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  Chapter Six

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  Pimlico

  I FLINCHED FOR the fiftieth time since grudgingly accepting Tess’s request for a few more minutes of my time.

  Ha! It was more like an abduction than a request.

  The second she’d slapped her husband, she’d yanked the baby from his embrace, hoisted him onto her hip, then turned and stalked toward me. With the child squirming in one arm, she’d muttered something about needing another ten minutes to explain, then grabbed my wrist, and dragged me quick-sharp back into the house.

  What I should’ve done was keep running.

  What I should’ve done was given her the finger and refused.

  That was what Tasmin would’ve done.

  But Pim became my guiding force, slapping a gag over my lips and bowing my head in acquiescence.

  I’d returned to the French chateau, but nothing could calm my over-sensitive reactions—not sitting on one of the comfy couches in the lounge. Not the French bull dog mix that’d passed out on the rug by my feet. Not the unwavering stare of the baby boy in his green two-piece.

  I wish I’d kept running.

  Nothing Tess could say could heal the bone-deep anger inside me.

  I couldn’t look at her husband without my hands curling and fingernails imbedding themselves into my palms.

  I’d never been a violent person. Hell, I’d been a child when I was taken and still unformed into the adult I would become. But sitting in that cosy lounge with true love tainting the air and a baby chirping happily in its mother’s arms, I was a hurricane of loathing ready to unspool.

  Just as I couldn’t look at the father, I could barely look at the son.

  The baby had such an intense stare it stripped me to my marrow. That shouldn’t be possible nor could it be allowed.

  “Right then,” Tess snipped, glaring at her husband who still lurked in the foyer as if closing the front door was a mammoth task. She flashed me a worried smile. “Let’s get this mess sorted, shall we?” Bending down, she plopped the baby on the floor with a mismatch of toys, then crossed her arms and tapped her foot until the man I hated prowled into the room.

  And he did prowl.

  He moved like a predator—like something ready to tear into its prey with sharp teeth and lethal claws. In another world, I would’ve found him handsome with his dark hair and widow’s peak, his calculating eyes and iciness that only true killers carried.

  But now, I merely despised him.

  His eyes narrowed as he rubbed his red cheek bright with her palm print. “Care to tell me why you slapped me, esclave?”

  My ears twitched at the word. What did that mean and why did Tess shiver when he said it?

  As quickly as she’d shivered, she turned into a statue, pointing a finger in his face. “You stupid man.”

  His face turned black. “Pardon moi?”

  “You heard me. You’re a moron. An idiot.”

  “I suggest you stop calling me names, Tess. Otherwise, I’ll give you plenty of others to scream.” He didn’t look my way. He didn’t apologise for the heavy sexual undertones. He didn’t care in the slightest that I watched in my red and blue ballgown on their couch.

  Before my father died, my parents had had their fair share of domestics.

  But this...this was on a different level, and it wasn’t the words they used but the fierce passion in which they wielded them. I’d often heard my mother say only the finest line existed between love and hate.

  And these two...they’d blurred that line into something passionately crucifying.

  “I can’t believe you, Q. How many times did I say to check all the facts? To not let what happened to me dictate your choices and overrule common sense?”

  “Don’t you dare lecture me, woman. Especially on something you have no fucking right to—”

  “Watch your language.” She threw a quick look at her child who slobbered on a cream teddy bear.

  “Watch what you accuse me of.” Her husband stalked closer, his head lowered, watching her from shadowed eyes. “You know I don’t do well with slurs, Tess.”

  “It’s not a slur if it’s true! You screwed up. Just like I said you would if you didn’t stop to listen!”

  “Oh, I listen,” Q seethed. “And I’m listening well to this conversation so I can use it as punishment later when I prove you have no right to scream—”

  “No one is screaming.”

  He chuckled as black as hell. “You will be.”

  My mouth fell open.

  It was as if I didn’t exist.

