Sun burned my retinas even as the cold temperature bit through clothing. The freshness of being outside gave me a burst of happiness. I would save myself. Tess, the survivor.
Gasping with adrenaline, I checked to see if keys dangled in the ignition.
Nothing.
Shit! I couldn’t drive to freedom, but I could stowaway while Suzette drove. Not wanting to be discouraged, I tried the back door, almost crying in relief when it opened.
I threw myself inside, huddling as tight as I could in the foot well.
Suzette bounced down the steps. “Bonjour, Franco. You’ll drive me to the village?”
Oh, fuck. I clamped a hand over my mouth. Why couldn’t Suzette drive herself? Were none of Q’s staff allowed to go unchaperoned? My heart raced faster. So many things could go wrong—Franco could catch me, Q would punish.
“No problem. I need some cigarettes, so perfect timing.” Franco’s voice sounded friendly, upbeat, like any man with no care in the world. Obviously, his conscience didn’t care what his employer did to women.
Suzette hopped in the front, smoothing her uniform. Franco climbed into the driver’s seat and the car settled with his bulk. His crisp, black suit framed muscles and my hope of running dwindled.
The car started; the loud purr vibrated in my teeth. I curled smaller as Franco put the vehicle into gear and rolled smoothly into motion. The crunching of gravel sounded loud and the three-horse fountain disappeared as we drove away.
The further we travelled, the more I freaked. This could go terribly wrong, but if it worked, I’d never see Q again. Never hear his voice or smell his unique sent. Something deep inside panged uncomfortably. I hated he owned two of my senses—possibly even three. He was a master at coercing my body’s needs, sacrificing my mind for erotic pleasure. I’d had enough of betrayal from my own flesh.
Every roll of tyres brought a cocktail of eagerness and disappointment. My life would belong to me again. My body would return to being dormant, hiding its secret desires. But I want that! Q was a monster in human clothing—even he knew it, judging by his song choice. If he let a man rape me with a knife handle, who knew what he’d do next.
My hands curled with fury. I couldn’t afford to feel anything but hatred for Q. Suzette was wrong—I didn’t feel any more than repulsion. Hopefully, over time, my senses would belong to me again. I would forget about this nightmare.
Excitement bubbled beneath layers of apprehension as we drove in silence away from hell, toward salvation.
Suzette and Franco didn’t talk and I breathed as quiet and shallow as possible. It was odd to run with no belongings. How far would I get without money, credit cards, or a passport?
My passport and purse were in the hotel in Cancun. Then again, the hotel probably checked us out when we never returned. Did Brax go back? I was heading home, and refused to entertain the thought he might be gone. I needed him alive. He was my end goal. If I didn’t have him, who was I running back to?
You’re leaving a life of overwhelming senses for comfort, Tess.
The thought rocked my soul. While being Q’s prisoner, I’d never been so alive. Sure, he was a bastard, and the things he did weren’t legal, but at the same time he made me live.
I brought the nightmare on myself with unwholesome thoughts, but Q showed me the life I lived with Brax wasn’t fully… complete. Brax treated me with utmost care, but never made me vibrant.
On the floor of a car, escaping from my kidnapper, I re-evaluated my entire life. I’d lived in denial for so long, it came naturally. I loved Brax, I couldn’t deny that. But my love skirted around sibling love. Friendship love. A love that would never die, but would never consume me either. I loved Brax because he took me in. He wanted me and I settled, rather than have the guts to find a man who made my soul sing.
Guilt crushed, pressing me against the floor. By lying to myself, I hurt Brax so much. A few tears dribbled and I fought the urge to sniff. One thing I knew, if he still lived, I’d make it a lifelong mission to make it up to him. I’d be the princess he always wanted, and take care of him, regardless if he couldn’t save me in Mexico.
Suzette and Franco started chatting aimlessly about the weather, and I forced myself to listen, pushing away debilitating thoughts. I couldn’t afford to think about sad things. I needed to be ready to run.
Through the window, hedges and shadowy trees flickered past, rolling hills and farm land. So quaint and picture perfect, it was hard to believe Q lived amongst perfect innocence and followed such darkness.
The twists and turns of the tiny country lanes made nausea swell and I closed my eyes.
I didn’t know how long it took, maybe twenty minutes, before the car slowed. Suzette asked, “Can you pull up on Rue La Belle? I won’t be long.”
Franco grunted in acknowledgement, and after a few turns, we entered a bustling township. Sounds of chattering voices and traffic thrilled me. So close to being free.
I dared open my eyes. Pedestrians skirted the car, and cute ancient buildings hovered in French glory.
Suzette climbed out. “Merci, Franco, à plus tard.” I’ll see you soon.
“I’ll be back at the car in ten minutes.” His voice rasped. I couldn’t believe my eyes as Franco locked the door and strode off, swallowed immediately by the bustling crowd.
I lay on the floor, sucking greedy breaths in the empty car. I was alone!
Wait before you run.
My body shook with the need to flee, but I waited an agonising minute. Slowly, I unfolded from the floor, reaching to unlock the door. I tried to clamber out quickly, but my legs cramped and I sprawled in the path of an elderly woman. Pretty cobblestones bit my ass as I looked up.
