Tears of Tess (26 page)

Brute
wasted no time in clambering on top; his entire body made me retch. Breath
reeked of cigarettes and sourness, and he pulled my legs apart as if they were
matchsticks. He looked like a giant wildebeest, about to mount and rut to
death.

My
chest rose and fell; vision flickered with black spots as I hyperventilated.
“Stop!”

The
men laughed. “Keep begging, treasure. We like it when you cry.”

Oh,
God. Oh, God. This was really going to happen. No humanity shone in his eyes.
There wasn’t anyone to save me. No Brax. No Q. 

Just
me, two bastards, and an empty house.

I
whimpered, squeezing my eyes closed as Brute unbuttoned my jeans and yanked
them off. He did the same to my knickers as I scratched at Driver’s wrists,
trying to make him let go of my hair.

Driver
growled, letting go with one hand to slap me. The sound of palm hitting flesh
ricocheted around the room. He slapped me again, coaxing tears to stream. Then
he reached down, snaking a hand inside my t-shirt, pinching my breast so hard I
saw jagged stars.

I
wanted to remain mute, to not give them pleasure by begging. But words sobbed.
“Please. I just want to go home. You were supposed to help me!”

Driver
chuckled, twisting my hair with an evil flourish. “Oh, we’ll help you alright.”

I
made the mistake of looking into his eyes. There was nothing but animalistic
lust and enjoyment at my pain. What had Q done to these men to make them so
happy to destroy a woman? Why must I pay for his sins?

Driver
placed a hand on my throat and pressed down, choking me.

Tess,
disappear. Find that place. Hurry!

Brute
spat on his fingers, putting them between my legs. He frowned, muttering,
“She’s fucking dry as a husk.”

My
mind exploded with thoughts of Brax. I was always dry for Brax. But Q… Q made
me wet. He befriended my body, despite my hate. I’d broken myself—I didn’t need
men to torture me. I’d done it every night since I hit puberty.

I
wilted in terror as Brute forced his saliva inside. Fingers scraped and tore.
My dryness granted pain… agony.

If
someone offered me a gun or this, I’d take the gun.

How
could I think I wanted to be dominated, commanded? The naïve fantasy of rape
wasn’t fun. It wasn’t sexy or hot. This was true rape, and it would do more
than just take my body. It would be what finally broke me into tinkling,
unfixable pieces.

Brute’s
fingers thrust harder; dirty fingernails scraped the inside of my core. I
thrashed my head to the side, ignoring the ripping of hair.

The
tear of foil echoed and my breathing accelerated; a low keening sounded in my
chest.

Driver
slapped my face. “Shut up. You’ll like it, slut. Then it’s my turn.”

I
opened my eyes. Big mistake.

Brute
had his cock out, rolling a slimy condom down the length. The smell of latex
filled the air, gagging me. I tried to close my legs, to lock knees together.

Driver
laughed, passing the flogger over my head to him. “Use this. Make her ready.”

Brute’s
lips stretched into a cruel smile. “Ah, treasure. You’re in for it now.” He
raised his arm and struck.

The
leather bit my naked thigh, welting immediately with angry blood. I bit my lip,
trying so hard to pretend I was dead. 

Brute
hit me again. And again. Each lick eroded parts of me: my hopes, my stupid
thoughts of escape, my love for Brax, my hatred for Q—everything twisted into a
cauldron of filthy emotions, sucking me deep into the dark. The fight I prided
myself on, disintegrated into pieces and I shrivelled. Each beat stripped me
bare; I became lost. I no longer knew who Tess was—I didn’t want to know.

The
flogger stopped and Brute wrenched my legs apart. Spitting on his fingers, he
rubbed my entrance roughly.

“Please—”
I moaned. “Don’t.”

Brute
laughed, positioning himself between my legs. “Was that a beg, treasure? You
want me?”

Driver
panted heavily in my ear, pulling my hair in excitement. “I think she’s asking
you to fuck her. Better give her what she wants.”

Please,
oblivion take me
. I wouldn’t survive. My mind rattled
like fractured glass already.

Brute
shifted, nudging me with his cock. My body revolted, stomach snarled, and tears
flurried down my cheeks.
No, no, no.

Brute
grunted, forcing his way inside. My flesh rejected him, burning with
violation. 

Hips
thrust, burying himself deep. His head dropped as he shuddered, grinning at
Driver. “She’s fucking tight. You’ll enjoy this one.”

Driver
growled. “Hurry up.” He forced horrible fingers into my mouth, tasting of
sourness and metal.

While
Driver fucked my mouth with fingers, Brute thrust his hips, bucking with
violence. Heavy breathing rained on my face, horrid, rancid.

I
tried to shut everything off. I wanted to bite Driver’s fingers—I wanted to
fight. I’d been reduced to a piece of meat.

My
ears rang, and the room swam with delirium. Mirrors reflected Brute’s naked ass
as he fucked me. My eyes were haunted, and Driver loomed with a manic look on
his face.

A
loud bang sounded from somewhere in the house; Brute faltered in rhythm. I
squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see if more men arrived—if I’d be
subjected to endless purgatory. I never wanted to open my eyes again. 

Another
bang, then empty air. Brute’s horrible cock disappeared and his weight flew
off. My hair jerked, then released as Driver screamed.

Grunts
and shouts amplified around the room and I opened my eyes.

Three
men in suits beat Brute where he huddled in a ball with jeans around his ankles
and arms over his head. Blow after blow they rained, and I flinched when one
kicked Brute’s jaw so hard, his head snapped back, and teeth flew.

My
hands curled, loving retribution, the pain Brute suffered.

