Monsters in the Dark

by Winters, Pepper

  She dumped it all between my splayed and bound legs.

  Her eyes evolved from dove-grey to icy blizzard, glittering with hatred. She no longer looked at me from the eyes of my esclave—my Tess. She morphed into a complete stranger. A woman with a vendetta, a wish for death and destruction.

  I nodded in response to her harsh breathing. “Wherever you are, Tess, don’t hold back. Relive what happened, face your demons, inflict whatever you need to on me.” I might’ve sounded strong, but inside I was back to being a fucking boy who buried his mother and shot his father. I felt so alone. Always alone.

  Her eyes closed, and a cape of horror came over her. Her energy changed from weak and closed off to ferocious and angry, so, so angry. “You made me do so many things. And yet you think you can order me again?”

  Oh, shit. She’d left me. Her mind had regressed—she’d done exactly what I told her.

  She sneered, picking up a thick paddle, running it along the inside of my thigh.

  I didn’t mean to move. I meant to stay frozen and let her re-enact whatever she needed to, but the beast inside couldn’t do it. I struggled, jerking my wrists, wincing as the rope dug deeper.

  “You think you can get away? You can’t. Not after what you made me do. Not after everything.” She picked up a whip in the other hand, brandishing both. “Would you prefer radiating pain or sharp pain?”

  My eyes hardened, realizing I’d asked her the exact same thing when I placed her on the cross. I knew she didn’t mean to sound creepy as fuck, but she looked like a little wind up doll asking me which murder weapon I preferred.

  How much longer must I endure this agony?

  As long as it takes for her to come back to me.

  I snarled. “Anything. Fucking use anything if it means you’ll use something.”

  She didn’t flinch at my rage. Her head bowed as anger flushed her cheeks. “You always were an asshole. Telling me to hit and maim and kill. But you never let me choose the weapon before.” Her eyes snapped to mine. She snarled, “Use the baton, little girl. Pull the trigger, bitch.” She cocked her head as her arm flew high, holding the paddle. “Let’s see how you fucking like it.”

  She struck.

  The paddle slapped against my jean-clad thigh and I tensed, rippling with anxiety. The power behind the strike was nothing but a fucking bug bite, but the fact I willingly let her strike me made me die a little inside.

  She reached out, patting where she hit me. Her smile was pure maliciousness. “Did I do it right? You were always telling me I didn’t do it hard enough. Bite harder, little girl. Scratch deeper, bitch. Never satisfied.”

  I couldn’t do this. You can. Staring at the dark red canopy above, I yelled, “No, you didn’t do it fucking right.” This was wrong. It wouldn’t help her. She’d obviously lost herself too deep. I couldn’t save this woman in front of me—not like this. “Tess, this was a mista—”

  The sharp wallop on my thigh came from nowhere; my eyes popped wide. Tess breathed hard, pointing the paddle like a gun. “Is that how you like it?” She hit me again. Fire building in her gaze, nursing the hatred, the fear she’d lived with for so many weeks.

  I stopped breathing. Was I seeing what I wanted to see, or was it the truth?

  That spark. The flare. The ice blue smouldering to soulful grey.

  “Yes,” I murmured even though my answer was fucking hell no. I hated it. Hated being strung up. Every cell in my body hated it, but this was the woman I loved. This was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

  “Hit me again, esclave.” My hands curled into fists; I gasped as she delivered another stinging wallop. She hit me hard across my stomach and I tensed, clenching against the pain.

  “Always orders with you. Do you know I wished to kill you so many times? Every second of every day I existed in a drugged stupor, I thought of ways to exterminate you.”

  My heart raced. Tess no longer saw me. She no longer knew where she was nor cared. Her mind had cracked, and I was both elated and petrified.

  “You like it when I hurt for you? You like it when I take orders from you?” Her voice raised an octave. “You like it when I kill for you?”

  What the fuck? She killed for them? They broke her by making her commit murder? Everything that happened in the last few weeks suddenly made sense. How she avoided all human contact. She stopped feeling. Stopped reacting.

