I screamed.
No, this couldn’t happen. “Brax!”
He lay there, wrapped in his own misery, unaware of mine. Driver laughed, ripping off my pyjama bottoms, tossing them to the side.
My body felt weighed down, moving as if drugged. “Stop. Fucking stop!”
They just laughed.
I wished I were dead, tears leaking. Another shadow crystallized behind Brute and Driver, flocking into being with raven wingbeats and murder. But instead of instilling fear, hope starburst through me.
Master.
Q stood, staring at me with unbridled rage and transcendent power. Time slowed as he pulled free a silver gun and shot Brute, then Driver with sharp-edged finesse. Red rain splattered, but I didn’t care. I crawled toward shadowy Q, climbing over corpses, focused only on my owner.
“You saved me.”
His smile sent a melody of feeling through me. “You’re mine. It’s my honour to protect you.” He gathered me closer and shadows kissed with icy teeth. “Je reviendrai toujours pour toi.” I’ll always come for you….
I woke in a room of luxury. The mattress cradled like fluffy clouds, and stencils of carousels made me feel young, fanciful. Not like a slave who’d been f**ked by two different men last night, then put to bed like a naughty girl because I wouldn’t tell Q my name.
A knock sounded and I scrambled upright, wincing at the lashes on my legs. I checked during the night to see how torn and bruised I was, but Q and his attentiveness halted the injuries. They looked ten times better already, but I couldn’t wait for them to be gone. Each welt reminded me of Brute and Driver, Q committing murder, every nasty little thing of running away.
Q was right, though. By f**king me, he overshadowed Brute completely. The fear and crippling memories were there, but every time recollections tried to suck me dry, Q would be there. Touching, kissing, ordering me to only think about him. He stopped my sadness and grief, tinging it with lust and acceptance.
Q stole their power, freeing me by f**king me.
The knock came again and the door opened, without waiting for my reply.
Suzette bustled in with a breakfast tray full of homemade jam and warm croissants. She smiled, placing it on my lap. “Bonjour, Ami.”
I blinked with how happy she was. Hazel eyes sparkled and dusky skin positively glowed.
I narrowed my eyes, female intuition said why she couldn’t stop grinning. “You know he took me last night, don’t you?” It was strange to be so open, but she couldn’t hide her gloat. She’d been waiting for this day for longer than I wanted to contemplate.
She nodded, perching on the end of the bed. “Yes. But mostly I’m glad to see you in one piece.” She dropped her eyes, plucking her pinafore. “Running away was so stupid. I could’ve warned you about some of the locals around here. Franco isn’t a guard to keep you in. He’s a guard to protect us from them.”
I stopped mid-bite of a croissant. “What do you mean?”
She sighed and glanced toward the door, as if expecting Q to storm through at any moment. Before she could speak, I asked another question. “Were you Q’s slave, too, Suzette?”
She froze.
I didn’t really expect her to answer. My eyes widened when she said, “Q set me free when I was sold to him. I’ll always love him for that.” She bit her lip, before adding, “Q has never taken me, not for my lack of trying. When I arrived, I was broken beyond repair. I had things done to me that I can’t even think about, let alone talk about, but Q… Q brought me back to life.”
I pushed the tray away, breakfast forgotten. Would I finally learn about my mysterious owner? “How did he bring you back to life?”
She looked up, eyes glittering with tears and memories. “He gave me freedom. Gave me everything I needed to get well again. For a year, he put up with me bowing and crawling, until he finally managed to get me to stand. But it took him another year to get me to open, to talk when I wanted, not just when I was asked a question. He slowly broke the brokenness in me.”
She gripped my hand, squeezing fingers hard. “You don’t get it, Ami. And you won’t until he tells you himself, but he’s the best man I know. Out of all of us, he’s the one who’s ruined. I’ve never been able to help him. For five years, I’ve worked for him, never left his side, but nothing I’ve tried works.”
My heart raced. Suzette confirmed my thoughts from last night. Q may be a dominant but he suffered more than anyone. With what? Perhaps he was terribly disfigured. Was that why he refused to remove his shirt? I’d never seen him nak*d, or touched his skin.
“Tell me, Suzette. Tell me why he’s more broken than you or I.”
She hung her head. “That isn’t my story to tell, Ami. You’ll have to earn his trust and show you care to learn about your master.”
“And if I don’t want to learn?”
Suzette stood, looking overcome with endless sadness. “Then you don’t deserve him.”
* * * * *
That night, Q came for me.
I spent the day with Suzette and Mrs. Sucre, battling two different emotions. One moment, my body would warm and liquefy, remembering Q’s strength, his lust in the shower. The next, I’d freeze and swallow nausea while memories of Brute crushed.
The two extremes never ended, and by the time we finished dinner in the kitchen, my eyes were heavy, body lethargic. I needed sleep and hoped I wouldn’t be hounded by nightmares.
I lay in bed, staring at the silver canopy above. I hadn’t cleared it with anyone if I could remain in the carousel room, but Franco spotted me opening the door earlier, giving a slight nod. I hoped his nod meant I could remain on the second level, and not banish myself to the cell of a maid’s room.
