Tears of Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)(96)

“What’s her name?”

He flinched. “Bianca.”

I hated the look in his eyes—the look where he expected me to scream and punch him. He had every right to care for another as lonely as him. Together, they would be each other’s everything. I wasn’t broken enough for Brax. My courage and strength kept a rift between us all this time.

Kissing him gently, I murmured, “Let me go. You’ll be happier, I swear it. The truth hurts less than fibs and fakers… remember?”

He swallowed hard, nodding once. He knew I spoke the truth. “Where will you go?” He gathered me into a hug.

I squeezed him back, but I couldn’t confess. “I’m not sure. But know that I’m happy and doing what I need to do.” Kissing his check, I pulled away. “I hope you’re truly content with whoever you end up with, Brax.”

He kissed me gently, smiling. “You’re going back to France, aren’t you?”

I froze.

“I’ve seen how different you are, Tess. I sleep next to you. I see how you wake up hot and bothered and sexy as hell. Something happened over there, and it changed you. I get it. What happened in Mexico changed both of us.”

I battled with embarrassment and awe. Brax saw more than I gave him credit. Shame made me blush. He was right. I had changed and I couldn’t undo it. I couldn’t change the fact he lay next to me while I dreamed of Q whipping and f*cking me. He suffered in silence as I cried out in need.

Remorse settled heavy. “Brax, I’m so sorry.”

He laughed lightly. “Nothing to apologise for, Tessie. I knew we were different ever since you pulled out your vibrator. I’m not comfortable with that sort of thing, and I think I knew we’d go our separate ways that night. It hurt so much at the time, but now… I might be able to breathe with the thought of only having you as a friend.”

His acceptance let my heart fly free; I threw myself into another hug. “Stay in touch.”

Brax hugged me with endless comfort and kissed my cheek goodbye.

Our two year relationship ended on a friendly note, and I wished Brax the world.

Half an hour later, I strode from the apartment, wearing Q’s grey dress.

No belongings.

No trivial items that meant nothing.

Just me, my passport, and note from my master.

With a heart-winging smile, I left my world behind.





Kingfisher



The flight to Paris took forever.

The train to Blios an eternity.

The moment I arrived in the village where I ran from Franco, a rainbow of feeling settled. Residual fear from the rape. Excitement at being so close to Q. Nerves at not knowing how he’d react. What if he hated me completely? What if he sent me away again? Stop those thoughts. One thing was for sure, Q would hear me out before he tossed me away again. He lived in the darkness? Well, I was about to bring hell on him if he didn’t listen.

Deciding to shed memories of running, with recollections of returning, I strode into Le Coq and approached the same woman. The roosters on the walls no longer wanted to peck my eyes out. They looked fat and content.

The women who didn’t believe I’d been kidnapped gawked as I approached the counter. My skin pricked with phantom panic from the rape, but I forced it away. It didn’t define me. It was over.

Her mouth hung open, watching with incredulous eyes.

“Bonjour. I’m looking for the Moineau residence. Quincy Mercer’s estate.”

Her jaw dropped further showing unhygienic teeth. “You…you came here claiming he kidnapped you. Now you want to go back?”

I smiled bright. “Yep. Makes sense, huh?” I didn’t elaborate, and tried not to laugh. I couldn’t stop bubbles of tentative happiness. I was doing something just for me. It was liberating.

She glared for ages; I didn’t think she’d answer, but finally she called into the kitchen, summoning a scruffy boy with hands covered in soapy bubbles. “Emmener la, à la résidence de Mercer.” Take her to Mercer’s estate.

I basked in the lyrical language of French. I missed it. I’d grown to love France and its language. Living back in Australia with the twangy accent and heat had never fit. Australia was bright and brash and wonderful. France was chic and refined and smouldered with passion.

The kitchen boy nodded, pushing a black cowlick from his eyes. I thanked the woman and followed the boy to a white van in the back alley. The same alley where I bolted from Franco.

I suffered a pang of terror at the thought of getting in the car with a stranger. I wouldn’t survive a repeat of Brute and Driver, but I steeled myself.

We didn’t say a word as we drove. Rolling hills and patchwork countryside flurried my heart erratically. Every mile, I was closer to Q. Every mile, I felt more and more confident. This was where I belonged. This was home.

We turned and drove through huge, imposing gates and the sound of gravel pinging beneath the car made sweat pool in my lower back. Nerves skittered, my mouth dry with worry.

Q’s pastel mansion came into sight, along with the horse fountain splashing with tiny rainbows in the mid-afternoon sun. Spring gave way to summer, and Q’s immaculate gardens rioted with colour. Butterflies fluttered while birds winged. An innocent paradise where a beast lurked. A beast that liked delicate things, but would never kill.