Tears of Tess Read online

  We didn’t walk far. We stopped and I stood with my heart thumping, waiting, waiting, waiting.

  A sharp tug on my wrists, then I was free. My shoulders ached as I brought my arms forward, rolling, working out the kinks.

  I was free.

  In a wide-open space.

  I could run.

  Someone behind removed the rope around my neck, along with the hood. I looked left and right, investigating the new surroundings.

  Three muscle men stood in a triangle around me. All in black suits, looking very Men in Black, dark haired, and rugged. The night-sky glittered with a pepper-spray of silver stars. A crescent moon sliced the black velvet. I wanted to stare in wonder.

  “Get on board,” a man ordered, eyes hidden by shades, even in the dark. His accent was thick, wrapped in masculine authority. Placing hands on my shoulders, he pushed me toward a private plane.

  The white fuselage glowed, looking sleek, modern, dripping with wealth. Initials Q.M. scrawled in fancy calligraphy on the tail and wing tips.

  Was this the man who bought me? A wealthy owner of a jet who bought women like a pair of new socks? If he was so wealthy, he didn’t need to buy willing partners… unless… I swallowed hard. Perhaps he had sick fetishes. Liked to hurt and indulge in sadistic pleasures.

  How long would I survive?

  I wasn’t about to find out.

  “Go on. Climb the steps.”

  It’s now or never, Tess.

  I bounced on the balls of my feet, pretending to obey. My body revved with energy and I pivoted in thigh-high socks. I’d always been a runner. I used to run track for school, and jogged every day on the treadmill to get in shape for the holiday with Brax.

  My body knew how to flee.

  I shut my mind off and instinct took over.

  I flew.

  The cold tarmac bit my feet as I pushed harder. Men burst into action. They’ll probably shoot. I don’t care. A bullet to the head might be a better choice.

  “Arrêt!” a man shouted, followed by “Merde!”

  I sucked air—it whistled in my lungs. I had no clue where I headed. Hangars loomed like gaping mouths. Sparkling lights of the main terminal looked like the gates of heaven, too far in the distance.

  The words Charles De Gaulle were bright and gaudy, taunting with hope and safety. Too far. I could never run that distance. Not with the suited hounds on my tail, quickly gaining traction.

  Men closed the distance and I added another burst of speed. If only I could truly fly. Perhaps I could get free.

  A cannonball of a body came from nowhere, cutting off my trajectory.

  We toppled to the ground. The tarmac grated my thigh and I cried out in agony.

  My tackler sat up, straddling me. He looked like the other guards—eyes hidden behind dark glasses, and his black suit crisp and all business.

  My chest heaved with air and regret, stabbing me with pain from my rib. I tried. I failed. The second lot of tears burned, streaking down my flushed cheeks as the man hauled me upright.

  I limped, wincing on a sprained ankle. I wanted to wail and shout. My body shackled me with yet another injury; I couldn’t outrun anyone.

  Head down and hope gone, I hobbled back to the plane under the stern grip of guard Number Four.

  I didn’t make eye contact with any of the men, and meekly climbed the steps into the private plane. The men muttered and laughed while I plonked into a white leather chair in defeat.

  I tried. I failed. I tried. I failed. It repeated, over and over.

  Don’t give up. Next time, you could win. Next time, it might work. My hands curled—I would never stop looking for a way out.

  Never.

  * * * * *

  “Get up. We’re here.” A foot prodded my swollen ankle.

  I flinched and opened my eyes. Faking sleep hadn’t worked. Every moment we flew in the height of luxury, I seethed with thoughts of how to maim the guards and take the plane hostage.

  But I didn’t do anything. I sat in the chair, like a blow up doll.

  It seemed so long ago I’d hounded Brax for more kinkiness in our love life. I’d do anything to have my old life back, my old love returned. I’d give anything for sweet and pure instead of the dark, sinister, and sadistic ownership that awaited.

  If I could press a rewind button, I would, beginning with never going to Mexico.

  I stood, and guard Number Four helped me down the plush, carpeted aisle. Coarse fingers wrapped around my burning wrists, passing me to a colleague at the bottom of the small flight of stairs. The bandage over the tattoo provided very little protection. The pain flared and itched. I hated it.

