Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark) (20 page)

“Q…”

A minute ticked past, then five, then ten. Finally, his back straightened. He smoothed his hair with shaky hands, looking up. His face was colourless, eyes wild and deadly. “I’m out of my mind.” His lips curled in a cold smile. “I’m—God, I don’t even know anymore.”

I’d never seen him so lost—so threatening but unsure. His gaze begged me to forgive him while his body stiffened with self-hatred.

“You’re not out of your mind.”

Q snarled, “I am.” He punched himself in the chest. “How else do you explain my reasoning to do what I just did? How
could
I? To you—my God, Tess, you’ve already been through so much without me putting you through more. Fuck!” He punched the mattress, his knuckles pounding the sheets.

I shifted closer, welcoming the heat of his anger. “Whatever you were trying to do, it was for the right reasons.”

Q snorted, looking manic. “The right reasons? And what if I can’t remember it? What if I got so caught up, I let you think they’d come back for you? What sort of fucked-up bastard does that?” He shook his head, breaking eye contact. “You don’t know what it felt like. Having you fight me—truly
, truly
fight me. You were so fucking fierce, and I wanted nothing more than to take you hard.”

His hand fell to grip between his legs. “I want you so fucking bad,
esclave
. It’s tearing me up inside to even admit that—admit to wanting to take you by force, especially after what happened today.”

His lips pursed; he shook his head with weighty sadness.
“Les bonnes raisons ...merde...”
The right reasons…shit…

 My heart rabbited at the immense pain in his voice. Whatever he’d been trying to do, I hated to think of him so lost. He had blood on his hands for me. It was a debt I would never be able to repay. If he wanted to take me—to crave the lust inside—then I’d let him.

Cursing my bound hands—needing to hold him and offer forgiveness, I inched closer. “Tell me. What were you going to do?”

He laughed suddenly; it was laced with dark disbelief. “That’s the screwed-up thing. I didn’t have a complete plan. I was working on instinct—trying to help you.” His eyes locked onto mine. “I want to fix you.”

My heart softened, weeping at his confession. “You
are
fixing me. Every day you’re helping by being you. You have to believe in yourself.”

Q muttered something. I didn’t push him to repeat, and the room fell into a hushed silence once again.

Another block of time passed while we sat in our own thoughts.

Q finally said, “No matter how many ideas I chase, they all lead back to one.” Sitting taller, he straightened his shoulders. “If I said I might have a way to stop your nightmares, would you let me do it?” He stared hard, eyes probing deep. “Would you trust me, even though I can’t promise I can control myself? Would you still let me try?”

I didn’t need to contemplate. We both knew we were at the end. There would be no going forward unless we accepted our demons and began working together to abolish them. We’d been kidding ourselves up to this point—believing in a future that didn’t exist.

My voice rang true. “Absolutely.”

Q sighed heavily. “You give me too much, Tess.”

“I’ve given you my soul.” I shrugged to show how little it truly was. “It’s yours, Q, because I’ve taken yours in return.”

His mouth stayed silent, but his eyes let me glimpse just how tortured and savage he truly was. He had a personal vendetta against my nightmares. Whatever he had in mind wouldn’t be conventional, approved, or even safe, but confidence slowly replaced my panic.

If I said yes, it would be exactly as if I’d been taken all over again. Two options: live or die. Survive or give-up.

Q took a deep breath. Unfolding himself from the bed, he stood on long muscular legs, dressed in tailored black.
“Tu me fais confiance, esclave?”
Do you trust me,
esclave?

The question was loaded with so much unsaid. I
did
trust him. But there was still part of me that feared him.

“Yes,” I whispered.

Q’s hands curled. “Another lie. But if you let me, I’ll turn it into a truth.”

My heart picked up its beat. There would be no turning back. No admitting we’d made a mistake. Just like when Q let me whip him, this would either fix us for good or ruin us forever.

Please…let me survive
.
Please let Q survive.

“I believe you.”

I wanted to be free of the past. To cut ourselves from the tethers of madness and horror. To start our marriage completely free.