  Who were these people who blatantly flaunted whatever kink they were into with no regard to my opinions? Then again, I was a stranger. Why did my opinions matter?

  I was no one to them and was being treated as such.

  I cleared my throat, hoping to remind them that I might not use my voice currently, but I most certainly used my ears.

  Tess spun to look at me, her hand flying wildly—gesturing as if I’d saved her from a tangent and reminded her of the point. “Her! I’m talking about her.”

  Q directed blistering eyes on me. “What about her? She’s safe. Why didn’t you dress her in something her old master hasn’t destroyed?” His gaze dropped to my torn bodice and the flash of skin beneath. “For God’s sake, woman. Have you forgotten the protocol when a new guest arrives?”

  I wanted to stab him. I wanted to shoot him. Let me drug and kill him and see how he likes it.

  Tess snorted. “Bah! Nothing about this is following protocol, Q. And it’s all your fault.”

  “My fault?” He stiffened like a scorpion about to strike.

  “Yes, yours!” Tess was unfazed by the sheer power rolling off him. “Tell me what happened last night.”

  His eyebrow rose. He shot me a quick glance. “Nothing you need concern yourself with.”

  “Everything I need to concern myself with because it turns out you shot someone.”

  He laughed again. “Come now, esclave, that can’t be what this is about. I shoot all the cunts who possess—”

  “And I thank you for that. The slaves thank you for that. The world thanks you. Shit, even the police thank you.”

  “So what’s the problem, mon amour?”

  Tess’s gaze immediately lost its blue spitfire, warming at the mention of being his love. “The problem is, maître, you shot an innocent man.”

  “What are you talking about?” He crossed his arms.

  “I’m saying you didn’t listen. Didn’t see. Didn’t believe what she was telling you.” Her shoulders slouched as the crackle of their argument faded. “Tell me what happened last night with...” Sighing, she looked at me. “I’m sorry. I never did get your name.”

  Tess might’ve frustrated me in the library, but she’d proven to be on my side. She’d gone to battle against her own family for me. She deserved at least something to call me by even if it wasn’t my true address. In reality, my slave name was my real identity anyway. “Pimlico.”

  “Right, of course. Pimlico.” She repeated it as if she’d known all along and embraced me as a soul sister. Returning her attention to her husband, she asked, “Did Pimlico tell you she loved the man you shot last night?”

  Q froze. “What?”

  “Answer the question, yes or no.”

  He scowled. “You know how many have professed the same thing, Tess. If they’ve been captive for long enough, tormented long enough, they all snap in the end. It’s human nature to fold and fit into the current existence if constant fighting and refusal haven’t worked.”

  Tess paced in front of him, reminding me how Elder couldn’t stand still when venting his temper. Q, on the other hand, remained deathly calculating and unmovable.

  “And what did the man say? Before you shot him?” Tess threw me an apologetic glance as if she could atone for her lover hurting mine.

  “He said she was his and not to touch her.”

  “That’s a lie,” I h
issed.

  Both of them locked eyes on me before I could slap a hand over my mouth. I hadn’t meant to intervene, but I couldn’t let the truth stay untold.

  Silence fell, begging me to fill it. I swallowed and spoke loud and clear with my chin held high and my heart singing with loyalty. “He said he loved me, too. That you were making a huge mistake.”

  “Huge fucking mistake, I believe were his words of choice,” Q muttered. “But once again, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. They all say that when I come to take away their property.”

  “I wasn’t his property.” I bristled. “I meant something to him.”

  “And you think property means nothing to men like him?” Q looked at me as if I knew nothing of the world and needed teaching, fast. “That he didn’t value you or even love you in some twisted way? Of course, he did. You were worth everything to him because with you he could be free. He could embrace the creature he truly was and no longer hide. He could hurt you behind closed doors—take you however he damn well wanted—and no one would know. He could be the monster he forever denied himself.” His voice cracked as if he spoke from aching experience.

