Twisted Together

by Pepper Winters

I couldn’t say no to her. Regardless if she was there to kill me. I couldn’t’ say no to the woman I’d hurt so badly.

  “Let her go, Franco.” My voice was reedy, lost.

  “Tess?” Q shook me, but I sank into memories.

  “That’s it. Do it. Hit her. Harder.”

  Blonde Angel hurled herself up the steps, beelining for me. Her mouth opened, but I heard nothing. Only Leather Jacket lived in my ears.

  “You’re so weak, puta. Beg for your life. Beg for it—maybe then we won’t make you kill her.”

  Tears.

  They sprouted up my throat, trickling from my eyes. My entire body wept for what I’d done to this girl. She halted a foot away; both of us breathing hard, both staring silently. Her tears matched mine—a torrent of emotions on her heart-shaped face.

  A story screamed in her gaze.

  Confusion.

  Hatred.

  Sadness.

  Forgiveness.

  She cried out, deleting the space between us. I cowered, bringing my arms up to protect myself, but her body smashed against mine, clutching me hard.

  I froze. Not breathing, hardly existing under the horror I’d caused.

  Q grabbed the girl’s shoulder, wrenching her back. “Qu'est-ce que tu penses faire?” What the hell do you think you’re doing? His voice was livid, his body trembling with rage.

  I opened my mouth to explain. How to explain? I’d told him what I’d done—what they made me do. But having the evidence standing as judgement was too much.

  “I had to see her. I had to tell her,” Blonde Angel sniffed, uncaring tears tracked down her face.

  I sucked in a fearful breath. My limbs quaked. “I’m—I’m—” I’m so damn sorry. So eternally, endlessly sorry. I’ll never ever forgive myself.

  She shook her head, a smile breaking through her sorrow. “I had to tell you—I…” A fresh spillage of tears ruined her strength. Swallowing hard, she managed, “It wasn’t your fault. All that time, I knew you cared. You accepted more pain to stop us from receiving, but in the end nothing you did could’ve stopped it.”

  She reached for me again, burying her face in my shoulder.

  Something snapped inside. The grief I thought I’d dealt with gushed forth, purging the remaining darkness in my soul.

  “I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, clutching her, drowning in tears.

  Q stiffened but never let go of my waist. I stood hugged by two people. My past and future. Anchored by my love, drifting on a sea of pain.

  The world ceased to exist as I found closure in the arms of my victim. The arms of the woman who I’d watched be raped and traumatised.

  Q’s hand shifted to my lower back, linking me to the present where I was good. Where I’d repaid my sins by saving others. He gave me silent support while I came undone on the steps of the Paris town hall.

  Slowly, my grief ebbed. Blonde Angel smiled, her face blotchy and red. I knew my reflection would match completely.

  A smile graced her lips, a weight lifting off her shoulders, evaporating into the sunny sky. “Thank you.”

  I shook my head. “Thank you. For being strong enough to forgive me.”

  She pressed a kiss to my cheek. “We were both their victims. We knew that. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Tess—is everything okay?” Q murmured, rubbing my spine. His eyes never stopped glaring at Blonde Angel. He stood as my guard, soothing my soul.

  I smiled softly. “I’m better. Now.” Turning to Blonde Angel, I asked, “What’s your name?”

  She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s Sophie. And I’m guessing yours is Tess?” Her eyes flickered to Q, growing wide with awe. “I remember you. I remember you coming into our cell and some guards taking us away. I remember your home.”

  My eyes snapped to Q. “She stayed at our house and I never knew?”

  He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t want you to see any girls from Rio, Tess. For this exact fucking reason.” His gaze softened. “I’m very glad you’re happy now, Sophie, but can you please let go of my wife?”

  Sophie laughed, rubbing the saltiness from her cheeks. “Sorry.” Letting go, she added, “Sorry for jumping on you. I just—when I saw you—I had to—”

  I captured her hand. “I’m so glad you did. I’ll never be able to thank you.”

  I would never be able to articulate the freedom inside—the freedom I didn’t even know I needed.

  The prime minster cleared his throat. His eyes bounced from me to the woman hemmed in between Q and Franco. “Um, miss. Are you saying you had direct contact with Mrs. Mercer when she was taken in the reported second incident?”