  She took a human life. That did something deep inside. It irreversibly changed a person forever.

  Fuck, I would never get her back. I knew the darkness of taking a life. I could live with it—the darkness was part of who I was—but Tess… she was never meant to be such a monster.

  Her arm swung, putting her entire body weight behind the strike. Her body twisted, her face scrunched as she belted me across the groin.

  Holy, fucking fuck.

  My cock hollered in agony; my balls disappeared into my body. The pain ricocheted into my stomach, making me want to vomit.

  “It hurts, doesn’t it?” she whispered, her tone dark and sinister.

  I couldn’t say a fucking thing, only gasp like a dying fish. The pain. I’d never been hit so hard in such an off-limit area.

  Her body language went from angry to radiating manic hatred. “You fucking made me hurt them. You made me burn them, break them.” Her arm rose and she hit me across the chest. “You made me kill one of them! And I’m done. I’ll kill you. I’ll do what I should’ve done months ago.”

  I squeezed my eyes, no longer able to watch her come apart. To see the pain she’d bottled up inside spewing forth like a black disease.

  “I hate you.” She struck my knee.

  “I hate you.” She hit my side.

  “I hate you!” She pummelled my chest.

  My eyes flew open as she hit my cock again. I groaned with agony.

  Each time she hit me, her voice rose and cracked until finally, the one thing I’d been waiting for, begging for, started to fall.

  Tears.

  They glossed her eyes, trembling on her bottom lashes. “You made me into one of you!” She threw away the paddle and grabbed a thick flogger. The strike landed across my face, cutting deep into my skin.

  I grunted with the pain. I wanted nothing more than to dive at Tess. Pin her to the floor and turn the tables. I wanted to hit her. Inflict the same agony. I wanted to sense her submission. I wanted to be turned on and fuck her.

  There was nothing sexy about this. My cock wanted no part in it. It wasn’t right in my world, and every part of me screamed to end it, but she needed to kill her nightmares.

  I had to give her my body because she already owned my heart.

  I knew the dark place she lived in. I knew the horrors of being a killer, and I knew the moment she gave in fully, allowed herself to release all those ugly memories, she probably wouldn’t stop until I was dead. But if it meant she could purge herself and move on from hell, I would do it.

  I would sacrifice myself for her.

  Taking a deep breath, I whispered, “Je t'aime, Tess.” I love you. “Nous sommes les uns des autres.” We are each other’s.

  Tess cocked her head, breathing hard against the tracks of tears falling endlessly from her eyes. It didn’t register, and I was glad in a way. I spoke to her fractured soul, not the broken woman.

  Sucking in my pride and honour and every last fucking shred of decency I had left, I growled, “You’re a fucking disappointment. Did we not teach you anything? You killed—so what. You’re useless. Pathetic.”

  Tess made a strangling noise.

  “You’re worthless. You can’t even follow orders correctly.”

  Her mouth twisted. “I hate you for eternity. I hate your operation. I hate your stench. I hate your clothes. Your voice. Your lack of humanity.” Her eyes glazed, turning deeper and deeper into her nightmare.

  A sharp burn started in my throat at the knowledge I had truly fucking lost her.

  Tess put aside the flogger and picked up the
cat-o'-nine-tails. The same tool I used to break the memories of her rape.

  There was no warning, no build-up—she struck.

  The multiple threads whistled through the air and bit into my clothes. The tiny beads shredded my T-shirt.

  The next hit landed on my thighs, burning me through the denim. Tess went feral; double fisting the whip, she struck and struck. A particularly violent hit landed across my throat—it sent shock waves echoing through my body. Tess was nothing but pure rage, gushing from a soul that had finally had enough.

  Time ceased.

  Tess hit and hit and hit.

  She broke my skin and blood ran free, dripping and staining the towels below.

  My clothes ripped with every strike until they hung in fucking tatters. The pain amplified, building and building until every part of me trembled. I wanted to scream and rage and curse. I needed an outlet. I needed to run. But I never made a sound as Tess whipped me closer and closer to death.

