Twisted Together

by Pepper Winters

  Why would I agree to survive in a Q-less world?

  I was done fighting. I was ready to join my master in a place that wouldn’t tear us apart. I was done living in fear and terror—expecting the worst. I was done living.

  But first—I would paint the sprawling villa in blood.

  “I promise.” The obvious lie hung like a filthy cloud. Franco scowled.

  I hefted the weight of the weapon, counting the victims I wished I’d killed. Q had stolen that right, too. He’d killed on my behalf. Now it was my turn.

  Leather Jacket.

  White Man.

  Jagged Scar.

  All of them dead at his hand. Lynx was mine. Lynx was dead already and I rejoiced knowing I’d taken his soul. I no longer had any aversion to killing. This was right. They deserved to die. And I would gladly buy a ticket to hell in order to grant closure to my pain.

  He’s gone.

  But soon, I would join him.

  Franco sighed. “Let Blair and his team go in first. I’ve assigned Vincent to go in with you, seeing as I’ll be hobbling.” Pinching my chin, forcing my vacant eyes to meet his, he added, “I’ll protect your life with my own—just like I did him. But you have to stay alive in order for me to do that. He wouldn’t want you to—”

  My stomach churned. “Don’t tell me what he wanted, Franco. He’s lost that right because he’s dead.”

  Franco blanched. “Tess—you can’t let this—”

  “Can’t let it what? Kill me? Ruin me? You expect me to roll into a ball and cry my heart out? I’m past being told what I can and can’t do. Stay out of my way, Franco. Let me find peace my way. Otherwise I won’t be held responsible for what I’ll do.” Clutching my gun, I snapped, “Leave me the hell alone!”

  His face darkened but understanding crossed his features. “I know the rage you’re feeling. I know it’s swallowing you whole. But, Tess—don’t run in the opposite direction of who you are.”

  I growled low and long. “Shut up. Just shut up!”

  You know Q wouldn’t want this.

  I shut myself up. I didn’t want any thoughts or doubts. I wanted to stay in the clean clarity of vengeance.

  Franco patted my shoulder. “I get it. I do. And I won’t say anymore. But if you do this, you will never run from fear again.”

  I stroked my gun, counting the seconds till I could fire it. “If I do this, I become fear.” I locked eyes with him. “I’ll no longer be afraid. They’ll be afraid of me.” I’d never be a victim again because I would no longer have anything precious to tear from me. I was empty. I would stay empty until I died.

  In a way that gave me power. Unlimited power I intended to wield on them. They’d turned me into a monster. They’d turned me into Q.

  “I agree.” Placing a hand on mine, he murmured, “Just don’t forget you’re human, too.”

  I ignored the hidden messages. I didn’t pay attention to the hint that I shouldn’t throw myself completely into my murderous rage. I didn’t care if I lost myself. There was no one waiting for me to return this time.

  A man in black military wear broke away from the milling shadows of Q’s entourage. Coming toward us, he moved with stealthy confidence. His hands were free but two guns rested on his hips; multiple knives hung across his chest in a scabbard. Pulling the black beanie further over his blond hair, he said, “Ready when you are, sir.”

  Another man, taller with a rifle slung over his shoulder, appeared with a stick. Passing it to Franco, he grinned wryly. “Never provided a walking cane to go into a rampage but I think you need some help getting about.”

  I wanted to throw up. Jokes! They were making jokes?

  How can they? Tears sprang up my spine, clawing their way painfully through my coldheartedness. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want caustic healing in the form of tears. Empty. Stay empty.

  Franco bared his teeth. “Get that piece of shit away from me. I’m doped up to my eyeballs with painkillers. I can run while I don’t feel it.”

  The man tossed the stick to the verge. “Your funeral.”

  The image of Franco dead cleaved my wounded heart. No, I wouldn’t let anyone else die. I was done losing people I cared for.

  “You’re not coming,” I whispered. A whisper was the only decibel I dared converse at. Everything inside boiled like a pressure cooker, building and building, steaming and steaming until my anger frothed and overflowed. The next time I spoke loudly, I would explode.

  And I would murder the man who’d killed Q. I would be cataclysmic.

  Franco shook his head. “I’m coming. The moment we find Mercer, I’ll crash, but until we have him, I’m not stopping.” Pointing at the two men, he ordered, “Blair, you’re to go in first with five men. Do the preliminary sweep, clear any threats. Peter, you’re in charge of Beta squad, head in two minutes after Alpha. Round up any slaves, staff, non-immediate threats to be sorted later.” His eyes fell on me. “I’ll bring up the rear with Vincent and Tess.”