  The moment I was on the ground, I froze. We stood in the middle of a manicured, grassy airstrip, frosty with ice, dark as the depths of hell, apart from the most gorgeous manor house I’d ever seen in the distance. Subtle outdoor lighting illuminated the soft pastel creams, blues, and pinks; French architecture at its finest.

  The guard pulled my elbow and we trudged across the grass. I stumbled, stunned by incomprehensible wealth. Who could afford their own plane and mansion to house it?

  My toes were numb by the time we climbed the front steps. Four story high pillars and intricate plasterwork with cherubs and rosettes welcomed. The three-horse water fountain gurgled and trickled, looking far too perfect to belong to a man that purchased women.

  Our breath steamed in the cold as my guard rapped on the huge silver door before turning the knob and pushing me through.

  Once inside the warm embrace of the house, he took off the shades, propping them on his head. His irises were green and vivid. I searched for evilness—the same vileness from the men who’d stolen me in Mexico, but surprise radiated down my spine. His eyes were compassionate, human.

  He bowed his head, looking in front and above.

  This was it. My new beginning. My new ending.

  “Bon soir, esclave.”

  My eyes soared up to the first landing of the giant blue, velvet staircase. Massive works of art hung like armament on gold gilded walls.

  A man in a grey chequered suit, complete with black shirt, silver tie, and short dark hair watched from the landing.

  My entire body ignited as his jaw clenched. His gaze unclothed and terrified me. Everything about him screamed ruthlessness and power. He held himself proud and regal as if this was his castle and I was the latest subject.

  Our eyes locked, and something tingled across my flesh. Fear? Terror? Something inside knew he was dangerous.

  His lips twitched as I sucked in a breath. He removed hands from his pockets and placed them on the banister, his fingers long and strong, even from this distance. The way he stared became too much. I felt undone, stripped to my soul.

  I stepped back, bumping against the guard behind. He bent his head, whispering in my ear, “Say hello to your new master.”

  *Sparrow*

  The word master echoed like a bad tuning fork.

  Master. Master.

  No, he wasn’t my master. Not with his short, sleek hair and sharp widows peak. Not with his clenched, stubble-smooth jaw and trim physique. He was not my master. No one was.

  Tears pricked as I thought about Brax. He seemed a world away compared to this reality. Brax was rough and boyish, a hard worker through and through. The man, staring with pale jade eyes and an unreadable chiselled face, lived in total contrast. Power radiated like visible waves, unsettling me more than anything.

  He wasn’t the fat, repulsive bastard who used wealth to buy sex slaves. He wasn’t gross or any other monstrous things. Who is this man?

  My eyes widened, drinking him in—the owner of this house. The owner of… me. No, never.

  I didn’t care who he was, because my life belonged to me. I stuck out my chin, glaring. I wouldn’t be intimidated by wealth or stature. I didn’t care he was tall and moved like he expected the world to lick his shoes. I would never lick anything of his.

  The man never broke eye contact, ensn
aring me in his gaze. Slowly, he pushed off the banister and moved toward the stairs.

  I gulped.

  He was smooth water—effortless in refinement but just like still water, dangerous if you couldn’t swim. Deadly rips and currents lurked deep below the surface. I eyed him, trying to figure out what sick pleasures he indulged in that normal, willing women were hard to come by.

  My heart raced with every step he took, descending toward me.

  The guard pushed me forward. “Bow to your new master.”

  I tripped, but regained my footing instantly. My fists shook, I clenched them so hard. My injuries reminded me all of this was wrong. In some warped sense, it seemed innocent like the owner of the house merely welcoming a guest.

  “I have no master,” I said, putting every ounce of rebellion into the words. “Let me go.”

  The man stopped mid-step, head cocked. His fingers curled around the banister, showing manicured nails, no calluses in sight. Once again, pale eyes connected with mine, sucking my thoughts into a vacuum.

  Up till now, his face had been unreadable, but as we stared, flashes of emotion buffeted me. Anger. Interest. Annoyance. Resignation. And finally, in a blaze of jade… lust.

