Twisted Together

by Pepper Winters

  After I’d hurt him—made him bleed and escorted him to death’s door with a whip in my hand—I feared I’d ruined him. He’d been shut off—remote. Not cold or cruel but protecting his inner thoughts. He’d always been private around me—guarding his inner secrets like a sentinel with a castle full of unspeakables—but it wasn’t until yesterday when Q proposed and branded me that the crack in his façade finally gave me hope.

  The burning on my neck amplified, taking over my senses with a dull throb. The scorched skin hurt—even the numbing balm Q rubbed into it yesterday hadn’t halted the singeing, searing ache. But unlike all the other parts of me that’d been hurt over the past month, I welcomed it. It gave me something to focus on.

  It gave me purpose.

  It reminded me I was owned, and my sanity wasn’t just my responsibility but a necessity. I’d made an oath to Q. I’d signed a contract the moment the ‘Q’ sigil scorched my neck. I was his as he was mine. Therefore, I had to be whole—not just for me but for him.

  A chill scattered over my body. What was he thinking? What did he hide behind his tough outer-shell?

  Wanting to dispel the darkness in his eyes, I murmured, “I know all I need to know. I know you’re kind and generous; the best lover, protector, and master I could ever want.”

  Q clenched his teeth as a flash of ferocity etched his features. “Is that all I am?”

  “You’re all that and more.”

  “Are you forgetting the question I asked you yesterday? The one where you said yes?”

  I smiled, ducking my eyes to trace the sweeping lines of his chest. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I’ll no longer just be your lover, esclave.”

  The swell of love hit me again like a squall of hot air. I couldn’t contain it. I didn’t want to contain it. “You’ll be an amazing husband, too.”

  Q tensed. “So amazing you didn’t want to run away and get married yesterday. So amazing you said you were tired and wanted to stay here for a few more days.”

  My shoulders hunched. I knew he didn’t take my reasoning well. When he’d gone to whisk me away only moments after proposing, I’d been hit by a brick wall of grief. Not just grief but guilt and sorrow and every complicated emotion left over from what happened. How could I explain I wanted to embrace our future and happiness with wide open arms—to throw myself into eternal bliss—but couldn’t. Not while my entire soul was weighed down with the crimes and sins I’d committed. I can’t tell you my nightmares. I can’t share my guilt or trauma. I didn’t want to burden him any more than I had.

  Speak to Suzette. Maybe she could help me. Then again, it wouldn’t be fair to talk about such darkness, not after everything she’d survived herself.

  Suddenly, Q crushed me against him, dragging my head to rest against his chest. “So much has passed, yet it seems like just yesterday I had my first taste of you. I feel like I know everything about you—the fundamental parts of you. You’re like me in so many ways, but really…I don’t know you at all.” He pressed a fierce kiss to the top of my head. “Not anymore. Pas depuis qu'ils t’ont kidnappée” Not after they stole you.

  I’d never seen Q so melancholy, so withdrawn. He held me as if he expected me to drift away—like he was petrified all of this—us, our connection—was an illusion.

  I didn’t know how to bring him back. “All you need to know is that I adore you,” I whispered. The nightmare took what energy I had, so I did the only thing I could—I snuggled closer, letting him bind his relentless arms around me until my body creaked and pain echoed in my spine.

  Q didn’t speak.

  Closing my eyes, I let the clug-clug of his strong heart calm the flickering images of blood and murdered Blonde Angel. Her broken skull, the white shards of bone. I’d lost count how many times I’d killed her in my sleep. But no matter how many times I stole her life, she was always there—reincarnated for my torment night after night.

  Q was right. He knew nothing. Because you haven’t told him.

  I sighed. What could I tell him? He’d seen me snap and come undone when I beat him bloody. He knew whatever I lived with was too big, too hard to put into words. Only time could heal me. Only the tick-tock of life blotting out what I’d done stood a chance of making me whole again. There was no rushing the process, and that was why I didn’t want to talk to a psychiatrist or anyone who would judge me.

