Monsters in the Dark

by Winters, Pepper

  Dark, dingy, not a dungeon, but not far off. Bunk beds lined each of the four walls. The lack of windows, and dampness from the floor, settled fast into my bones.

  I sat on a threadbare mattress, looking around my new home. Girls huddled on each bed. All of them wore an aura of tragedy, eyes bruised with loss, skin painted with injuries and shadows.

  A man loomed over me, his beard black and gross. Reaching behind him, he bared a knife.

  The flashback of Mexico interlinked with the image in front of me. Bars across the windows, mattresses on the floor, women bound and gagged.

  Two members of Franco’s team helped the six girls from a variety of horrible positions. Some were collared to the wall, others were tied to poles, slouching painfully.

  Their naked bodies showed numerous evidence of abuse. Tortured. Raped.

  Not anymore.

  Now they were free.

  My eyes stung. Q had saved yet more women—more birds—and he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of returning them to loved ones.

  It’s your vocation now—embrace his love of birds and focus on nurturing rather than death.

  My fist trembled around the gun. I couldn’t.

  Bastards.

  Devils.

  I had to finish this. Whirling from the room, I ran. I needed to be far away—it threatened to unravel my hatred, dissolving me with tears.

  I circled back to the front of the house, searching for a victim—any victim to transfer this rage onto.

  My eyes fell on a staircase going down.

  He’s close. My instincts sounded an alarm, purring with knowledge. Down there. Go.

  I took a step, only to be wrenched to a stop. “Bloody hell, Tess. What were you thinking?” Franco swayed, breathing hard. “I’ve been limping all over the fucking house. It’s not safe. There could be anyone hiding, waiting to kill you.”

  I don’t care.

  “Let me go, Franco.” I pointed down the stairs. “He’s down there. I know it.”

  Franco’s face whitened. “Let Alpha team go down. You don’t want to see if you’re right.”

  “You’re wrong. I do want to see. I want to know what they did, so I can do the same.”

  I need to see he’s really dead. I need to see the truth.

  Franco shook his head. “Tess—this isn’t you. Stop it.”

  I tore my arm from his grip. “You don’t know me! Stop pretending like you care. Your boss is dead, and I don’t want you to interfere. Go away.” I hated my cruelness, but nothing would stop me from finding Q.

  Franco stood locked to the landing.

  Not looking back, I darted down the stairs. I held the gun high, my finger teasing the trigger.

  My first kill happened too fast to remember.

  A shadow. A blur. A shout. A curse.

  Bang.

  I no longer teased the trigger but compressed it, letting loose a killing projectile.

  The man dressed in a black suit crumbled to the floor, holding a gushing wound in his neck. “Fucking, bit—bitch.” His eyes narrowed to slits even as his arteries dumped litres of blood down his lapels.

  I waited for a rush of sickness. I waited to feel different for doing something so barbaric, but I felt nothing.

  Standing over him, I hissed, “Where is he? Tell me where he is.”

  The man gurgled, holding the wound tightly. “Wh—who are you?”

  Ice lived in my blood as I crouched over him. “I’m your worst nightmare.” Placing the gun against his crotch, I whispered, “I think you used this on trafficked women. I think you deserve more pain before you die.”

  He let his neck go, drenching his body in blood. “No! Wait!” He pushed feebly at the gun. “Don’t!”

  A silenced puff and his head snapped back, falling into death.

  What?

  A strong hand plucked me from the floor. I swivelled in their hold, glowering at my captor. Franco held a silenced pistol awkwardly in his bandaged hand.

  “How dare you. He was mine to kill!”

  “And you did. He was seconds away from death.”

  “Why didn’t you let me finish it?”

  “Because you’ve taken his life. You might be able to live with that—but torturing, that fucks you up, Tess. And I won’t let you do that to yourself.”

  “I’m not weak. Stop treating me like I am.”

  Franco glared into my eyes. “You’re not weak. I agree. You’re strong—strong enough for Q and everything he gave you—but I made a promise to him. He made me swear I wouldn’t let you slip away, hurt yourself, or do anything to jeopardise your commitment to him and his company.”

  “You don’t own me. You can’t do that.”