  Shaking his head, he spat, “Enough. I don’t have the patience for this.” Glowering at his wife, he added, “You were the one who wanted to be in charge of rehabilitation, Tess. You agreed that you’d help heal their minds while I saved their bodies. Don’t drag me into one of your therapy sessions—”

  Tess screeched under her breath as if she couldn’t stand his obtuseness. I honestly didn’t know how she had the patience to deal with him—let alone marry him. “You don’t get it. Normally, you’re right. Normally, you would’ve done the right thing. But this time...instead of listening, truly listening...you painted everyone with the same brush. You only saw an abused slave professing her love for a man who repeated her sentiments—same as before but not the same, Q. This time, it wasn’t a lie. This time it was real and instead of seeing that...you destroyed it.”

  Slowly, the black disapproval on Q’s face faded. He gave me a look bordering aloof uncaring and desperate apology.

  Tess continued, “You fucked up, my love. And we need to fix it. If it’s even possible.”

  His gaze snapped to hers. His lips parted, and a stream of French erupted.

  My ears throbbed with the bruised romance falling from his mouth, threading with argument, demanding more proof perhaps, giving himself more time before fully accepting his crimes.

  My heart searched for a translator, clutching at phrases I could never spell let alone remember to look up later. Whatever they spoke about, their feet guided them closer until their hands reached for each other and their matching tension evaporated as if touching reminded them they were on the same side. That they were together, regardless if Elder and I were.

  They still have each other.

  And that butchered me to be so alone and lost and absolutely terrified that Elder hadn’t survived what this man had done to him.

  Angry, hot tears glassed my vision as I struggled not to cry. Tess might forgive him, but I never could. My body wracked with silent sobs and I did everything I could to stay stoic on their couch, but as their voices switched to decibels full of love and forgiveness, my lip wobbled, and I gave up the fight.

  Covering my face with my hands, I sank teeth into my traitorous lip and gagged on salty tears.

  I will not cry.

  I will not cry.

  My eyes somehow managed to obey, but my body continued to sob. My shoulders quaking silently. My screamed despair once again mute.

  Blind to the two people putting on a performance before me, my ears twitched as Tess switched French for English, “The day you met me, you didn’t let prior interactions twist who I truly was. You saw me that day, maître. Now, I’m asking you to see Pimlico and her situation without the mess of the past few decades.”

  I glanced up as Tess looked at her baby on the carpet then linked her arm through Q’s to guide him closer to me. The dog raised its head, wagging its tail before snuggling back into slumber.

  No one spoke.

  No one breathed.

  We only stared and studied and tried to see each other as people and me not the victim of the men he hunted or him the instrument of my heartbreak.

  Q stood before me and looked, truly looked. The stripping back of who I was hurt as he took in my dress, my hair, my face, my penny bracelet tinkling quietly on my wrist whenever I moved.

  Finally, he sighed. “I believe my wife. I didn’t study you last night, but now...it’s obvious.”

  Before I could ask what was obvious, he waved his hand. “Your wounds are old; your scars are healed. You look like a girl who’s been rescued months ago—still damaged but not on the brink of destruction.” His gaze fell on my penny bracelet. “Slaves are permitted gifts, but it’s normally something the master gains equal pleasure from. That bracelet...it’s from him, isn’t it?”

  My stomach hollowed out as I cupped the diamond inlaid circlet, my mind full of Elder and the Phantom and every moment I’d fallen in love with him. I didn’t know what to say so stayed silent, but gave a single nod—an acceptance of his white flag, an acknowledgement that my hate might never go away but I was strong enough to be civil.

  “Somehow, I doubt he only thought of your worth in pennies.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if a headache suddenly skewered him. “He probably called you his Dollar Duchess or something just as sickening. He probably showered you with gifts because he was so in love with you. Fuck...” Looking at the ceiling, he murmured, “Je suis désolé, Pimlico. It seems I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  My ears rang, disbelieving that this man who’d destroyed my life yesterday apologised so heartfelt today.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  He could be as regretful as anyone, but it wouldn’t bring Elder back. It wouldn’t reincarnate the dead if his shot had been true and Elder’s life stolen.