  I carried my sins deep—after all, I was a murderer. For someone who’d been unwanted all her existence, the act of taking a cherished life filled me with something transcendent of guilt.

  It filled me with shame and inner hatred.

  It filled me with filth.

  Q sighed hard, stirring the air in the bedroom. Each thought and conclusion jerked his muscles, transmitting his anger through body-Morse code.

  My stomach shrivelled with yet more guilt. Guilt for hurting him yet again. “I’m sorry, Q,” I whispered. My lips sealed over the small bandage over the ‘T’ branded above his heart. The mark I’d seared into his skin.

  I still couldn’t understand how he’d forgiven me. He’d tried everything over the past month, all in the name of fixing me: being tender. Firm. Angry. Gentle. I pretended each day it was easier. I smiled and nodded and let him believe he was fixing me with every passing moment.

  I’d become a better actress than I ever dreamed of, but it made no difference when he could strip me of my lies with one look. Some moments I even believed my pantomime. I swallowed my fibs and felt pure happiness at being better.

  But then I remembered.

  I wasn’t better. I’d just learned how to bury it so the horror became a part of me. The flashbacks, the recollections—they were a constant companion, and I fought so hard to keep my reactions free from my face.

  I couldn’t tell him the truth. It wasn’t fair after everything he sacrificed. I lied when I told him I was strong enough. I spun tales every time I assured him I no longer thought of my tower or felt the urge to barricade myself behind its rotund walls.

  I whispered, “I’ll get better. I’m sorry you have to put up with the sleepless nights. I’ll understand if you want me to move downstairs for a while.”

  Q squeezed me angrily. “Get that ridiculous thought out of your head. You’re not moving from my fucking side. Tu m'entends?” Do you hear me?

  Of course, I heard him. He was my master. Obeying him gave me a sanctuary I never knew I needed. It took away the pressure of thinking for myself when my mind was too jumbled with remorse.

  I nodded.

  Q swallowed his temper, softening his voice. “Do you want a bath?” His voice may be whisper-soft, but his body didn’t relax. The vice of his arms cut off the blood supply to my fingertips, but I didn’t care. He needed to hold me tightly. He needed to convince himself I was still there and no matter how bad the nightmares got, I would never leave him the way I had before.

  I gave him a promise.

  Pulling back, I shook my head. Yet another thing tarnished in my life. I used to love baths. Hot water never failed to wash away my worries and turn me into a puddle of contentedness. That was before Leather Jacket almost drowned me, then drugged me while I’d dozed in Q’s tub in Paris.

  I couldn’t stomach the thought of submersing myself anymore. I didn’t think I’d ever want a bath again. Not that I’d ever tell Q that. He didn’t need to know the stupid things I feared. I would cease to be the strong woman he needed. And I refused to have him see me as one of his rehabilitated slaves who needed help, rather than an equal who deserved him.

  The moment Q stopped seeing me as strong was the day our relationship was over.

  Sucking in a breath, I pushed him away, smiling bravely. Locking away my fear and torment, I turned my worries onto the man who would kill for me. The man who had killed for me. The man who’d proposed. The man I was going to marry.

  “No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

  Q frowned. The silver of the moon had given way to pink and purple bruise
s of dawn. The fading scars looked darker across his face in the gloom. He wore my mark in more ways than one.

  I did that. I scarred his beautiful face. I hurt him so much he almost died; all because I couldn’t differentiate between real life and nightmares. I knew Q had undergone a massive transformation when he allowed me to whip him. The fresh scars on his face and body highlighted just how much he surrendered.

  How much does he expect in return?

  I would gladly pay anything to show him my eternity of gratitude, but I couldn’t deny I was different.

  Q clenched his jaw; his five o’clock shadow was thick. The stress of the past few months decorated both our faces, and I feared we’d never go back to who we were.

  “I told you not to lie to me. You can’t fool a seasoned bastard like me. Do you think I can’t smell your tales?” His voice rasped, bringing comfort and reprimand.

