Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark #3)(49)

I woke in my kidnapper’s arms.

Gagged, bound, and blindfolded, the only sense I had available was hearing. Wet slaps of an ocean in the distance, chirps of waking birds, the rustle of tussock, and crunch of gravel. Q’s arms stayed locked around me, keeping me floating above the ground.

My tower loomed fully erect in my mind, waiting solemnly for me to return to its unfeeling hub. The temptation was strong, but Q’s sleek muscles moved against my side, rocking me with every step. I made a promise to him. A promise that I would never shut him out again—no matter what happened.

I intend to keep that promise.

My skin prickled with a chilly sea breeze, but only on my arms and ankles. I’d been bundled into something warm—fluffy. The blindfold hid any hope of seeing where we were and the gag halted my questions. Panic existed like liquid fear pumping thick in my blood.

“You’re ours now, puta.”

I cringed at the memory. No matter what Q did to make me whole again, I had to remember one thing. One fundamental crucial thing. This was Q. The man I loved with every fibre. He wouldn’t sell me, rape me, or break my mind with drugs.

Are you sure?

My heart raced as the outside world suddenly changed to muffled and hushed. The heavy weight of a building I couldn’t see wrapped around us, masking Q’s footsteps with a thick carpet.

In my mind I tried to visualise a quaint home where only softness and healing existed but I couldn’t avoid the more likely scenario of pain and fear. Room after room we travelled, Q’s body heat both relaxing and scaring me. His arms and stomach tensed, carrying me down a flight of stairs. The air temperature was cooler as we descended. It felt heavier down here, as if the weight of the unseen building was a tomb.

More muffled footsteps. I lost touch with common-sense. I hovered as if by magic. Then Q’s shoes echoed on tiles, coming to a stop in a room smelling faintly of juniper.

I gasped as Q released his hold, swinging my legs downward to connect with textured flooring. My feet were bare, toes digging into the rough tiles like an anchor. The fluffy warmth around me tickled my legs as it shifted with my body.

Not saying a word, Q grabbed my bound wrists, undoing the tight material holding them pinned. I ached for connection. I wanted a hug, a whisper, something to keep my fear at bay. I needed reminding of his love and the reasons why we were doing something so utterly dangerous.

But I got nothing.

He hoisted my arms upward, securing them onto some sort of apparatus from the ceiling. My lungs strained, breathing hard through my nose. The helplessness of hanging—gagged, blindfolded, and completely at his mercy—sent a flurry of bricks toward me, forming into a path, leading to my tower.

No. I’m strong enough.

Every muscle tensed, waiting for a whip or some horrible pain, but Q drifted away. No sound. No body heat. His presence fading into the ether.

The tower became my enemy rather than friend—beckoning too hard, filling my mind with the need to run.

Step inside and no longer care. Step inside and hide.

I squeezed my eyes, fighting the seduction. I had to be strong enough. I was strong enough. Q asked me to trust him—I wouldn’t run. I was done running.

Seconds ticked on without me; I didn’t know how long I stood there. Time played tricks with me, delivering false memories of Rio and Mexico. White Man had never been my capturer—it had been Q all along. Q drugged me. He beat me.

I clamped down on the gag, forcing myself to chase away the lies. I focused instead on the iciness of my hands from lack of blood and the unrelenting ache in my shoulders from being trussed. I wanted to sit. I wanted to roll my spine and stretch. But all I could do was hang and wait like an animal headed to slaughter.

Harsh fingers touched my cheek.

I jolted, cursing my heart cannonballing around my chest. Q undid the gag, pulling it free from my mouth. I groaned in relief, wiggling my jaw, lubricating my dry tongue with saliva.

His fingers clamped around my chin, pressing against my lips. “Take this.”

I stiffened, trying to move my face from his probing fingers. My eyes remained veiled by the blindfold; I yearned for sight. I needed to know where we were. I needed to latch onto Q and know I wasn’t alone.

The pressure on my lips came again, demanding. “Take it,” he snapped.

My stomach somersaulted. He’s trying to drug you. Just like them.

My hands clenched and I repelled away. “No. What are you—”

“Don’t speak. You’re not allowed to speak.” Two fingers entered my mouth by force. The taste of salt and citrus shot right to my heart. This was so wrong.

My teeth ached to bite. To sever the invasion before my mind could turn against Q. I was wrong when I said I was strong enough. I wasn’t. I wanted nothing to taint my love for him—and this—this would murder everything I’d tried so hard to retain. “Stop. This is a mistak—”

Q’s touch turned from harsh to brutal, placing something acidic and foreign on my tongue. “Swallow.”

Tears stung my eyes; I fought in his grip, shaking my head violently.

Never again did I want the fog of hallucinogenics or mind-twisting chemicals. What the hell is he thinking? He knew how bad my withdrawals were. He’d seen how hard it was for me to crawl out of the smog.

Q breathed hard in my ear, muttering in French, cursing in a stream of anger. His arm wrapped around my thrashing body, tilting my head back. His hand came under my jaw, clamping it shut. “Swallow!”