Monsters in the Dark

by Winters, Pepper

  I wanted to laugh.

  But all I could focus on was ours.

  Our company.

  Our children.

  No longer mine, and his, and separation.

  Together.

  Ours.

  The waiter appeared with a groaning tray of food. I leaned away, throwing back the rest of my drink, silently thanking the intrusion. I needed time to think. To pull myself together.

  Plates of delicatessen hors d’oeuvres, salads, gourmet breads, dips, gnocchi, prawns in ravioli, lobster fettuccine, tiny lasagnes, and feta wrapped with aubergine decorated the table.

  I’d never seen such incredible looking food. And I wouldn’t be able to eat any of it. My stomach was a churning mess; my mind consumed with images of a future I never thought I wanted.

  The waiter smiled once everything had been placed accordingly. “Another drink?”

  Q nodded, passing him his empty tumbler. “Martini and single-malt whiskey. Grazie.”

  The waiter nodded, then disappeared to fulfil the request.

  Q eyed the food, before glancing at me. His face tensed as he froze. “Quel est le problème maintenant, esclave?” What’s the matter now, esclave?

  I fluffed my curls, airing my suddenly heat-prickled back. Nothing was wrong—in fact, everything was amazing. We were finally talking, learning, exploring one another. I wasn’t hungry for food, but knowledge. I wanted in—to his secrets, his thoughts, his hopes and dream.

  I was endlessly greedy for anything he would share.

  “I want to do something.” Did I just say that? Shit, Tess. I hadn’t thought it through. The idea just sprang into my head. Q would say no. Of course, he would say no.

  Q smiled as the waiter returned with fresh drinks then left again. Q raised the whiskey to his lips. “For you to flush as bad as you have, I’m guessing it’s either sexual or something you think I’m not going to agree to.”

  I copied him, sipping my martini. “Forget it. It’s a stupid idea. Let’s eat.” I looked longingly at the food, knowing I’d end up with horrendous indigestion if I ate while so worked up. I had to relax.

  “Tess…don’t make me spank you in public.”

  My eyes flew to his where a small smile graced his lips. I sucked in a breath, trying to find courage. “Okay…have you heard of Truth or Dare?”

  Q’s nostrils flared. “Of course I’ve heard of it and you were right to flush. I won’t play it.”

  Grabbing my fork, I speared a gnocchi and placed it in my mouth. It tasted heavenly—rich, buttery, but it could’ve been ash for how much I wanted it. Swallowing hard, I took another sip of my drink.

  A rush of queasiness rolled my world; I carefully placed the glass on the table. Q was succeeding in getting me tipsy. My nerves only rushed the intoxication.

  Silence fell between us while Q sampled a piece of everything. The way his lips slid off the fork and his jaw worked so smoothly as he chewed, pushed aside my nerves in favour of desire. He couldn’t do anything without making it erotically charged and—intentionally or not—making me wet.

  I tried to eat, succeeding in devouring a few pieces of prawn ravioli, before Q put his fork down. He gulped a shot of whiskey. “Have you played before?”

  I instantly thought of Brax and his straight-laced ways. I thought of my parents and their cool indifference. I thought of my brother and his bullying. I thought of my friends and their giggling, slutty knowledge. Not once had I played. Not once had I done anything so reckless as to give someone the right to ask me any question or submit to any dare.

  It was dangerous. It was ludicrous. I should stop this.

  “No.”

  His face remained unreadable. “Why do you want to play?”

  I clutched my fork, turning my knuckles white, brandishing it as if it would save me from the awkward conversation. “Because it will force you to answer questions you might not want to otherwise.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What sort of questions do you have in mind?” His fingers twitched around his glass, giving the impression he didn’t want to play, not because it was a stupid game, but rather because he had too much to hide. I wanted to know what he kept hidden.

  I wanted to know why he hadn’t stopped glowering around the restaurant. I wanted to know why we stayed in a hotel with thumbprints for keys.