  Don’t stop me from doing what I need!.

  He shook his head. “I don’t own you but Q does. He may be gone, Tess, but you’re still his. You still have to obey—same as me.” Sighing he said softly, “I’ll let you kill Lynx, but I’ll do the rest. My soul can handle it—yours can’t.”

  It can. Because this time my victims aren’t innocent.

  Yanking me behind him, granting a protective wall of his body, he advanced down the black-tiled corridor. “Believe me. When the shock hits—when you finally let yourself feel, you’ll thank me.” Motioning with his gun, he muttered, “No more talking. Let’s go.”

  I shoved him. “Let me go first. Don’t steal this from me, Franco. I need to do this.”

  I need to avenge him.

  “Shut up. I won’t let you go first, so stop.” His body was unmovable, blocking me from danger.

  Gritting my teeth, I had no choice but to obey. His pace was agonisingly slow. A shuffle, a limp, but he did things I wouldn’t have done—scanned each doorway, tried every doorknob, making sure it was locked and no one would ambush us. “You’ll have your wish. I won’t take that from you. Just let me protect you while you do it.”

  I wanted action. I wanted carnage. But it was silent.

  Ominously silent.

  What did you hope—you’d hear him? That he would be alive, and you’d hear his voice?

  My eyes swelled with tears—finally recognising my stupid hopes.

  Yes.

  I’d been hunting in denial. Beneath my rage and grief blazed a fine layer of hope. It cindered the rest of my emotions. The hollowness inside had been filled with some other feeling. I didn’t have a name—disbelief perhaps. My soul taunted me with a lie that he was dead.

  I feel him.

  Some ludicrous part believed he was still alive. The connection we shared hadn’t been severed completely—it was there—weak, hazy, pulsing with darkness. But there.

  And it ruined me further because hope was the cruellest emotion imaginable.

  He’s dead. I couldn’t argue with that. No matter how much I wanted to.

  Footsteps behind us.

  I wheeled around, double fisting my gun.

  The blond man in his beanie held up his hands. “We’re on your side, Mrs. Mercer.”

  The title I wanted more than anything sent a bullet into my heart. I would never be Mrs. Mercer legally, but I would be in spirit. I was Q’s. Regardless of life or death.

  Not saying a word, I spun around, following Franco.

  The dark richness of the corridor ended up ahead. Lighting gave just enough visibility so as not to fumble, but it was hard to make out the last door. Heavy wood with bars on top. A dungeon door.

  Franco looked over his shoulder, his forehead beaded with pain-induced sweat. “Voices up ahead.” He did some fancy finger moves to the team behind me.

  I moved forward, sandwiched between the men. I hated that they’d formed ranks around me, protecting me when I didn’t want to be protected. I don’t want to be protected. Unless it was by Q.

  Then I ceased all motor-control.

  A noise.

  A masculine groan, laced with agony.

  Hope.

  Glorious, sunbursting hope.

  Q. I knew it. He’s alive. Not dead. Nev
er dead.

  Shoving Franco aside, I shot ahead. Franco cursed in pain as his missing thumb slammed against the wall in my haste. “Tess!” he bellowed. But I was already gone, racing toward the final door.

  Be alive. Please be alive.

  I had no knowledge of my safety as I collided with the wood, exploding into hell.

  Chains. Water. Blackness.

  My eyes took everything in at once—a panoramic shot of horror. Two men stood in front of a male carcass hanging from the ceiling. Naked, bleeding, cuts upon cuts. Empty buckets littered the floor while a full one rested on a small table.

  The man I focused on wore a dark red suit, his hair styled into a black and red mohawk, brandishing a bloody knife in my direction.

  “Who the fuck are you? How did you get down here?” His Spanish accent echoed in the tomb.

  Him. Lynx. My nemesis. My target.

  Then my eyes landed on the massacre behind him.

  All the hope I’d nursed sputtered out. All my love and prayers siphoned away.

  Sparrows. Clouds. Barbwire.

  My heart died.

  No! Q was gone. I couldn’t deny it anymore. No one could survive and have so much blood paint their body. No one could hang completely limp and lifeless if they weren’t dead.

  Someone cut him down!