  Through swollen eyes, I didn’t recognise Tess anymore. Sweat matted her hair and tears shone on her cheeks.

  My heart broke into a billion fragments for what I did to this wonderful woman. I wanted to wrap her up and never let anything happen to her again. I never wanted to lay another finger on her or cause her any pain. I just wanted her to be happy.

  Her next strike caught my flayed chest, tearing deep into my skin.

  I couldn’t help it— I cried out. The first sign of weakness and Tess pounced on it. “You like that, you bastard.”

  She hit me again and again. “Die, you murderer. Just die.”

  The ache of tears shot up my spine, bruising my eyes.

  I’d never cried.

  Not once.

  I always thought I was incapable. And yet, as I lay taking the brunt of everything Tess lived with, I felt myself coming apart. I’d never had the urge to give up my life to save another. I was never weak or selfless enough to put another first. But falling in love Tess took away my balls as well as my heart, and now I would pay for it.

  A single tear escaped my control. The caustic pain of salt burned the cuts on my cheeks. Another tear rolled silently, motionlessly.

  One tear for what I lost.

  One tear for what I gained.

  One tear for being helpless.

  One tear for being in love.

  Six tears until my body gave out, my blood ran cold, and Tess beat me into oblivion.

  * * *

  Cold water drenched my face.

  I winced as my fiery eyes opened to a tearstained, furious Tess on top of me. An empty glass rested in her hand.

  I looked down, noticing I was naked, dripping with blood, and crisscrossed with lacerations. She’d cut off my blood-soaked clothing, leaving them on the bed beside me.

  “You used to wake me up like that every morning. Time to hurt another, you’d say. But now it’s over. I’m done hurting you. I’m going to kill you.”

  She scooted off, moving to stand by the side of the bed. Her eyes no longer burned with hatred and the need to maim; now they held resolution and satisfaction.

  My over-worked heart thudded with happiness. I might’ve been able to help her after all. My life for her life. I’m glad.

  “This is for those women you made me ruin. For the life you made me take. I hate you and I hope you rot in hell.” She raised her hands above her head, fingers wrapped around the handles of sharp silver scissors, holding them like a dagger over my heart.

  “Esclave—” I tugged on the rope around my wrists, not ready to die. I’m not ready to fucking die.

  My life raced before my eyes: how much I’d miss. How much I hadn’t had time to do.

  I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t let her send me away. Not now. Not after everything.

  I did the one thing I swore not to do.

  I screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tess

  Own me, take me, you can never break me. Choose me, use me, you will never lose me…

  I existed in blackness.

  Nothing else entered apart from the metallic rust of blood and flashes of madness.

  Q left me again.

  Somehow, I transported back to the room where I shot Blonde Hummingbird, only this time, strapped down and tied up tight was White Man. He leered and cursed, telling me I wasn’t good enough. That I ought to kill myself because that’s all I was worth.

  The vacancy inside swirled like a crazy hurricane, rattling at the walls of my tower, tearing away my chains, smashing bricks to dust.

  The guilt I’d been running from sucked me deep and I was sure my heart would stop. I was a murderer, a torturer, I deserved to die paralyzing regret.

  But fate had given me a chance to right the wrongs I’d done. I had the puppeteer in front of me. Hatred and fury slithered like reptiles in my blood, and all I wanted was revenge. To make him pay.

  The wash of emotions I’d been hiding from crippled me. Dumping me into a pit of grief and insanity.

  White Man represented all the evil in the world and I wanted to take and take and take until there was no more. I wanted to extract every last thread of life until he existed no longer.

  By killing him, I would gain redemption. I might finally be able to live with the guilt.

  He didn’t move as I hit him. He just sneered. My muscles ached from delivering abuse. With every strike another brick crashed free from my tower. With every lash, cracked and fissured my guilt, allowing me to breathe.

  Parallel images of the past kept me company as I hit him over and over and over. I saw myself—emaciated, drugged out of my mind, scratching and breaking…delivering their wrath on innocent women.