The door creaked ever so quietly, sending my heart into hyper-drive. I didn’t need to ask who. My entire body knew the answer—master.
Q padded across thick carpet, his silhouette proud and stealthy. I wriggled beneath my sheets. What exactly was he doing here at two in the morning on a week day? I knew how hard he worked. I expected him to be in bed. The moment I thought of Q in bed my mouth went dry. Where did he sleep? What did his room look like?
Then again, I assumed Q worked hard. I knew nothing about him, and after the comments from Brute about Q’s family, I didn’t want to know. If I learned the truth, and it was disastrously horrid, I would have to run again.
And I didn’t want to run. The world was dangerous; I preferred to live with the devil I knew.
I held my breath as Q padded closer. It seemed with every step, he pulled energy toward him until the gloom sparkled. An image of Q nak*d and asleep in bed assaulted me. My mouth watered at the thought of seeing him so vulnerable.
He stopped by the side of the bed. I couldn’t see his features in the dark, but his breathing was measured and strong.
He stood in faded jeans and a scruffy white t-shirt. I’d never seen him in something so…ordinary. He wore suits like a persona—a uniform amplifying his demands for submission. It worked. It turned him into a sharp, merciless weapon; the female in me licked her lips at his dangerous edge. But Q in jeans and t-shirt showed another side. A clue into the man behind the suits, a man with too many thoughts and no one to talk to.
He didn’t say a word, but simply placed two items on the foot of the bed. He paused, lurking in the dark.
I lay, unmoving, waiting to see what he’d do. I wouldn’t let him walk out the door without getting what I wanted. I wanted to talk to him, unravel his secrets. I needed to know if he wanted me so much, he came to wake me in the middle of the night. Waiting in the dark, I ached for an order to serve.
I licked my lips as he ran a hand over his head, deliberating.
Finally, he stepped toward the door, stopped, and turned back. Sucking in a breath, he ordered, “Wake up, esclave.”
His voice stroked my skin; I embarrassed myself with a small pant. I couldn’t help it—my hearing belonged to him.
He chuckled. “Unless you’re awake already.”
Dammit.
Coming closer, he leaned down and turned on the diamante side lamp, casting a soft glow, an oasis of illumination. “Bon soir.” His lips twitched a little as he stared from above. I grew too hot under the covers but daren’t kick them off. I wore a large t-shirt and shorts, but somehow they were insubstantial when Q looked at me. Like I was a chocolate éclair, and he desperately needed a sugar fix.
“Hello,” I murmured, loving the thrill of lust and fear. The knowledge I’d give him what he wanted and no longer suffer guilt. I was free from my feelings of Brax—I let him go. It hurt if I remembered his quirks and kindness, but there was no point torturing myself. Q owned me—that was all I needed to remember.
“I have gifts for you.” Q sat on the edge of the bed. His warm weight pressed hard against my thigh beneath the covers. I shivered.
He grabbed the sheets, fumbling beneath the quilt. I yelped as his hand found my ankle, tugging my leg out of bed.
I couldn’t speak as he rested my leg on his thighs, running a thumb around my bony ankle. “Something’s missing.”
His touch resonated directly between my legs. I trembled as he bent and pressed a possessive kiss on my shin. Reaching behind himself, he pulled a black bracelet into view, dangling it.
I gulped. Another GPS tracker.
“This saved your life, esclave, yet you cut it off to escape. If you’d have thrown it out the window while driving, instead of leaving it in the car, I would never have found you in time.” His voice verged on menacing, shooting horror into my heart.
Oh, my God, he was right. If I hadn’t thought I’d be free and in police custody, I might be buried with all the potatoes by now…or wishing I was.
In one swift move, I sat upright, stole the tracker, and secured it around my ankle. The snap of plastic echoed around the hushed space; heart thudded. I’d tagged myself. I willingly admitted I wouldn’t run again.
Q sucked in a breath, capturing my wrist when I went to pull away. He traced the barcode tattooed on my flesh. His face flashed with hatred and anger, but his ire wasn’t directed at me. My heart warmed, knowing he hated the people who stole me.
His fingers turned harsh, eyes captured mine. “How bad was it, when they took you?”
I waited for anger and terror for what they did, but I felt nothing. I didn’t know if I blocked it out, or if the rape dulled my senses.
Shrugging, I tried to tug my arm back. “It was the worst week of my life, until last night.”
“Worse than me?” he murmured. His voice held an edge, almost as if his question meant a lot more than what he asked.
Wanting to give him something, after all he did for me last night, I nodded. “A lot worse.”
He shook his head, eyes unfocused. Memories swirled in their depths and I wanted to chase him wherever he went. I wanted to know him. Would he ever let me get close? Was a slave allowed to help her owner, while letting him use her body? I didn’t know the rules.
Q finally released me, presenting the other package. “This is for you.” His jaw clenched as I held my hands out, accepting the large sketchpad and charcoal pencils. I opened it and couldn’t breathe. Inside, architectural graph paper—the exact kind I used in my university course—glowed fresh and new.