  Franco careened into the room. His large arm wrapped around my waist, jerking me backward. Shoving me away, he raised his weapon and shot the second man wearing drenched black clothing.

  The man’s neck flung back before his body fell like its puppeteer cut his strings, collapsing to the floor. The muted pop sounded so innocent compared to the sudden firework of gristle and blood decorating the wall behind the man.

  Lynx reached into his waistband, pulling out an old fashioned pistol. “Don’t fucking move!”

  The hairs on my arms stood up, feeding off the anger in the room—the fine edge of living and death.

  I didn’t care which happened—live or die—as long as I killed Lynx first.

  Blair catapulted into the room. Men crowded behind us, filling the corridor, providing back-up but also ensuring we had no way out.

  Not that I needed a way out.

  Q.

  Franco grabbed me. I squirmed against his hold losing my ceaseless rage, filling with hot horror. Q just hung there, arms tied to his sides, black ropes binding his ankles to the ceiling.

  Please, move! Let me know you haven’t left me.

  My eyes hurt, searching for breath, a quiver of a feather on his chest.

  Nothing.

  I swallowed back a rush of sickness. He hung upside down, butchered. His legs and stomach rivered with copious amounts of blood. His tattoo barely visible beneath the deep rust. A black towel covered his face, dripping with loud droplets onto the floor below.

  I needed him down. I needed him in my arms.

  Lynx glared. “I wasn’t expecting an audience. But feel free to watch.” He tore the towel from Q’s head, revealing the bruised, slack face of my master.

  The rage inside billowed, gathering momentum, hurtling toward one outcome. Him or me. One of us would be dead within minutes.

  “Don’t touch him,” I hissed. I tore from Franco’s grip, stepping forward. I stood in the centre, wedged between right and wrong.

  Franco and Alpha team shifted but remained silent. Unspoken law put me in charge. Nothing would be done or finished without my say so. And no one would kill Lynx because I would.

  Lynx smiled, ignoring the men behind me—dismissing them just as I had. His gaze locked with mine and it was just us—us in this arena of death. “Who are you?” He stepped back, placing himself beside Q’s upside down body. Pressing the muzzle of his gun against Q’s temple, he said, “Wait, I know who you are. You’ve come for him then. Come to watch him die.”

  I hated his mind games—holding a gun to an already deceased body. Teasing me with hope—damn fucking hope. I wouldn’t play his games. I knew the truth. He couldn’t hurt Q anymore because he was dead. The tracker in his arm spoke the truth—not this liar.

  I glided forward, compelled to touch—to confirm the white pallor wasn’t fake. I couldn’t ignore the pull, a vortex sucking me stronger and stronger toward Q.

  I wanted to scream at Franco to cut Q down, but Lynx protected his prize.

  The link between us sputtered, weak…gone. “I’ve come to watch but you’re wrong about what. I’m here to watch your blood coat the floor.”

  Lynx’s lips twisted. “You’re as delusional as he was. Do you want to know what he did only hours ago? What another slave did to the man you love?”

  I slammed to a halt, bombarded by images of Q sleeping with another, loving another.

  He wouldn’t.

  “You can lie all you want, but I don’t believe you.”

  Franco shuffled behind me. “Put down your gun, Lynx. Now.”

  Blair fanned to the side, building a wall of men all bristling with weapons.

  “Stand down. This is mine. Do not move.” My voice echoed with authority. The men fell silent.

  Lynx smiled. “A woman with power. I like it.” He stroked the muzzle over Q’s cheek, indenting his skin, making him sway in the bindings.

  My stomach snarled.

  No one had the right to touch him. No one! He’s mine!

  Another step. I raised my gun. Give him to me. There would be no reasoning with him. In order to get to Q, I had to win. I had to take not ask.

  “You like power? You have none. Take a look. You’re outnumbered. I have a gun trained on your heart and your threats mean nothing to me. Stop touching him and I might let you die cleanly.”

  “I told you I’d come for you, Tess. Never doubt how much I love you.” Q’s voice echoed in my head. He’d sacrificed so much for me. He’d brought me back to life. And I’d repaid him by sliding into the darkest part of me. The part I never wanted to know. I have to. I’m doing this for you.