  Oh, no. My heart picked up. I couldn’t have my crimes told. I wouldn’t be able to advocate Feathers of Hope if people knew what I’d done in that awful place. “No—she—”

  Q growled low and threatening. “Leave her out of this. She came to see my wife. Nothing more.”

  Sophie flashed me a smile, before facing the prime minster. “I respect Mr. Mercer, but yes. I knew this woman before I was rescued by him. I know what she went through, and I know how intrinsically good she is.”

  My heart fell out of my chest. I was full of deceit. I hadn’t been good then. I’d been drugged out of my mind—their little puppet.

  “Shoot her, puta. Or we’ll cut off her fingers.”

  Why didn’t I shoot Leather Jacket? Why did I have to obey?

  Prime minster nodded, his eyes glinting. “Would you be so kind to say a few words to the crowd, on behalf of the charities Mr. and Mrs. Mercer run?”

  “Quoi!” What? “No. Definitely not,” Q snapped. “Leave her—”

  “I’d love to,” Sophie said, almost giving Q a heart attack.

  Sophie gave me another smile and I knew I had to trust her. Whatever she said would be the truth—I couldn’t control how people perceived it. There was no arguing with what I’d done.

  Laying a hand on Q’s trembling forearm, I swallowed my fear. “Let her, Q. Let her speak.”

  Q’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring with anger.

  “Very good.” The prime minster handed Sophie a wireless microphone, guiding her to stand in front of us. “You may begin when you’re ready.”

  The crowd hushed from bedlam to whispers. Their energy was infectious. My legs itched to run. I didn’t want to be here—not when people learned the truth.

  Sophie looked behind, holding out her hand.

  What? No. I can’t!

  I squirmed backward, pressing against Q, seeking his protection like a wimp.

  Q cursed under his breath. “I wish I could carry you away from this, Tess. But you can’t run—not now.” Pushing me forward, he murmured, “Stand beside her. Be strong.”

  My heart confounded with terror, horror, and everything in-between. I inched close to Sophie, avoiding the eyes of the crowd.

  All women. Women saved by Q.

  The only woman I’d had contact with, I’d beaten until she screamed for mercy. I’m an imposter—a fraud!

  I couldn’t breathe. The sun was too bright.

  Please, fly me away from here.

  Sophie linked her fingers with mine. Holding the mic to her lips, she said softly, “My name is Sophie White, and I owe my life to Mr. Mercer.”

  The crowd went deathly silent. The quiet click of cameras and whir of video recorders were the only noise. I stood terrified and judged beside the woman I’d done such atrocious things to.

  I couldn’t move.

  “My story began with the death of my grandmother. We used to go to the regular flower show. I collect berry seeds—I make my own tea, you see…” Her voice trailed off before growing louder. “I was sitting on a bench, nursing my sadness, when a nice man sat beside me. He asked why I was crying. I told him about my grandmother—about how much I missed her. It felt so good to talk to someone, so when he asked me out for dinner, I didn’t hesitate.”

  Her voice turned inward, filling with memories. “People thi
nk you’ll get taken from dark alleys or seedy nightclubs. The truth is…nowhere is safe.”

  She swallowed. “They stole me three days before my grandmother’s funeral. I never got to say goodbye. I woke up cold and bruised in the dark. I was there for ages—or maybe it wasn’t that long at all—time plays tricks on you when you’re no longer a girl but property.”

  Her hands tightened around the microphone.

  My barcode tattoo with the sparrow inked into the cage, itched. I’d been property. I’d been merchandise for sale. I knew how it felt to be traded. And I also knew how it felt to be saved.

  My heart lost its terrified rhythm. I stood taller. These women were my allies. These women were the reason why Q found me.

  “I won’t go into my captivity—but I will say that when Mr. Mercer arrived, I didn’t want to live anymore. I was ready for death. I craved death. But he wouldn’t let me.”

  My lungs stuck together. My own ordeal swamped me. Not only had Q fought to get me home, he’d sacrificed so much to bring me back to a life I no longer wanted. I’d been so busy wrapping myself up like Rapunzel in my tower—I’d forgotten how much I had to live for.

