Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark #3)(39)

She was mine to control.

She would never argue or say no.

She wasn’t just in love with me. She believed she fully belonged and would spend her life never displeasing me or fighting back.

She was the perfect slave.

My heart raced to a dying beat. “God, Tess. What have you done?”

She couldn’t have decimated me more. She’d taken all my dreams, throwing me headfirst into the dark. She’d made me become him.

She’d turned me into my f*cking father.

Standing on the precipice, I visualized my future. Two paths. Two choices. One, I could accept Tess’s unselfish gift and take her—become her true master forever. Or I could reject her offer and fight to get my woman back.

Take her. Accept it.

I growled as a slow burn scorched through me. Temptation. Sheer f*cking temptation. It would be so easy to accept the blackness and take her as the ultimate submissive.

Too tempting. Far, far too tempting.

But by accepting, I would condemn myself to a life worse than death. I’d lose myself forever.

I’d be no better than the man I strove never to become.

I would kill her.

Tess stayed bowed at my feet; her gorgeous face glowing in the gloom. She looked like a goddess straight from another universe—sent there to see just how far I’d fall.

She was sublime. She was majestic. She annihilated me.

“Tess—” My lips wouldn’t move. I wanted to tell her to snap out of whatever enactment she played. I wanted to shake her, slap her, hit her until the old fire and thrill of pleasure and pain came back into her eyes.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go near her—not while she stayed so open and willing at my feet. I could feel the beast inside reaching for her, snarling at the taste of fully owning her. If I let myself touch her, it would be over. She wouldn’t be my wife. She would be my slave. I would never find balance again.

I was better than that. Tess deserved more than that.

I had to find a way to end all of this horror.

I had to rewind time.



“On your knees, esclave.”

Tess slid to the floor, looking so f*cking beautiful in a sheer silver dress and no underwear. Every bruise, every cut, every bite glowed beneath the fine material, stamping my ownership. Marking my claim.

“Please—not again,” she whimpered, sliding to the carpet.

Her disobedience drove me mad—I’d teach her a lesson about her rights. Namely that she had none.

“Your only purpose is to please me. Open that pretty little mouth.”

Her face blanched, but her lips parted like a good little slave. She wore no collar but the brand on her neck glittered silver with permanent scarring.

Mine.

My hands landed on her head as my cock slid into her mouth. Deeper, deeper, harder, harder.

She whimpered but accepted, spit trailing down her chin as I used her.

The need to come overpowered me, tingling my back, locking my quads. I threw Tess to the floor, and a whip appeared in my hand. I wanted to come all over her while making her skin glow red.

“I won’t. Don’t make me,” Tess pleaded. She fell silent as I struck her.

And struck her.

“I’m not making you do anything you didn’t want. You did this. You made me become this. You gave yourself to a monster.”

I hit her again.

And again.

And again.



I jolted awake.

Launching upright, I glared around the opulent suite. My hand disappeared under the pillow for the HK P2000 hidden there. Franco wasn’t the only one who carried concealed weapons.

Heart revving, eyes darting, I flicked the safety off ready to f*cking eradicate any bastard who dared come near Tess again.

The room was dark as a tomb—no light peeked through the black-out curtains, no trickle of illumination anywhere.

The dream echoed behind my eyes.

Tess had been resplendent. Accepting my violence with the beauty of a slave who’d been to hell and back. She lived only to make a devil happy.

My mouth was dry, but my cock was rock hard. I couldn’t shake the image of Tess’s mouth wrapped around my length; I still felt her dream-lips sucking, her tongue licking…taking.

Fuck.

I wanted to tear out my black soul and burn it. I wanted to crucify everything disgusting inside. Maybe if I purged myself with fire, I might get rid of the nastiness.

Redemption.

I needed to find some way to redeem myself and halt this path—the road leading to becoming Quincy Mercer II—true born son of Quincy Mercer, the raping bastard.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus on the room and not my rapid descent into purgatory.

Something woke me.

Something caused my body to switch straight into killer and protector. I had to stay vigilant just in case one of the many *s I’d dealt with had come for me—and they would. I knew the underworld they existed in; retribution would be on its way. In a way the waiting was worse. I wanted it over with—so I could kill.

My hands twitched, gripping the gun harder, training it on shadowy corners of the room.

“No. Please—”

My heart skipped as Tess seized beside me. Her eyes screwed up, a dew of sweat gleaming on her upper lip. Even in the darkness I made out every perfect sweep of her eyelashes, following the soft curves of her body.