Q’s face tightened with barely concealed rage. “I want to take you back. I want to give you peace. I want us to find each other in our own perfect unsullied darkness.”  His eyes glowed with passion. Despite how hard this would be for him, he vowed to set aside his needs purely to fix me.

Regardless if he would be able to do it—I would let him try.

I nodded, ignoring the flash of panic in my heart. I was so fragile. Q had every power to break me for eternity. Break my soul, my mind, splinterize my entire existence.

I hope he does.

My eyes widened.

I hope he smashes everything away.

Maybe Q had the power to eradicate my cracks and fissures—demolishing everything I was in favour of a brand new me—making me blissfully complete.

Q moved, motioning for me to come closer. I used momentum to jump from my knees to feet; my legs cramped from kneeling. My wrists stayed locked together as I traversed the small distance.

The moment I got close, his strong hands landed on my waist. His touch was a threat. His touch was a promise.

His head bowed, lips coming within millimetres of mine. “I’m going to have to make you believe in order to make you free. Do you understand?”

Not really. But I nodded. The freedom of putting myself completely into his control was beautiful.

“Everything I do, even if I lose myself along the way, remember I love you so fucking much. I’m doing this for you. And afterward…I’m going to make you my wife.”

My heart sprouted wings and for a moment I felt like a sparrow escaping a hunter’s net. His promises made me shudder with longing. I wanted that. God, how I wanted that.

Q nuzzled my nose with his, such a sweet gesture—so tame and normal. My stomach twisted into untieable knots. “If there was another way, I’d do it, but I can’t see one. This is our crescent-moon, Tess. It’s more important than any honeymoon; it’s about us fighting our demons, so they don’t taint our future.”

Pulling back, his pale eyes locked with mine, ensnaring me, sending my heart whirling. “You and me. We need this.” His accented voice was hoarse and impassioned and swept up with promises. Q was right.

We needed this.

More than we knew.

“I’m yours for however long you need,
maître
.”

He chuckled softly. “You’re mine for eternity,
esclave
. But the next few days belong to putting our monsters to rest.”

He pulled away, holding up his hand. Wrapped in his fingers was a black length of fabric. His eyebrow rose as he dangled the blindfold. “Ready?”

No.

Yes.

I don’t know.

I sucked in a breath.

I nodded.

Permission granted.

Q attacked me.

I never knew how Q got me out of the hotel without rousing suspicion. I never knew if he wrapped me in a sheet or dressed me in clothes or carried me out naked. I would never find out how he orchestrated something so terrible all in the name of love.

All I knew was horror.

Cold, aching, howling horror.

He’d told the truth about making me believe. The moment he launched, I forgot everything we’d just agreed and drowned. Drowned in fear, memories, the horrible past.

I couldn’t stop from fighting.

I was incapacitated from fighting.

Q gave himself over to his monsters, embracing the role of kidnapper. We stepped into our nightmares, letting them swallow us whole.

“Stop squirming and I won’t hurt you,” he hissed in my ear, sounding entirely swallowed by darkness.

I tried to reply but he stuffed a gag into my mouth, obliterating my cries.

My mind jumped into insanity. My lungs grasped for useless air.

Together we spiralled into a void.

The tower I’d knocked down so many times shot into formation, giving me no choice but to step aside and let the large, circular prison segment my mind. It crumbled upright, reversing its demise to rise from the dust of its foundations, soaring high.

Q’s fingers wrapped around my throat, clutching my windpipe.

The tower beckoned, waving flags of safety, serenity.
No!

Q squeezed, accelerating my hyperventilation.

The need to hide was an unbearable call. The single door in the tower swung wide, hinting at solitude and silence.

I took a step toward sanctuary. Toward temptation. I wanted to shut off completely.

Q was no longer my master. He was my nightmare.

His lips descended on my ear, delivering the final blow. “Welcome to my kingdom. I’m going to make you scream.”

My mind raced for the tower, but it was too late.

Q’s fingers cut off my air. Black spots danced, blending with the blindfold. My vision succumbed and I surrendered to the dark.

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.