initials. Wind whipped my hair into a snarl; black clouds above built with rain.

Seeing a chance, I said, “Should we really fly in such weather? It’s not safe.” I dug my heels in, trying to get free from Franco’s grasp. “Please, Franco. I want to stay. Call Q. Let me speak to him.”

He shook his head, propelling me toward the plane as if I wasn’t fighting at all. “Q doesn’t want to see you again, esclave. I’m sorry to say, but you’ve caused enough problems in his life.” His words stung but his tone was kind, sad.

I hung my head, giving in. Why fight? I couldn’t change my fate.

Franco helped me up the flight of steps and into the immaculate jet. Cream leather and honey wood was a prison. I slouched in the same chair as when I first flew. The same horror and grief from that night filled my lungs. I’m crazy. I’m going home! I should be excited.

The reoccurring theme in my life happened again. My parents didn’t want me. Brax didn’t fight to keep me. And Q… Q stole everything and then tossed me back into the shark invested waters of the world.

My hands curled. One thing was for sure, if Q was so heartless to do this, he didn’t deserve me. I glared at Franco as he loomed.

“It’s been fun, Tess. Just sit back and relax. We’ll have you home very soon.” He turned, and disappeared into the cockpit.

An airhostess appeared. Her blonde hair in a French twist and white uniform blazed with Q’s initials right over her breast. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to rip the uniform off and steal it. If anyone deserved to have Q’s initials branded over her tit, it was me. Shit, he’d owned every part of me last night.

Hot anger flowed and I wished I could tell Q exactly what I thought of him. The low-life coward.

He marked me to the core, all the while knowing he was sending me away. How did I not sense that? How did he lie so successfully?

Tears clouded my vision as the plane taxied, bumping on manicured grass. With a whir of sleek engines, we galloped down the strip, soaring into the air with a gust of turbulence and wind.

I twisted in my seat as Q’s pastel mansion shrank from imposing to miniature. Pressing a cold hand on the window, I gulped as black storm clouds swallowed the view, sending me into darkness.

Q stole my hopes and dreams, replacing my feelings with blackness and emptiness.

I was broken.



*



We crossed timelines in silence. Refuelled in places I didn’t care to know.

In a matter of hours, I left behind spring in France, and touched down in autumn Australia.

We taxied toward a private hangar while the moon danced in silver clouds. We left behind a gathering storm to arrive in a perfect balmy night.

“Time to leave, esclave.” Franco appeared from the cockpit, holding out his arm to disembark.

Stomach filled with lead; I uncurled from my seat and stepped off the plane. I had no energy to scream or convince Franco this was a huge mistake. My brain hadn’t shut up the entire flight, and I was drained. There was no point rehashing everything when Q no longer cared.

I followed like a good sheep as Franco led me into a building reserved for exclusive arrivals. I looked over my shoulder to stare one last time at Q’s plane. It would be the last thing I would see of his.

My heart squeezed and hardened. Calligraphy letters—Q.M—taunted me. The plane belonged to a different world. A world I was no longer privileged to enjoy.

I grew from timid girl with secret fantasies, to a fighter who would happily kill her captors in Mexico, to a strong woman who embraced her true desires, to a broken, tired girl who only wanted to sleep and forget—a full, sick circle.

I did the unthinkable: I broke myself, and fell for my master.

Fuck you, Q.

I stared at the floor as Franco spoke rapidly to a customs officer, handing over what I assumed was fake documentation. A conversation later and a nod from both men, Franco placed his hand on the small of my back, pushing me from airside to Melbourne soil.

Warm, dry Australian air swirled with a gentle breeze. Despite the fact I didn’t want to be here, I sucked in a lungful. The scents of Melbourne tickled memories and a small wave of comfort descended. Home.

I just have to relearn how to belong. The thought overwhelmed. I had to go back to fibbing to myself and Brax. Go through the motions of living with no excitement or intoxicating thread of sexual fear. Oh, God.

Franco grunted as I slammed to a halt. “Keep going, escl—, I mean, Ms. Snow.”

I spun to face him. “Take me back. I don’t belong here anymore.”

He scowled. “I can’t take you back. The French police will know. That was the deal. Mr. Mercer has a long standing arrangement with the authorities.”

My ears pricked. “What long standing arrangement?”

Franco sighed, glaring. “For a slave, you ask a lot of damn questions.”

“I’m no longer a slave. Tell me.”

He grumbled. “If you’d listened and paid attention, Mr. Mercer isn’t in the game of keeping slaves.”