  Dropping my eyes, I focused on the room rather than him. The huge bed cocooned us in a sea of black sheets, and if I looked up to the ceiling, the silver chains from where he’d secured and fucked me glinted in the new dawn.

  The fireplace of hunted deer and the mirrored chest at the foot of the bed granted a strange blend of trepidation and homeliness. Both emotions plaited together, forever linked where Q was concerned.

  My eyes fell on the chest holding Q’s myriad of toys. Toys he’d locked away. Will I ever crave pain the same as before?

  The memory of forcing him to orgasm overwhelmed me. The carpet burn on my knees, the ache in my jaw as I sucked his cock, the salty taste of him as he exploded down my throat. I missed the passion. I missed the inhibitions between us. I miss liking pain.

  “I’m not lying. I truly am better. I don’t need a bath.”

  “Then what do you need?” He reached for my hand, planting it over his left pectoral. The heat of his skin set fire to my fingertips; I couldn’t stop staring at the sparrows and barbwire on his chest.

  “I need you,” I whispered, wishing for the burn, the overwhelming sexual hunger. However, it was scarily absent. Either my libido hadn’t woken up or that too was broken.

  You know what’s broken. You just don’t want to acknowledge it.

  I slapped the voice away, raising my eyes.

  Q sat stonily, looking part-sculpture, part-monster. “Yet another lie. Qu’est-ce que je vais faire de toi?” What am I going to do with you? Leaning forward, his pale eyes searched mine, tearing through my defences, uncovering things I never wanted him to see.

  “I told you to stop lying to me.”

  “And I don’t.”

  He snorted, his mouth tightening.

  I said, “There is such a thing as too much knowledge. Give me time, then I’ll have no need to keep things from you.”

  “I gave you time before and look what happened. You built a fortress and blocked me out. You were so damn cold, so fucking untouchable. Forgive me if I don’t trust you won’t do it again.” Q’s hand flew up, his fingers latching around my throat.

  I froze, battling two emotions: I knew Q wouldn’t hurt me—not like Leather Jacket—I knew it was love driving him to anger. But I couldn’t stop the panic bubbling in my veins or my wide eyes from giving away too many secrets. I was a victim, and Q didn’t do well with brokenness.

  His gaze darkened as my heart thrummed under his thumb. “For God’s sake, Tess. You can’t even let me touch you. How ever did you let me fuck you yesterday?”

  I bit my lip to keep from spilling my dirty lies. I let Q hit me yesterday as he needed to remember himself before it was too late. I gifted my pain and would gladly do it every night for the rest of my life to keep him happy. But I would have to fake it. Fake something that before was as much a part of me as inflicting pain was for Q. We’d been the perfect mirror image of each other, and now the image was dimmed, clouded.

  When he took me yesterday, I forced the memories and horrible history away. When he hit me, the clenching of my insides wasn’t from pleasure, but instead from panic. I allowed Q to believe it was lust.

  I didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t need to know my dreadful secret. It would break his heart and wedge a canyon between us. Time would heal me. Time would fix everything.

  It would.

  I had to believe that.

  Keeping my voice as steady as possible, I said, “I love it when you touch me. And sleeping with you yesterday meant the world to me.” I brought my arm up, breaking his contact around my throat. Flashing my diamond ring in his face, I added, “You proposed yesterday. You offered me your life, your fortune. Everything you’ve done for me, I’ll never be able to repay. Let me try to find normalcy by loving you and accepting everything you need to give me.”

  Q scowled. “You’re saying you would happily let me string you up and use the cat o’ nine tails on you right now?” His gaze glinted. “You would grow wet for me and pant for my cock just like you did before?”

  My heart galloped. Why did he have to ask such probing questions? He knows. I was stupid to think he didn’t. Did he guess I no longer craved the delicious line of pain and pleasure? “Yes,” I breathed. “I would give you everything. Just like you’ve given me.”

  Q grabbed my hand, twisting the filigree wings wrapping around my wedding finger. The diamonds glittered even in the dawn, and my heart glowed knowing Q had imbedded a tracker in the gold so he would always know where I was. The comfort knowing he would hunt for me was tremendous. My monster would come. Just like he’d done before.