  A moment spread like an eternity. Finally Lynx removed his weapon from Q, training it on me. His crocodile gaze glinted, lips pulling back against crooked teeth. “What’s your name?”

  I took another step, my finger trembling over the trigger. “Why?”

  He cricked his neck, the gun steady in his hands. “Because I’d like to know the name of the woman I’m about to slaughter. I’ll murmur it in a curse every night while I rape a woman—all the while imagining she’s you.”

  The vile sentence didn’t affect me. I was beyond affecting. “My name is Tess Snow. And you won’t be cursing it. You’ll be whimpering it.”

  He laughed. “Come closer and we’ll see.” His red shoes inched toward me, closing the gap, bringing us closer to the final conclusion.

  “Tess! Don’t.” Franco’s voice rang around the space. I ignored him.

  “Do you know what I am?” I whispered.

  Lynx’s nostrils flared. “What you are? You’re nothing but a—” He shook his head. “Wait, no…I see it—you’re…”

  “I’m his. I married the night and became his monster. And you should fear me.” Nothing else existed inside. No residual issues of kidnapping, death, or pain. Nothing but peace.

  I controlled my fate. Right here. Right now. And my fate was to kill and be killed. We would die together. I would wear his blood as I descended into the underworld.

  “You ask if I see what you are. I do.” His demeanour changed from angry to smooth. “You’re not worthy of death, Tess Snow. Your previous owner is dead. I claim you as my new property. Come to me and I’ll let you live.” His gaze slithered over my body. “I’ll treat you right. I’ve searched all my life for a woman like you.”

  Another step. Only a metre left. Grabbing distance. Shooting distance.

  “A woman like me?”

  “A woman so broken she doesn’t even know. A woman strong enough to survive anything because she no longer feels anything.” His arm lowered a little, believing his fantasy—that he could win me. That he could acquire me.
r />   I laughed.

  Everyone froze—the dungeon pulsed as I slipped from sanity to insane. I lowered my gun.

  I’d never felt more clear. More powerful. He’s already dead. I knew how I’d do it. “You want to own me?” Softness entered my voice, ghosting over the tiles toward Lynx.

  “Tess—come back here,” Franco ordered. “Whatever you’re doing—stop it.”

  The awareness between me and Q’s killer grew stronger, blocking everyone out. I didn’t look at Q or pay attention to Franco. I was single-minded. Locked on my prey. Mouth watering with the knowledge I’d won.

  Lynx smiled, eye’s glinting with interest. “Yes. Stand by my side. I would be proud to keep you. You’d have my word I would never sell you—as long as you stayed this cold.” His accent danced with sensuality, dragging me closer toward him. Idiot. Buffoon.

  “You want to own my body. But what about my mind?” One last step. Space meant nothing anymore. Such a short space. A killable space.

  His pistol lowered, hypnotised by his own illusion. “I want to own all of you. Give it to me and I’ll treat you better than he ever did.”

  He. Q. My heart launched out of my chest, winging to my dead master. My skin was sleet and snow, but it was almost over. Soon, my maître. Soon, I’m coming for you. I noticed everything as if I’d stepped outside my body. Every nuance, every threat was achingly clear.

  One more step. Lynx’s body heat buffeted me—his expensive cologne made me want to vomit. But I looked into his eyes, invoking the sweetest poison of my soul. I made him believe. “I doubt you can,” I murmured, looking up through lowered lashes. The room was stagnant with tension—it was soup—unstrained syrup.

  Lynx was bewitched. “Doubt I can what?” He leaned forward, eyes latching onto my lips.

  “Treat me better than he ever did.” His body curved, swaying toward me, drugged on the poison I fed. “I’ll accept your terms, if you do one thing for me. One tiny thing.”

  His lips hovered a fraction above mine. “Do what?”

  I tilted my head, hair falling over one eye. “Ask what I want in return. Then I’ll give you all that I am.”

  His forehead furrowed, his temper growing. “You’re too bold. But I’ll do it—one request, then no more.” He reached for my chin, holding me. I ignored the insects crawling beneath his touch. Soon. It would be over….soon. “What do you want?”