  Tess gave me a look as if begging me to absolve him. As if this man would care what I thought.

  But I couldn’t.

  Not yet.

  And never if Elder was dead.

  If he was alive and we were reunited, then maybe, possibly, hopefully in the future I could let go of my loathing.

  But not right now.

  Dipping my chin, I wrapped my arms around my waist, flinching as my pennies tinkled, and Q winced as if I’d physically slapped him. Wrenching his arm from Tess’s hold, he reached into his back pocket and held out a glossy black cell phone. “Call him. I know where I shot him. I was too far to the right. I didn’t hit his heart. It wouldn’t have been my bullet to kill him—” He bent closer, urging me to take his phone. “Please, call him. Let me fix this.”

  I sat frozen.

  It wouldn’t have been my bullet to kill him.

  That might’ve been true, but he hadn’t finished that sentence. He hadn’t added who else would’ve killed Elder. If he hadn’t arrived when he did, the Chinmoku would’ve killed Elder without a doubt. Q had been the Grim Reaper’s servant who’d arrived to kill what was mine but somehow saved his life instead.

  He could’ve held that over me. He could’ve reminded me that I’d been in the clutches of yet more peril and Elder slowly dying.

  But he didn’t.

  He stood there accepting full responsibly when really...the blame wasn’t entirely on his shoulders. If anything, he deserved my thanks.

  I choked on the idea of an apology. I wasn’t in the right place to do such a thing but, perhaps, I could stop cursing him so much.

  “S'il vous plaît.” He dropped the phone onto my skirts. “Call him.”

  The oddest sensation of ludicrous laughter bubbled in my chest. How awfully coincidental—how similar to the first night with Elder when he’d offered his cell phone to call my mother and her line had been discontinued.

  Now, I had the means to call Elder and didn’t know his number.

  Fate’s cruel joke.

 
Q pursed his lips. “You don’t know how to contact him...do you?”

  I shook my head, the bubbles of crazed laugher fading inside. “Not by phone. No.”

  “How then?”

  I looked up. “His yacht.”

  “The Phantom?”

  “Yes.” Glancing at Tess, her child, then back to Q, I added, “Find out where the Phantom is. Send a radio call. His captain, Jolfer, will answer. I know he will.”

  My thoughts left the couch, the chateau, galloping into scenarios.

  Of Jolfer saying Elder was dead.

  Of Jolfer saying I no longer had a home.

  Of Jolfer saying...he’s alive.

  Of Jolfer saying Elder had figured out who Q Mercer was and was coming for me.

  The laugher bubbles returned full force. I let a few escape as I glanced at Q with almost pity.

  He scowled, tilting his head. “What is it?”

  “If what you say is true and Elder is alive—and I very much hope he is—I suspect you’ll find he’s closer than you think.”

  Q frowned. “He is close. He’s in England.”

  “Wrong.” I let the hope in my heart blossom, giddy with the anticipation of seeing Elder and apprehension at what he would do when he found me.

  This happy family. This man who pumped lead into my lover. True love was a fiendish defender and didn’t take attempted murder lightly.

  Where would I stand?

  Defending them for Q’s strange role in saving my virtue and Elder’s future or standing by and permitting Elder to beat him bloody?

  I didn’t know yet.

  I wouldn’t know until I heard the blessed words...he’s alive.

  For now, all I could do was deliver a warning. A hint that Elder held karma highly, and it wouldn’t matter that Q had helped defeat the Chinmoku.

  He’d taken me.

  That was punishable by agony.

  Holding Q’s green eyes, I murmured, “If he’s breathing, I’d bet you my life he’s already in France.”

  Chapter Seven

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