  My breath quickened and I tried to step back again, only to collide with the wall of the guard’s chest.

  The guard placed a hot, heavy hand between my shoulder blades and pushed, forcing me into a struggling, painful bow. “Do as you’re told.”

  So many thoughts collided. I wanted to spin and steal the gun in the holster under his arm. I wanted to shoot everyone. I wanted to slash at the gorgeous artwork and priceless artefacts around the room. Such things of beauty did not deserve to belong to a man whose goons forced a sex slave to bow.

  “Bastard,” I muttered, hating I couldn’t do any of it. All I could do was obey—for now.

  “Stop. If she doesn’t want to bow, then don’t force her.” The masculine voice reminded me of glinting steel, shaped with precision and strength. It was the sound of authority, and despite my best attempts to rebel, I bowed on my own. The sheer weight of his voice compelled obedience.

  The guard’s hand left my back. He chuckled. “If she doesn’t want to bow, perhaps she wants to crawl.”

  My back snapped upright, and I jumped a mile. My new owner stood directly in front of me. Hands in his slack pockets, head cocked slightly to the side, as if inspecting a piece of art.

  “She may crawl if she wishes,” he murmured.

  “I do not wish,” I snapped.

  Once again, our eyes connected and I searched for the evil like the men in Mexico, but he guarded himself too well. Nothing gave away what he thought, even the emotions I’d seen before were gone.

  We stood staring for moments, before the guard behind me cleared his throat. Shattering the fragile silence and condemning me to whatever would happen next.

  “Laissez-nous.” The man waved a hand toward the exit. Instantly, the guard left along with a few others I hadn’t seen lurking. The rustle of their suits sounded like a death sentence as they siphoned out the door.

  Oh, God.

  My eyes flicked to the left, where a massive library beckoned. Sultry mahogany, rich maroons, and gold bookcases. A roaring fire beckoned to read a book, and slouch in the wingback chairs huddled around the flames.

  To the right, a ginormous lounge full of comfortable designer sofas and chairs. Animal hides of zebra and tiger littered the floor, and huge glass doors reflected me standing under the bright lights of the foyer.

  The man stood an arm’s length away. Tears thickened my throat.

  I dropped my gaze, unable to look anymore. Tiredness descended, and all I wanted to do was sleep—to escape this nightmare.

  “You won’t be able to run,” he said, watching closely.

  I sucked in a breath. “Who says I’m going to run?”

  His lips, smooth and well defined against his five o’clock shadow, twitched. “I smell it on you—the scent of prey. You’re looking for a bolthole, somewhere no one can find you.” He leaned in, sending a cloud of expensive cologne around me. “You’re different, I’ll give you that. They didn’t break you, but don’t think you can fight me. You won’t win.”

  My heart seized. His tone bordered on angry. He was angry at me? I was the victim here. My chest swelled with indignation. “What do you expect? I was smuggled here. You bought me. I didn’t come freely. Of course, I want to run.”

  His body flinched and mouth pursed. “I’ll allow that one indiscretion. Push me again and you’ll wish you hadn’t.” His unusual pale green eyes dropped, intimately following my contours. He stepped forward, so close his body heat tingled. “There are things you need to understand.”

  I wanted to step back, to keep distance between us, but it would look weak. Instead, I stepped forward, practically pushing my chest against his. “The only thing I need to understand is you’re a monster who bought me. You stole my life. My loved ones.” My voice cracked, but I plundered on, “You took everything. That’s all I need to understand.”

  His hand reached to touch my cheek. I sucked in a breath as he ran the pad of a thumb along my jaw, then his eyes flashed with amazement as if shocked he’d touched me. Dropping his hand, he wrapped long fingers around my elbow. “Come with me.”

  My skin flared beneath his touch, heart raced. I twisted, trying to remove him. “Let me go.”

  Eyes seared into mine. “You are not in a position to order, slave.”

  Was it his French accent, or the word slave, making my stomach roll and toil? Nerve endings sparked with rage. Bastard. “I. Am. Not. A. Slave.”

