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 abort
ion. They 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.
“Q? Are you going to drink, answer, or dare?”
I shook my head, dispelling the memory. This game successfully stirred old thoughts I wished would remain buried. I wouldn’t put myself through it again. I wouldn’t be able to stop her from entering my mind if I pursued that line of recollection.
I drank.
The easiest of my family members to talk about—yet, I couldn’t. Fucking didn’t have the strength.
The man in the suit moved to sit in a booth. On his own. My leg twitched, brushing my knife against the chair leg. Why doesn’t he have a date? The beast inside broke its hibernation, sniffing for a threat.
Tess frowned but let it go. Silence fell between us. What question could I ask that wouldn’t spin around and bite me on my ass?
Tess rushed, “You said you share your father’s name. If you hate it so much, why didn’t you legally change it?”
My fist curled around the glass as dark rage seethed in my gut. He was definitely not up for discussion—in any form.
“Let it go, Tess. Family is not permitted in this stupid game.” I looked into my glass, swirling the amber alcohol. I was tempted to swig again, but…she already knew the answer. It wouldn’t make a difference as I’d already admitted to it more than once.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I said, “I kept it because it’s a daily punishment. A reminder that no matter the temptation, I will never become him. The man named Quincy was a fucking monster—those genes live in me. I can never forget that.”
Tess reached across the table, grazing the back of my hand with cool fingertips. I recoiled from her touch, nursing my drink. I didn’t like this fucking game, and I couldn’t stop the anger swirling inside.
My eyes fell on the man again. He seemed innocent but the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The beast inside sharpened its claws, ready to attack.
Were we being stalked or were my senses overrun with suspicion?
“Q…you’re many things but you will never be him.”
You sure about that, Tess? I didn’t have the urge to go dark yesterday because I’d been high on love—intoxicated on doing the right thing and healing her—but what about next time? Would I still be tamed, or would I eventually want more than she could give me?
I laughed coldly, brushing the subject away. She wanted to pry—fine…I had just the question. “My turn.” Glaring, I asked, “You told me you fucked your old boyfriend when you went back to—”
Tess’s cheeks flared with temper. “I didn’t go back. You sent me away. Don’t confuse the difference.” Her annoyance shimmered around her like heat waves, matching my anger, feeding, weaving…thickening the air between us.
This is getting dangerous.
Alcohol, prying into each other’s past—it was a recipe for a screaming match or worse, me losing control.
“Fine!” I glowered. “I sent you back. Not that that’s the issue right now. What I want to know is, why the fuck did you tell me that? Hadn’t I scared you enough? Why did you deliberately provoke me when you knew what I battled with?”
Tess lifted her glass. The alcohol brushed her lips. Her eyes locked with mine, refusing to answer.
I balled my hands.
But then she lowered the glass without drinking. “Because I sensed you needed to be pushed. I sensed your unhappiness. I know you’re only truly happy when you let go.”
Goddammit, I’d been afraid of that. She was way too reckless—always giving me things she wasn’t strong enough to give.
“So you tied a bow around your pretty fucking neck and threw yourself into a life where I could do anything I wanted?”
She glanced quickly around the restaurant, eyes burning with heat. “Yes. And you know why? Because I need pain like you need to inflict—you taught me—”
“Taught you or made you?”
She planted her hands on the table, trembling with temper. “You didn’t make me anything, so get off your ego trip and listen for once. I learned about my dark desires way before you. I stayed with a boyfriend who I loved as a brother because I was too damn afraid of being alone again—but I always knew I wanted more. Needed certain things. If anyone used each other in this scenario, it was me using you.”
She slouched back in her booth, taking a gulp of alcohol.
Franco pulled the curtain aside, revealing his table and his cocky smug-ass face. His eyes darted between us, mirth glowing in his green gaze. “Not that I mind listening to this, but keep your voices down.” He winked at Tess. “For the record—you’re doing a damn good job getting answers I’ve been wondering about, too. Keep it up.”
Pointing a finger at me, he said, “Don’t make me hit you for swearing at your fiancée.”
I snarled, reaching to smash his face, but he jerked the curtain back into position, chuckling at my fucking expense. Bastard. Absolute bastard.
Needing to do something with my hands, so I didn’t sucker-punch my head of security, I drank. The swallow was small—I’d finished my second whiskey.
Exchanging the empty for a full one, I nursed it. Looking at the man alone in his booth, I tried to calm myself, noticing he’d ordered and nibbled on a breadstick. See? Nothing to worry about.
I risked a glance at Tess.
Her eyes were down; her glass also empty. She looked up, catching my eye. Giving me a tentative smile, she whispered, “I don’t think I want to play anymore.”
But I didn’t learn anything new. I hadn’t got nearly enough out of her. She started this—I’d say when we finished.
Pushing the new martini toward her, I muttered, “It’s not over until I say it is.”
She shifted in her seat, picking at the grey netting on her dress. “I don’t think this game is meant for people like us.”
My eyes narrowed. “Des gens comme nous ?” People like us?
“People with too much darkness—too much to hide.”
My skin bristled. My mind filled with images of every dark thing I wanted to do. How could I want to do such god-awful things to
her, when I was madly fucking in love? How could I sit there and argue when every protective instinct was focused on threats I couldn’t see but knew were coming?
I sighed. “You wanted to play, Tess. So play.”
Her blue-grey eyes met mine. “Fine. I can’t remember whose turn it is.”
“Mine.” Was it? Who cared—it was now. “Do you have a middle name?”
Tess paused, stunned at my seemingly innocent question. “Um, Olivia.”
My heart thawed, letting go of the lacing anger. “Olivia. Tess Olivia Mercer.”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “Not yet…but I hope—soon.”
I let a tight smile spread my lips. “Sooner than you think, esclave.” Two days to be exact. Two days before I could relax, knowing she would be cared for for the rest of her life if anything happened to me.
For some reason, I liked her not knowing—creating the surprise. Fuck, I still had to call Suzette. I’d shoot her and bury her in a shallow grave behind my garage if she so much as invited one person I didn’t know. And Franco’s entire team of bodyguards would have to restrain me if she’d invited camera crews. This was private, and I wouldn’t share my life for no amount of money, company promotion, or sick human curiosity.
“Do you have a middle name?” Tess asked. Ah, so her ploy was to parrot all my questions. I’d have to stick to basic rapid fire, lulling her into a sense of normalcy before sneaking in what I really wanted to know.
“No. What was your favourite movie as a child?”
Her eyes filled with innocent happiness. She laughed. “It’s a little ironic—but Beauty and the Beast.”
I had no idea why that was ironic, but I let it go. She asked, “Who’s your favourite band? I know you like music—you played enough when I first arrived.”
The question was more loaded than she thought. I had a favourite singer—who happened to be a good friend and Tess would meet her soon. “Yes. Most of the songs I played were originals by her.” Taking a sip, I mulled over another question. “What are you most afraid of?”
Twisted Together Page 29