  “Roger.” The two men, one black-haired, and one blond, nudged knuckles before fading back to their teams to relay the orders.

  He’s trying to protect me.

  Too bad. I wanted to be on the frontline. I wanted risk and danger. I wanted something to hurl this rage onto.

  My heart fizzled with anger. “I’m not going in last.”

  Franco frowned. “You are. You’ll still have your revenge, Tess. But this is the safest way. You’re the owner of everything Q built. Don’t ruin his legacy by killing yourself.”

  The way he ruined me by dying?

  I gritted my teeth, cuddling my gun as if it was my only lifeline. “You can’t stop the inevitable,” I mumbled so only the wind heard me.

  Franco froze. “What did you just say?”

  The inevitable will happen—I’m going to find him—where he’s waiting for me.

  “Nothing.”

  The first team, all dressed in identical black gear, armed with every arsenal available, darted out behind the hedges, heading toward the large driveway.

  No! Wait.

  I wouldn’t hang back like a helpless woman. I deserved to mow down the killers of my lover. It was my right.

  Out of everything Q had done to smash my tower—it was his death that finally released me from the rubble. The bricks, always teasing with erecting, had magically disappeared. My mind was a wasteland—completely grey and barren. I was exposed to every emotion and I only felt one.

  “Esclave, don’t do this. Remember everything I did.”

  Q’s beautiful face consumed me—his strength, his smile.

  But then he morphed and changed.

  His vibrant eyes covered with a filmy white.

  His tattoo hung off him in tatters.

  Oxygen turned to reeking dust. My hollow heart rapidly filled with grief. It oozed through me, stealing my anger every second I stood doing nothing.

  Not yet.

  I refused to break down.

  Not yet.

  The last man disappeared; I couldn’t stand still any longer. I took a step toward the driveway.

  Franco imprisoned my elbow. “No. You’re going in with me. Three, four minutes, Tess. Patience.”

  Three or four minutes. That was an eternity. Time had stolen Q from me. Only minutes from our arrival, and the heartless bitch decided it was too many minutes too long. In another few minutes I might be useless with sorrow.

  I obeyed time no longer.

  My legs itched. My lungs gulped air. I prepared for battle.

  Run.

  Run. Run!

  I took off.

  “Tess, no!” Franco tried to grab me, but his broken body was no match for my quick paced rage.

  I careened around the hedge, flying toward the open door. The soft puffs of silenced guns broke the hushed virginity of the morning.

  The massive granite pillars glittered in the sunlight. Pansies and merry flowers bordered the doorstep, looking innocent, harbouring evil inside. The disguise was
good. But I knew the truth.

  They would die. All of them.

  My hands didn’t shake. My heart didn’t stutter. I leapt over the threshold, trading sun for shadows.

  “Tess!” Franco yelled.

  I didn’t stop. This was the beginning of my anarchy.

  The décor was all red and black and morbid. Q’s team crawled through rooms, dispatching traitors with a scope and trigger. Their black attire made them look like spiders, casting a web of retaliation, taking over their prey.

  “Clear!” someone yelled, followed by a gunshot to the right. I didn’t know where to look. Men’s shouts sounded—then cut short. Running footsteps stomped—then thudded to a halt.

  All around me men died—dispatched with precise coordination.

  They stole my right! They took away my destiny—ending the men’s existence before I could.

  The crackle of someone’s walkie-talkie slammed me into motion. They may have killed a household of bastards, but they hadn’t found Q. No alarm sounded—no raised voices.

  Q was still missing—and I knew his killer would be with him.

  Raising the gun, I hunted.

  Time lost meaning as I sank deep inside myself—tapping into instincts and heightened senses I never knew I possessed. I embraced the animalistic part—switching off humanity, thirsting for blood.

  I prowled room after room.

  Stripper poles and couches in one. Cinema and media in another. Kitchen. Bathroom. Office.

  Bodies. I stepped over countless corpses from the efficiency of Q’s team. Clean shots to either forehead or heart. Their vacant open eyes didn’t raise my heartbeat or garner any emotion but hatred; deep seated hatred kindling in my chest where my heart used to be.

  “Tess, you’re not listening to me. Stop this—before it’s too late. I can’t save you again.” Q’s voice threaded with my conscience.

  You can’t save me because you’re dead.

  Shaking my head, ridding the craziness brewing inside, I entered a bedroom. And slammed to a halt.

  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. Never 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.