Lynx laughed. “You aren’t in the position to tell me what I can and can’t do. You’re going to die, Mercer, but at least you won’t be alone in hell for long. She’ll be joining you soon enough.” The knife pricked my cock again. “Pity for you, you won’t have a dick to use when you see her again.”
“Ne pas la toucher. Vous ne pouvez pas la toucher.” Don't touch her. You can't touch her.
“Speaking in French doesn’t work on a Spaniard, idiot.” He removed the blade. “Cover him.”
I sucked in gulp of air as the wet towel descended over my face. My heart bucked with terror. I had to warn Franco, Frederick. I had to get Tess to safety. She wouldn’t die because of me. She wouldn’t!
“Begin,” Dante ordered.
The cascade started anew, drowning me with the aid of a simple cloth.
My lungs turned to fire. Seconds flew toward minutes as more and more water cascaded. I forced myself not to suck in the towel, desperate for breath.
Unconsciousness tried to claim me but I fought it. I couldn’t. Tess!
But no matter how hard I held on, my brain shut down, body jerked; I died with every pour.
My life didn’t exist apart from the black water-world. My thoughts scrambled. Tess. Air. Tess. Air.
I wanted both in equal measure. I wanted to run. I wanted to be free.
Tess morphed into being. Her gorgeous blonde curls, her all seeing blue-grey eyes. A halo of light appeared behind her, fading her from view as my heart threw itself toward its last beat.
Tess, run. Please.
Her presence never left me as a wave of heavy water splashed over me. I toppled on the edge, gasping, choking. Lynx overestimated my lung capacity—hurtling me toward death.
The last torrent of liquid was my demise.
Don’t give up. You can’t. I owed it to Tess to stay alive. I had to protect her. I had to be there for her always.
“Come with me, Q. Let go. It’s better this way.” The illusion grabbed me by the hands, dragging me forward. I didn’t want to go, but I had no choice.
My body gave up. Suffocated of air it shut down—snipping my life-force free from pain.
The agony faded, inch by inch, ache by ache, until I felt nothing.
Nothing but weightlessness…nothingness.
Sounds faded. The strain in my lungs no longer mattered.
Life tiptoed away from me, taking with it any promise of happiness I might’ve found by marrying my soul-mate.
But my soul-mate wanted me to leave with her. Her golden hand outstretched, glowing with welcome light. She wanted me to leave this black cold place.
I could be with her forever.
I want to be with you forever, esclave.
“Then let go. I’m waiting.”
I didn’t think why she appeared when she was living not dead. I didn’t stop to ponder how she found me. All I knew was what I wanted. And I wanted her.
I let go. I went to her. I obeyed my esclave.
Dying was such a simple thing.
I felt no guilt, no terror, no worries. Only acceptance for something I couldn’t change.
Darkness came for me.
My golden girl stuttered out.
The light she’d teased me was gone.
The sun turned to an eclipse and…I fell. Like an unwanted star I fell from the promise of heaven and plummeted to where I belonged.
Falling, falling.
Falling.
I fell straight into hell.
Chapter Thirteen
Matching darkness, mirroring light, truth and love we took flight,
one esclave and one maître, no longer captive or thief, just perfect certainty and belief
Franco’s phone rang.
I froze. Instincts screamed, slicing sharp fingernails of panic down the chalkboard of my spine.
The car turned from saviour, rushing us to Q’s aid, to a decaying coffin.
“Don’t—”
Franco glanced over, his vivid eyes dulling with horror. “I have no choice.” Shoving his uninjured hand into his trouser pocket, he pulled out the chiming doom.
Don’t let it be. Don’t.
We were almost there. The plane ride had driven me crazy—I would’ve sold my heart to be teleported or something to get us there faster. We’re so close!
It won’t be. It can’t be.
I couldn’t breathe as Franco held the phone to his ear. His face went deadly white. Not uttering a word, he passed the cell to me.
My fingers turned to ice-cubes; all I wanted to do was hurl the phone from the car window, smashing the bad news before it could be made real.
It’s not true.
He’s fine.
The phone was a vulture stealing my happiness as I placed it to my ear.
“Tess?” Frederick’s voice echoed all the way from Paris.
My heart went from beating to nothing. His tone said all I needed to know. I couldn’t move. Locked in my chair, I became a statue of grief.
Frederick sucked in a shaky breath. “You there? Tess?”
I knew.
I knew why he called. It didn’t matter we were ten minutes away. It didn’t matter we had an army behind us. It didn’t fucking matter. None of it.
Because my maître was gone.
I’d felt it.
An empty hollowness inside—gaping wide, cavernous.
“Don’t, Frederick.”
A long pause. No one spoke, breathed, lived. The world shut down forever.
“I’m so sorry, Tess…the frequency. It stopped.”
My heart replicated his words—turning from living to stone. The dawn on the horizon mocked me with a new beginning when I no longer had one.
My finger went to the reject button, cutting the call just as Frederick whispered, “He’s dead.”
He’s dead.
He’s gone.
He left without me.
Very slowly with infinite control, I passed the phone to Franco. He took it, brushing his fingers with mine. “Tess…”
I recoiled. I didn’t want anyone touching me. No one. Never again. Loving was a weakness. Touch was an annihilation. Q had destroyed me.
He’s gone.
The words pierced my heart with a thousand needles, puncturing my soul. He’s gone.
Everything inside—all the goodness, happiness, hopefulness…everything shrivelled up. My will to live turned to black ash, sifting from my pours like dirty rain. Everything I’d been through. It’d all been pointless.
He fucking left me.
Bastard.
Anger was better than grief. It filled the cavernous hole, giving me something to latch onto.
The toll had taken its final debt. In return for Q’s fortune, I’d been taxed too high. I’d been turned into a destitute widow.
He’s dead.
“Tess, it’s—” Franco gathered me in his arms, tugging me into his muscular bulk. I wanted to attack him. I couldn’t control the rapidly heating, freezing, churning, storm gathering inside.
I was sad. Then angry. Then weak. Then furious.
Shoving Franco away, I snarled, “Don’t touch me.”