She frowned, hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder. “Excusez-moi,” she said, inching around, continuing on her way.
I bounced upright, commanding my limbs to un-atrophy so I could run.
The busy street looked the epitome of France. Quaint shop signs dangled in front of wonky buildings with flower baskets and fresh fruit in bushels looking waxy and delicious in the winter sun. Everything was written in French, and I knew I’d be lost within a moment. Where the hell was this place? Were we close to Paris?
I blinked in wonderment. I would never take freedom for granted again. After being caged for weeks, the breeze on my skin felt foreign; the sun an old missed friend. My heart flew. I escaped.
I didn’t know which way Suzette or Franco went, so kept my eyes trained on the crowd, dashing fugitively across the road to the green grocer.
“Bonjour, ma belle,” an elderly man said, tilting his head as I darted past. Rows upon rows of food made my mouth water. Everything was a burst of sensation, colour—a marvel to my senses.
Being in a crowd liberated and intoxicated. I never realised how much I needed to be a part of something. Sure, insecurities of being unwanted stemmed from lack of parental love, but up till now, I never evaluated how much I thrived at university. I had friends. Good friends.
My eyes pricked remembering Fiona, Marion, and Stacey. Women who I’d studied with and sketched the most far out buildings we could imagine. Tree houses. Underwater mansions. And yet, they didn’t know me. I never told them what I wished Brax would do. Even when we shared kinky conversation, I never opened up and admitted I wanted to be a submissive, just for one night.
My heart tripped. What would they say if they knew what happened? Would they understand how disobedient my body had been? How the sexual tension, the unwanted boiling, crippling need inside made me wet for a man I hated?
It was so off the realm of normalcy, they’d probably march me straight to the police for a shrink assessment.
Police.
All thoughts evaporated. I wasn’t free yet.
I chose the next building—a cute little one story, with a red chicken on the front called Le Coq. The rooster.
I paused, hating the thought that Q would hurt Suzette for letting me escape. I sighed, cursing that I felt loyal to stay, bound by obligation more than ropes and barcode tattoos. I held my breath, heart winging with terror.
Despite my fear for Suzette, I pushed open the café door. The little bell above jingled merrily, reminding I was on my way home. I couldn’t dwell on a breaking friendship with someone I barely knew.
Speed was my friend as I charged to the cashier.
The soft, pudgy woman behind the counter beamed, “Bonjour, que puis-je faire pour vous?” What can I do for you?
My mouth became desiccated and I blinked. This was it, no going back. “I’ve been kidnapped. I need a phone and the police.”
Chapter 15
*Heron*
Her eyes widened, flying around the establishment as if one of her customers could enlighten her. Surely, this crazy Aussie chick couldn’t be telling the truth.
My chest heaved as panic filled. What if she didn’t believe me?
I looked around, glancing over my shoulder at a spattering of patrons. They gawked as if I was a chimpanzee escaped from the zoo. The little café would’ve been homely with its red colour scheme and over saturation of rooster figurines and posters, but to me it felt hostile. As if any moment, the roosters would come alive and peck my eyes out for disrupting a leisurely lunch.
I’d poured my heart out to a stranger and all she could do was stare.
“Can I borrow your phone?” My voice wavered; tears threatened. Being so close to freedom made me jittery.
She nodded hesitantly, clearly not quite understanding. I spied the phone behind the counter and snagged it, leaning over a plate of bagels and muffins.
My hands shook, apprehension tickled my spine. Fingers hovered over the emergency call buttons, but I couldn’t dial. I needed to hear another voice first.
I pressed the number I knew by heart and tears burst forth as the call connected. It rang and rang for an eternity. Please, pick up. Please, be alive.
The woman scowled and disappeared into the back of the restaurant, reappearing and dragging an elderly chef. Both of them wore yellow uniforms with white pinafores, and the same ‘what the hell’ expression.
I bounced, waiting for the phone to connect. My time was running out.
Hi, you’ve reached Brax Cliffingstone. I’m unable to get to the phone, but you know the drill. Leave your details, and I’ll get back to you. Or, if it’s life and death, please contact my girlfriend, Tess, and she’ll help out. Her number: 044-873-4937. Cheers!
Beep.
Something snapped in my chest. I hadn’t heard my name in so long. Hearing it in Brax’s voice robbed my fight, and I shrunk into the tame little girl I’d been before Mexico, before Q, before I knew what I was capable of.
I crumbled, sobbing. Brax’s voice resonated around my heart, vibrating with longing. Why wasn’t he picking up? Was he dead, or just busy? So many questions and I wouldn’t get answers from a machine.
Sniffing back tears, I warbled, “Brax, it’s me. I’m—I’m alive. I was sold to a man named Q. I’m not hurt and I’m on my way home. If you get this message, I’ll be at the Australian Embassy, hopefully working out passports and things.”
I sucked in a deep breath. I wanted to tell him so much: how I changed, what I lived through, but I would never be able to tell him what Q did, as I’d never be able to hide the sick, messed up desire in my voice. He’d know Q turned me on, even as I lied that I preferred tameness. I burned that bridge when I showed Brax my vibrator, asking for more.