  He slapped me, not hard, but the punishment put me in my place.

  I bit my lip, staunching the flow of unwelcome tears as he carted me into the library. With a heavy sigh, he shoved me into a wingback and sat opposite.

  I winced, but held my tongue. I didn’t want him knowing I hurt, even if he could grant me painkillers. Not that he would. He was a cold-hearted bastard who wanted broken and weak.

  Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his open legs, so close, dominating the space. Eyes searched my face again, almost imploring to know my secrets.

  Discomfort made me wriggle, and I refused to make eye contact, preferring to stare at the licking fire.

  We didn’t move and I wasn’t about to break the heavy silence. I wanted to go home.

  Taking a breath, he said, “You are mine. Through circumstances I will not discuss with you, you have come into my possession, and therefore must obey me in all things.”

  Like hell.

  “You are not permitted to use the internet, phone, or any technology of any kind. You may not speak to the staff. You may not leave the house.”

  He stood, toned muscles glided to the large wooden desk. Pulling a piece of paper free and a small black pouch, he settled back down. “My business partners didn’t say where they got you from, what languages you speak, what skills you have. You are no one—a fresh start. We will get along if you remember that.” He leaned forward again, encroaching on my space. “You are no one’s but mine. Do you understand?” Eyes flashed with excitement as he spoke, as if he loved the idea. Of course, he loved the idea. How many other women did he ruin?

  Options ran through my head. I could spit in his face. Try and knee him in the balls. Run and scream. All of those choices ended with consequences and pain.

  I stayed mute and still.

  The man dropped to his knees, pushing the chair behind in one swoop. My heart raced as he inched forward, his breath hot on my bare thighs. So soon? I hadn’t been there for ten minutes and he planned to rape me already? Shit, I couldn’t do this. I’d only ever been with Brax. Brax was my first. The one who stole my innocence and my heart.

  Breathe. Pretend you’re somewhere else.

  I gripped the arm rests as he tugged my leg onto his thigh and rolled down my socks. His fingers scorched flesh all the way down, turning my bruises and sprained ankle into pinp
oints of heat. My face scrunched and I gasped as the sock slid off my foot, leaving me bare.

  He frowned, glaring at my ankle. Swollen and hot, it looked worse than it felt, but he stared as if my bone stuck out. “Did they do this to you?” His voice was soft, heartfelt as his gaze travelled back up my leg, spotting the bruises, the abrasions, remnants of my captivity and Leather Jacket’s hospitality.

  My pulse came faster at his concern, then anger followed hot and true. “What do you care? You’ll probably do worse.”

  His eyes snapped to mine and fingers twitched on my calf. “I care, because I don’t like damaged girls. And I won’t do worse.” He lowered his voice, fingers tightening. “Unless you deserve it.” His face blazed with protectiveness, followed by heart stopping need. He seemed to battle his interest, whatever sick attraction he had for me.

  My heart raced, blood churned. I swallowed hard and waited for wandering hands, horrible fingers, but nothing happened.

  The man leaned back, removing his touch. In quick, assertive moves, he pulled a long item from the black pouch and pressed a button at the back. A bright red light flared before muting to nothing.

  Shuffling closer until an expensively clad shoulder brushed my knee, he unrolled my other sock and wrapped the item around my uninjured ankle. The cold bite of plastic made me flinch, but it didn’t stop him from tightening it. The snap of the twist tie set my heart beating, undoable but for a blade or scissors.

  He stood and sat on the edge of the wingback once finished.

  I spoke before I thought. “What is that?”

  Sitting back, he wiped hands on his trouser legs. “It’s a tracking device.” Motioning to my bare legs, he added, “If you’re uncomfortable, you may put your socks back on.”

  Ignoring the fact he’d tagged me again, like the Mexicans, I said, “They aren’t my socks. It’s what the kidnappers dressed me in.” I didn’t know what I expected by telling him, but the blank look of disinterest was not it.

  Swiping a middle fingertip along an eyebrow, he checked the time on his diamond encrusted Rolex. “That device informs me where you are at all times. See, slave, no escape.”