  “I don’t know. Probably stupid things that you won’t care telling me. It’s just the structure of the game that’ll make it easier.”

  “Easier?” His eyebrow raised.

  I nodded. “You don’t exactly come baggage free, Q. I’m not going to pry into things better left unsaid, but I would like to know more about you.” He remained silent, swirling his whiskey.

  “Plus, you can avoid a question if you really don’t want to answer, by accepting the dare.”

  “And if I don’t want to do the dare? Then what? You force me to answer the question?” He shook his head. “No—”

  I didn’t know if this was part of the rules or not but if it got him to play I’d allow it. “You can drink—if you don’t want to answer or do the dare—you can drink and move on.”

  His eyes locked on mine. “And you wouldn’t sulk or argue if I refused?”

  I scowled. “You think I sulk?” Shit, did I sulk? I tucked an unruly curl behind my ear. “No. If that question is off bounds, I’ll honour that.”

  We fell silent. Q picked at the food, thoughts racing in his gaze. A few bites later, he asked, “And what about you? Will you answer a question I might ask—even if you don’t want to?” Putting his fork on his plate, he leaned forward, eyes deadly serious, almost frightening. “I want into your head more than you probably want into mine, Tess. You sure you can handle letting me have unguarded access?”

  My palms went slick with nerves; my stomach churned even more. “But I can accept a dare—I have a way out.”

  Q’s gaze dropped to my lips. “Drinking, or a dare—nothing would truly save you. The moment you refuse to answer a question, I’ll pursue it until you tell me. I might not get the answer tonight, but I will eventually…you’d tell me, Tess…you know why?”

  My heart whizzed around my chest like a faulty sparkler. “Why?”

  “Because I own you. Tu es à moi.” You’re mine. “And your thoughts belong to me, just as much as your heart, body, and soul.”

  He shattered the achingly thick awareness between us by reclining and taking another sip. “If you accept those terms, then fine. I’ll play.” His permission layered with promise and warning. If I said yes, Q would have a free pass to anything he wanted. But if I did, I would have that same pass to learn more about the man I’d bound my life to.

  It was tempting. It was scary.

  I already knew my answer.

  “I accept.”

  Q nodded, looking elegant and professional, as if he’d struck a good business transaction. Raising his almost empty glass, he signalled for the waiter. “In that case. We need a few more of these.”

  Chapter Ten

  Quincy

  We were nothing before, now we’re completely sure. Each other’s possession, obsession, we’re free just you and me

  What the fuck was I doing?

  Agreeing to play a juvenile game? It wasn’t just a game—it came with disastrous consequences. There was no way I would have any luck playing it. I didn’t mean to keep Tess in the dark—but there was a lot of my past I would never talk about. Things I refused to even remember or contemplate. Things I’d forced so far inside, I could almost pretend they never happened. I didn’t want to show vulnerability by drinking, even if I refused to answer.

  And I definitely didn’t want to let her know just how nervous I was. Something about tonight…it was…off. I couldn’t be sure if it was lack of sleep and the strain from yesterday, or if I had a right to be concerned. Either way, I didn’t need Tess panicking over nothing. It was my job to carry the burden of safety and I’d finally fixed her—I refused to believe my time was almost up.
r />   Damn motherfucking time.

  But you’ll get into her head. Free access.

  Even if she refused a question, I would know what topics to chase; I’d understand her better by her avoidance, as much as her acquiescence.

  But that would work both ways. Tess would know—even when I refused to tell her.

  Was I in denial? Possibly. But it made me a happier person not having to deal with the shit coating my soul. Or the evilness encroaching on our future.

  A pair of green eyes filled my mind.

  Fuck.

  It’d been so long since I let myself think about her. Forcing her far away—pretending she never existed. It was easier that way. Liveable that way.

  I dragged a hand through my hair, desperate for more whiskey. I wanted to be seriously drunk for this—but then my mouth would be loose—my reactions compromised. Tapping my ankle against the chair leg, I let the small scabbard and knife strapped to my calf comfort me.