  I sobbed and hit harder as my apparition shot Blonde Hummingbird. I doubled over with agony as I watched a replay of myself swallowing the gun, pulling the trigger to end my life.

  Never again. I’m strong enough to survive. I don’t need a tower to exist. I didn’t do anything wrong!

  The thought was a comet, blazing with truth.

  I didn’t do anything wrong.

  It was all them. I did the best I could to survive.

  The knowledge that they’d made me doubt, that they’d filled me so full of sin, gave me a new lease of energy. I struck harder and harder until I couldn’t recognise White Man from all the cuts and blood.

  Every time I drew blood, I rested easier, knowing this man would never do to others what he did to me.

  When he passed out, I thought I’d killed him. I wanted him dead, but I had to be sure. Checking for life, I cursed when his pulse thrummed beneath my fingertips. I knew what I had to do.

  I would wake him, look straight into his eyes, then I would stab him in the heart.

  This was my duty, my honour, my destiny.

  I taught him the lessons he taught me. Pain equalled power. Pain equalled pleasure.

  As I stood above him with sharp scissors in my hands, ready to bury them deep into his chest, he looked up with such panic and love I paused too long.

  He screamed.

  It bounced around the cavern of blackness, tearing down the veil between me and the real world.

  The vision disintegrated, catapulting me from dark to bright. The dungeon switched to become a decadent room with gold and red accents—it seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place why.

  I blinked, unable to understand. Where the hell am I?

  My body ached, shoulders trembled with holding my arms ready to strike. My hands were cramped and slippery with blood.

  Then my heart stopped.

  Q lay on the bed in front of me, his naked body covered in blood, completely unrecognisable. He barely breathed, his face swollen, eyes muted, hidden by injury.

  I dropped the scissors; they clattered downward, nicking the top of my bare foot before bouncing to the carpet. Air lodged deep in my lungs and I couldn’t breathe.

  An earthquake began in my limbs, and the angry, righteous tears I’d shed were replaced with horror. “Q—Oh, my God.” I r
eached out with shuddering hands to touch his cooling chest. His beautiful sparrow tattoo hung in tatters with wounds and blood. His beautiful cock hung useless and bloody between his legs.

  “What have I done!”

  Then I was flying.

  My front collided with the front of the bed before I was jerked back and pressed deep into the carpet. Someone wrenched my arms behind my back, pinning my cheek to the floor. “Don’t move,” a livid man’s voice ordered.

  The man sat on my back, holding me in place. He changed position to look toward the bed. He sucked in a rattling breath. “Fuck, Q. What the fuck.”

  A woman’s high-pitched scream made my shaking worse. I gave up crying and turned to sobbing. I did this. I hurt Q so much he looked ready to die. How did this happen? Why did he let me go so far?

  “Merde. Q. Oh, my god. Oh, my god,” Suzette cried.

  The man got off me, discarding me as if I was nothing. He jumped to his feet, rushing to the bedside.

  I fumbled to sit up. I needed to know Q was still alive. That there was a way to fix this.

  Franco’s emerald eyes flashed back to me, glittering with ferocity. “You did this?” He shook his head, fingers scrambling at the bindings around Q’s bleeding ankles. “How could you?”

  My lungs lodged in my throat; I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t justify what I’d done or even remember how it happened. All I knew was I no longer existed in a lifeless void. I now lived in an eternity of self-regret and pain. I’d been given closure and revenge on White Man and what happened in Rio, but I would take that agony all over again if it meant Q wasn’t lying lifeless and ruined by my hand.

  “Q! Please, Q.” I scrambled to my feet, wringing my hands as Franco undid Q’s wrists and gently brought his hands to rest by his sides. Q winced and groaned as Suzette rushed forward with one of the discarded sheets, placing it over him.

  Suzette never took her eyes off me, raining with sorrow and disbelief. “Why, Tess. Why? After everything he’s done for you.”

  I rushed forward. I had to hold him. Tell him how sorry I was. But Franco shoved me back. “I think you’ve done more than enough, don’t you?”