  “You hide so much from me, but you forget I can smell fear.” His eyes locked onto mine. “Do you regret saying yes? Have you had second thoughts about marrying me?”

  “What? No!” A spike of horror pierced my heart. “Why on earth would you ask that?” Yanking my hand back, I glared. “Accepting you was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If I smell of fear, it’s because I don’t feel worthy of you.”

  “Worthy?” Q snarled. “You don’t feel fucking worthy after everything you’ve lived through because of me?” Dragging hands through his hair, he glowered. “You still don’t get it.”

  My pulse thudded. The memories I never allowed to surface bombarded me: the grisly bloody heart Q lay at my feet. The black raven wings he’d worn as my dark angel when I was drugged up and hallucinating. How could I feel worthy of someone so much more than me?

  “No. You don’t get it. I came to you as a gift. You tormented my mind, turned my body against me, and showed me things I never would’ve been strong enough to want before you. Not only did you send me away because you thought you would ruin me, but you massacred an entire trafficking ring to save me.” My larynx snapped closed with emotion. I wished I could make him see how in awe I was. How much I loved him. Half of my soul throbbed with cosmically bright love while the other dripped in filth and ruin.

  “You gave me not only your empire and love but also your greatest fear. Don’t you think I know how hard it was for you to let me tie you up and abuse you? You let me be your master, Q. How can I ever repay that?”

  I expected Q to scream. To list the ways I’d repaid him in his fucked-up rationality, but instead he propelled himself off the bed and stalked to the bathroom.

  The door slammed shut; I waited in the centre of the bed for the shower to turn on or for something to smash as he took his violence out on the amenities.

  Seconds after the door rattled in its hinges, Q stormed back out. “I’ll tell you how you can fucking repay me. You can marry me. Today. I’m not waiting any longer.” Q’s melodic accent cut through the room, whipping me with urgency.

  “Any longer? You proposed yesterday.”

  “Don’t answer back, Tess. Not unless you want me to drag your delicious body down the bed and fuck you. Having you argue is the worst kind of aphrodisiac, and I know you don’t want me.” Pacing like a caged animal, he snarled, “The knowledge you’d still spread your legs for me is wreaking havoc with my barometer of right and wrong.”

  He took all choice away. H
e was right. I didn’t want him. Not while anger poured off him in crimson waves. But I did want the connection. I wanted to be reminded I hadn’t pushed him away even though I’d tried so damn hard. I wanted to apologise in more ways than words.

  Q spun away and yanked open a dresser. Grabbing shirts and underwear, he snapped, “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

  I scooted off the bed, obeying instantly. “Where are we going?”

  “Away from here. Away from memories.”

  Stopping at the end of the bed, I frowned. “You can’t run from this. Only time will help us forget.”

  Q stalked toward me. His low-slung cotton trousers defined his hard erection, clinging to his powerful thighs. He bristled, towering over me with authority. “I’m not running from, esclave. I’m running toward. Our future is unwritten. I’m sick of living in the past. It’s time to make you mine permanently. I’m taking you to a place where no one can find us.”

  “Tess. Tu dors?” Are you asleep?

  My eyes shot wide, connecting instantly with Q’s pale ones. Giving him a gentle smile, I shook my head. “Not asleep.” If I could have my way, I would never sleep again. I wanted to quit reliving my nightmares and live in the present where I had so much to be thankful for.

  Q scowled, but slowly a soft smile danced on his lips. “We’re almost there. I didn’t want you to miss it.”

  My heart hammered against my ribs, affirming I was still alive and the catastrophe of our past was over.

  Looking out the oval plane window, I glimpsed glittering ocean and landmasses on the horizon. I’m on my way to get married! Ever since Q placed the ring on my finger, he’d seemed possessed. Rushing forward, dragging me faster and faster toward the moment where we said ‘I do.’ It was crazy to hurry, madness to marry so fast, but all I could do was hold on and not let go of this magical whirlwind.