  I can’t be drunk.

  My tongue would forget to lie; the truth would spill free—Tess would know exactly what I wanted to keep hidden.

  The only way to get through this was to stay stone-cold sober.

  Looking at Tess, I forced my heart from tripping like I’d taken a vial full of cocaine. Tonight was all about tripping her up. She wanted to play? Fan-fucking-tastic. I’d use it to my advantage, then I’d fuck her like I’d been dying to do since I’d strapped her to the cross in my bedroom.

  Tess took a hearty drink, hesitation clouding her face. She caught my eye, only to look away with a flicker of a smile. Great—she was nervous. As she should be, because I was about to rip into her past, learn all her secrets, and ruin any idea of privacy.

  The waiter appeared with more drinks; I waved him away once he’d delivered. I’d eyed him thoroughly when we first arrived—wondering, suspecting. But he seemed harmless enough.

  Taking a deep breath, I glared at Tess, tasting all the questions I had for her—wondering which one to start with. I’d wanted so many times to get inside her head—now that opportunity was all mine.

  What’s your secret fantasy?

  If you could change a part of me—what would it be?

  How many men have kissed you?

  I knew how many sexual partners she’d had. Goddammit, I did not want to go down that line of questioning. Already, anger scalded my veins at the memory of walking in on that rutting motherfucking bastard Lefebvre raping her.

  My hands curled. Shooting him had been too kind—no sense of justice for what he’d done. He’d gone after Tess because of my fucking father and his empire of trading women. My own flesh and blood used them worse than possessions—carelessly killing them when they were no longer tradable, fuckable. Goddammit, don’t think about him either.

  Family.

  I knew nothing about Tess’s family. That might be a good line of questioning.

  Why have you never mentioned your parents?

  The pain in my heart made me physically wince.

  Nope, couldn’t go that way either. The moment I pried in that area of her life, she’d turn it around and ask me. Family was strictly out of bounds.

  Christ, what else was there?

  I’m exhausted, and we haven’t even begun.

  Would Tess really want to know I lost my virginity to a slave who I’d saved before sending her home to her father? Did she really want to know the sick and awful thoughts plaguing me on a daily basis?

  Shit, I should stop this right now, before any harm could be done. It was ridiculous. Fucking ridiculous.

  Tess took a large gulp of her drink.

  I paused. The panic in my system faded a little; I narrowed my eyes. Tess’s cheeks were flushed, her body not as effortlessly poised.

  A smile spread over my lips. I had to stay sober, but this entire game would play right into my hands if I got her drunk. If she lost all inhibitions any question was answerable, and anything I wanted to do to her when we got back to the hotel would be welcome. If she wasn’t sober my anxiety of being in public and the horrible feeling of dread would go unnoticed.

  If I got her drunk—I was free.

  I grabbed my tumbler of whiskey, saluting her. “Cheers. Here’s to Truth or Dare.”

  She smiled, clinked glasses, then took a large sip. False courage already. I wanted to laugh. This would work. Then I frowned—why was she so nervous? What the hell was she so afraid to tell me?

  A plate smashed in the kitchen, ratcheting my heartbeat as every muscle prepared to wrench my knife free and kill. Kill them before they could kill me.

  Because that’s what they wanted. That’s what I refused to think about and never wanted Tess to guess.

  Silence stretched between us; I threw a large mouthful of the fiery liquid down my throat. Curling my hand around my glass, I muttered, “I’ll go first.”

  Tess looked up, her eyes popping wide. “Oh…okay.” Her fingers played with the stem of the martini glass, trying to hide her apprehension. She couldn’t hide it—not from me.

  “I know you have an older brother. Why don’t you ever mention him?”

  Go hard or fucking go home. I wanted to know about her family—hopefully she’d be too drunk to remember to repay the question to me.

  She gasped, leaning forward. “How do you know I have a brother? I never mentioned him.”