Driver
was strung to the mirrored wall on the rack with whips and handcuffs. More
guards punched him; his head lolled on shoulders, blood glinting on his temple.

My
heart leaped free from my flogged and hurting body as Q strode into the room.
He moved with angry grace, hands curled, mouth pursed. But his eyes—I’d never
seen such rage contained.

“
Putain
de bâtards,
” Q seethed, pulling a gun from his lower back, stalking toward
where Brute lay whimpering on the floor. “You fucking touch a girl of mine and
think you could survive?”

Brute
reached for him, eyes imploring mercy. “We only took what we used to get from
your family. Nothing more.” Blood and spittle flew from his mangled mouth.

Q
closed his eyes, body shuddering. When he glared at Brute, so many things raged
in his face, I ached. “Consider this payment for the past and present.” He
squeezed the trigger and Brute existed no more. The back of his head exploded
with red mist and I scrambled away, huddling on the mattress.

Q
turned to me with terrifying calmness. “Ah,
esclave.
” He inched closer,
tucking the gun away. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

 In
that moment, in my fragile and broken state, my feelings for Q changed. He
morphed from monster to saviour. He did what Brax hadn’t done in Mexico: he
found me,
killed
for me. He rescued me from horror and protected me from
the bastards who hurt.

Q
was no longer the devil.

He
was my master and I belonged to him.

*Pigeon*

M
urmuring
in French, Q carried me through the house.

He
found a blanket and bundled me up, speaking tenderly, as if I’d bolt at any
moment. His touch feather-soft when he scooped me in his arms, but eyes glinted
with fierce anger. His anger petrified, but I allowed myself to be gathered,
cared for—kept safe.

In
his arms, I found comfort I craved. His heavy heartbeats soothed more than
words and I nuzzled into his neck, drowning myself in citrus and sandalwood. Q
came for me. Q wanted me.

His
guards stayed behind to deal with the bodies, and I started to tremble. Q’s
arms bunched beneath my weight, holding me closer. “It’s over. You don’t have
to fear,” he whispered. “I’ll kill anyone who hurts you.”

In
his voice, the truth blazed bright. I believed him, completely and utterly. Q
did for me what no one else had done: protected me. He fought harder than my
parents ever did, and put Brax’s strength to shame. Q came after me like I
meant the world to him, showing just how lonely and adrift I’d been.

Cold
night air refreshed as we strode from the house and Franco jumped to attention.
He opened the rear car door. Q slid in, with me still in his arms.

No
one said a word the entire drive back to the mansion. Q did nothing but hold me,
and for that, I was thankful. He let me drench his gorgeous graphite suit with
salty tears as I relived what I’d been through. He squeezed tight when my
trembling got so bad my teeth chattered. 

I
hated my stubbornness, my fight. I did this. Because of my stupidity, I ran
into a situation that broke me.

The
drive seemed both an eternity and a microsecond. When we drove up the sweeping
driveway to Q’s stunning home, he kissed my temple, murmuring, “You’re safe.”

The
two little words shot deep into my heart, irrevocably changing me. They opened
the floodgates, and everything I knew, disappeared. Everything I had been,
became nothing. The Tess who loved Brax, who fought to escape, vanished. She
wasn’t worthy of Q’s protection. Wasn’t worthy of being rescued by a man who killed
for her.

Q
was right: I was safe with him. He made it so simple. I couldn’t comprehend how
I ran before. I ran from Q’s safety, and monsters found me in the dark.

My
heart wept for what I did, and fear clutched at the thought of leaving Q’s name
on Brax’s answer machine.

I’d
been problematic and wilful, but Q claimed me anyway. He was the first to chase
me and blissful happiness warmed inside to finally have someone who wouldn’t let
me go. His reasons were flawed and wrong, but knowing he would find me settled
my mind, lending strength to deal with the rape. 

Q
did many things, but he never broke me. He offered things my body wanted
without me knowing what those things were.

He
was my home. My master. My new life.

My
past didn’t define me. The horrible rape didn’t define me.
Q
defined me
and he wanted me to be his
esclave.

Why
hadn’t I seen so clearly before? A huge weight lifted off my shoulders; I
sighed with complete submission.

Q
shifted, looking down, but I snuggled closer and didn’t look up. I had to make
it up to him. To apologise, so he never sent me away at the mercy of the world
again.

The
car rolled to a stop and Franco opened the door. Q kept me tight in his arms,
carrying me into the house.

The
moment the door closed, contentment washed over me. Home.

Suzette
skidded from the lounge. She looked at me in Q’s arms, clutching her chest with
profound relief. “
Oh, dieu,
merci
.” 

He
nodded slightly as Suzette came closer, brushing her hand over my blanket clad
body. “I’m so happy Q found you. You’re part of this family,
ami
. Don’t
run again.”

My
body twitched.
Ami.
Suzette called me her friend.

Fresh
tears sprouted for leaving her, for being so selfish. Brax didn’t need me
anymore, but Q and this new life did.

Q
rumbled a noise and strode up the stairs. Suzette watched us go. I expected Q
to take me to my room, but on the first floor he slowed, and opened a door. My
eyes widened as he carried me into the most amazing space I’d ever seen.

On
the walls were life-size stencils of a carousel: a prancing pony, a carriage, a
dancing bear, a soaring eagle. It should’ve been childish to have black and
white images of a fair ride but it gave the room elegance, a whimsical edge playing
well with the rest of the black and white theme. A four poster bed with white
lacquered posts, and silver sweeping drapes welcomed, but Q didn’t head for the
bed. He stalked to the bathroom, where iridescent tiles, double walk-in shower,
and Jacuzzi bath invited.