“Fine! Let’s go.” Shoving the asshole away, I strode toward the door—cursing the burn in my leg, doing my best not to limp like a dog about to be put down.
“Where the fuck are you going?” the man yelled.
Stopping, I crossed my arms. Hoping my cocky nonchalant attitude would piss them off. I was still in fucking control. As much as they thought otherwise. “You want me. Fine. I’ll come with you. But not here. Not like this. You leave her alone, and I won’t fight. You can have your fucking vengeance.”
Tess screamed, “No! Q—don’t. You can’t! Don’t leave me.”
My heart hurt worse than the bullet in my leg. Walking away from her would be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I wouldn’t put her through anymore. I wouldn’t ruin her mind any more than I already had. I’d done what I needed. She would be okay. In time.
Franco shouted in a ream of French, but I tuned them out. I didn’t need to hear their pleas—this was the only way. Three lives instead of one.
It was a good trade.
My eyes locked with hers. My lungs stopped working at the horror pinching her face. “Pardonne-moi, Tess. Sache que je t'aime jusqu'à la fin des temps et je te retrouverai si ce n’est pas dans cette vie ce sera dans la prochaine.” Forgive me, Tess. Know that I love you till the end of time, and I’ll find you again, if not in this life, then in the next.
Tess’s eyes dried from tears, burning with terrible anger. Her face flushed as she shoved the man away. “Non! Je ne te laisse pas partir. Pas maintenant. Pas après tout!” No! I won’t let you go. Not now. Not after everything!
I wondered if she knew she spoke in French. She was so fierce, her tongue lilting over the language as if she was born to it.
The leader seemed lost for words but the moment I tore my eyes from Tess and opened the door, he leapt into action. Stalking toward me, he pointed at the unconscious man I’d attacked, ordering his troops, “Pick him up. We’re leaving.”
I paused for one last moment before I was shoved out the door—carted away from any happiness I might’ve found.
Please let me see her again.
Tess stood frozen on a sea of white carpet looking part-angel, part-goddess, totally lost and heartbroken.
She shook her head, disbelief bright. “Q—please!”
My heart stayed behind with her—I didn’t need it where I was going.
Au revoir. Goodbye.
The door swung closed.
I might have given in to protect Tess, but I wouldn’t die for nothing.
I would take as many down with me as possible.
I would die with their blood on my tongue.
Chapter Eleven
Intertwined, tangled, knotted forever, our souls will always be twisted together,
our demons, our monsters belong to the other,
Bow to me, I bow to thee, now we are free
It couldn’t be real.
It can’t.
I didn’t believe it.
I don’t!
The instant the door clicked, blocking me from Q, I felt adrift. Broken. Missing the matching piece of my soul.
I couldn’t handle the amputation of something so fundamental. I couldn’t think straight—my mind kept me frozen, replaying the gunshot, the beating, the never ending sentence of horror: Your fucking life of course.
They meant to kill him. He left so I wouldn’t see. He left to protect me. Always protecting me regardless of his own safety.
Rage.
I’d never felt such a complex mix of rage and absolute helplessness. I should run after them! Go!
I gripped my hair, tugging it hard. My heart thundered, shooting agony through my chest. All instincts said to find a weapon and go. But I had to think clearly.
They’re going to kill him!
There was nothing clear about that.
Go! I couldn’t not go after them. Even though I was utterly useless—an emotional wreck at the upheaval of my close-to-perfect life. Fate had once again took everything—reminding me I was penniless even though Q made me so wealthy.
I couldn’t stand by and let the toll strip me bare. I wouldn’t let Q sacrifice himself. I was going after them. Balling my hands, I ran toward the door.
“Tess. Wait!”
My head whipped around, eyes locking onto a bloody man struggling to his feet.
Franco! Holy hell, I’d completely forgotten about him. Slamming to a halt, I wavered between the door and helping the one man who might be able to save me. He’d been with Q when they hunted for me. He’d have resources, knowledge.
I refused to look away from the door—the horrible door blocking me from the love of my life as he was marched away with a bullet in his thigh.
Another lacerating pain flashed through my stomach at the thought of anything happening to him. It couldn’t. Not to Q. I wouldn’t let it.
He can’t die! Not now.
Then help Franco. He’s your only hope.
Anger heated my body at the realization of my own mortality. I could chase after the men, try to be heroic and leap on their backs and cry and scream…but ultimately all I’d achieve was Q being shot sooner and me joining him.
“Come help me up,” Franco ordered. “Whatever’s going through your head—stop it. It’s not as bad as you think.” His deep voice slapped me out of my disbelieving haze, dragging me back to earth.
Clutching my dress, I whirled around. “Not as bad as I think? Not as bad!” I stalked toward him. “They took him, Franco. They stole him from my arms and shot him.” My eyes burned but no tears fell. I wanted to scream until my throat bled. I wanted to kill every single last one of those bastards who’d taken what I couldn’t live without.
I can’t do this.
You must.
Everything Q had done for me—to make me whole again—teetered close to cracking. My tower that I’d smashed after Tenerife shivered with its broken bricks, trying to rise from its ashes to claim me.
But I wouldn’t let it. Not this time. This time I wouldn’t be a victim. This time I would win.
Franco manoeuvred his body, hobbling to a knee. A rush of guilt swarmed at not helping him, but I stood concreted to the carpet. So many things inside. So many conflicting, terrible responses as my body and mind battled with what to do.
I’d never felt this way. This lost, angry, terrified kind of way. As a victim, the choice to fight was stripped the moment I was captured. But as the one left behind I had choices, decisions—hope.
But then fear struck, crushing that hope. What if I made the wrong decision? What if I trusted Franco to help but the window of time to get Q back was already gone? I played roulette with Q’s life depending on the decision I made.
Action.
I needed to do something.
But being a statue was all I seemed capable of as scenarios rushed through my head, all ending in horrific ways.
Chasing after Q to find a bullet lodged in his forehead in the lobby.
Not chasing after Q to find they’d sent a ransom note and it would be a simple matter of an exchange.
Chasing after Q only to watch him be tortured—all because of me.
They took him because of me.
“Oh, my God.” Why hadn’t I seen it? I was so stupid. I’d done this. I’d ruined his life. Destroyed it. Demolished it. A sob began, building in girth and volume until I knew I’d explode into pieces if I let it go.