  Silly girl. I’d sent her back to Australia. But I never stopped watching. How could I when I knew I’d fallen head over fucking heels that night she gave me everything? I’d taken her pain virginity—I’d welcomed her into my clutches, then released her—knowing I’d ruined her but unable to keep her against her will any longer.

  I raised my eyebrow. “I’ve put a tracker in your wedding ring—did you honestly think I wouldn’t check on you from time to time in Melbourne?” Time to time—meaning every fucking minute. I’d been an obsessed creep.

  “You spied on me?” she whispered.

  I shrugged. “Spied…kept you safe. Same difference.”

  She laughed. “Hardly. But okay—if that’s your first question. I’ll answer it.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Yes, I have an older brother. His name is Samuel, and he’s twenty years older than me. He wanted a younger sister about as much as my parents wanted another child.”

  My heart pummelled against my chest at the thought of Tess growing up in a household with no love, company, or connection. Assholes. Maybe they deserved payback. My mind ran wild with ways to make them suffer.

  Her family would never see a cent from me. Ever.

  “Why get pregnant then? If they only made your life a misery—what was the point?”

  My brutal question didn’t faze Tess. Her fingers turned white around her glass, but she answered bravely. “I was a mistake. My father had a vasectomy but it failed. They never forgot to tell me that every year.” She dropped her hand, playing with the tablecloth. “When I turned twelve, they pretty much stopped pretending to raise me. I was self-sufficient in their eyes. They embraced retirement. It worked well for them—having a younger daughter craving attention, I did almost everything they asked me to do. They had a live-in maid, and a terrible cook, for free.”

  My heart wanted to claw its way out of my chest. She’d been a slave to her own family. Fuck me.

  Then she’d become mine. No wonder she took to housework with Suzette so easily. It was normal for her—a regression to the past she’d tried to escape.

  Shit, this game sucked. Even though it was me asking the questions—her answers were fucking me up. I vibrated with anger, frustration, and a need to deliver vengeance.

  I wanted some asshole to come charging through the door intending to kill me, so I could stab him over and over and trade my anxiety for revenge.

  “Why didn’t they adopt you out? That would’ve been the right thing to do if they had no intention of raising you right.”

  Tess pursed her lips. “They’re very old-fashioned. The same reason why they didn’t get an abortion. The
y gave me life and made the ‘sacrifice’ to raise me.” Clearing her throat, she waved her finger. “No more questions. You’re breaking the rules. You only get one question and now it’s my turn.”

  Oh, shit.

  Straightening my back, I clutched my glass, ready to drink before she even asked her question. My lips were sealed. If I was going to ever admit parts of my life prior to Tess, I wouldn’t do it in a restaurant. However, as far as privacy went, we had tons of the fucking stuff. No one paid attention to us. No one sent my hackles rising. And Franco sat behind us in a separate booth only metres away for protection.

  Nibbling on her bottom lip, Tess took her sweet time formulating a question. “You never mention your childhood. Did you have a happy upbringing? Tell me about your mum.”

  Ah, fuck. Definitely not drunk enough for that question. Out of all my family, my mother was the least shrouded in lies and monstrosity. So answer it. I gritted my teeth, keeping an eye on the door as a man in a black suit strolled in.

  Fine, I would answer that one.

  “She died when I was young.”

  “Oh, that’s awful. How?”

  My mind drifted, bringing to life a woman who I vaguely remembered.

  “Quincy?”

  I popped my head into her boudoir. I wasn’t allowed in there unless she summoned me. I’d just turned twelve and would be leaving for boarding school soon in London. I couldn’t wait. “Oui, mère?” Yes, mother?

  “Come here. It’s like I haven’t seen you in months.” It wasn’t quite months, but it was definitely a week or two. I tended to avoid her—avoided the lisping, tearful woman who I’d never been close to.

  She gathered me in a hug, clogging my throat with peach schnapps and lavender oil. “You stay away from your father, you hear me? Just stay away.” She burst into tears; I unwillingly hugged her back.

  I knew why she wanted me to stay away from him.

  I knew his darkest secret.