  I hurt him so much.

  He forced me to embrace pleasure as well as pain. He gave me a fuller life—a life I never deserved.

  He loves me so much.

  I turned to stare at my husband, suffering a flush of all-encompassing love. He smiled, the sun catching the tiny scars I’d marred him with.

  Sophie continued, “Mr. Mercer opened his home to those of us rescued in Rio. He paid for our doctors, provided psychiatric help, and gave us time to heal away from our families. Families who we didn’t want to let down by being broken.

  “By the time I returned home, I was strong enough to be supportive of my boyfriend, Ryan. We forget, as the ones taken, that the ones left behind have it bad too—if not worse. They can’t do anything to save us. If I’d returned to him before I was strong enough, our relationship would’ve failed—I wouldn’t have been able to love him the way he needed.

  “I won’t lie and say it was easy. But life does go on.” Her voice changed from storyteller to fierce advocator. “The key I found in surviving LAT… Life After Them…is…allowing yourself to acknowledge you will never be the same. Don’t try and return to who you once were. It won’t work. Give yourself the right to say you’re stronger, better, wiser, harder. Don’t let them win.”

  She twisted, looking over her shoulder at Q. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you on behalf of so many other women. I’ll never forget you and will treasure my life because of what you did to give it back.”

  A squall of tears charged up my back, blurring my vision.

  Thank you, Q. For being you.

  Q rolled his neck. His eyes blazed with feeling but his posture was graceful as he moved to my side. Slinking his arm around me, he subtlety took possession, separating me from Sophie. He nodded, granting power and gracefulness in one movement. “De rien.” You’re welcome.

  An orb of light filled me, growing brighter, bolder with every second.

  This was the man who I loved and would always be proud of. I wanted to rain kisses over his face for all that he’d done.

  The crowd grew loud, one voice rising with praise.

  Q eclipsed my entire heart—giving me comfort in his dark embrace.

  He waved. “Thank you, everyone. And thank you Sophie for having the strength to tell us of your ordeal.” His forehead furrowed as an idea came to mind. “If anyone else would like to share their stories, and continue to gain support from one another, I will personally visit you over the next week as we tour with Feathers of Hope. As for now, you are my guests. Please speak to Mr. Roux for details on your accommodation.”

  Q smiled. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me and my wife. We have an important interview to attend, and we’re already late.”

  The crowd roared with applause, humming with happy energy as Q handed the microphone to the prime minster.

  The prime minister took it. “Thank you for your time and generosity. The city of France will gladly contribute to your tour.”

  Q shook his head. “No, need. The financing is taken care of.” Looking at Frederick, he said, “Find out how many rooms you need and book out the finest hotel. Franco will assist you if needed.”

  Frederick nodded, slapping Q on the shoulder. “Consider it done, my friend. Now, you really better go.”

  Untangling myself from Q, I gathered Sophie in another hug. “Visit me any time.”

  She grinned. “Maybe we can have coffee one day—just us.”

  I didn’t know if the topic would be our past or future but I would spend time with her regardless. I needed to stop feeling guilty. I needed to move forward. “That would be nice.”

  We parted, drifting toward our respective places. Q gathered me in his strong arms, welcoming me back into the world I loved while Sophie disappeared into the crowd. The women offered hugs and high fives, swallowing her up in their collective embrace.

  My body was drained. I had nothing left. I felt carved like a pumpkin with no seeds. But it was a good carving—a cleansing leaving me eerily weightless and completely vulnerable to the new existence before me.

  I’ve forgiven myself. I would never curse my fate again.

  Q had successfully given me every stage of healing.

  I was whole.

  Frederick grinned, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. “You guys really better go. They’re waiting. We’ll see you later in the week.”

  With one last glace at the crowd, Q stole my hand and guided me into the sunshine.

  We entered the hotel suite on the tenth floor, frazzled, humbled, and completely drained.

  Q hadn’t let go of my hand as we traversed the crowd to the hotel across the street. Franco had kept us safe, his team of bodyguards ghosting around the swarm.

  The moment we stepped into the room, a blanket of peace descended, hushing my racing heart, letting me relax for the first time since this morning.

  My feet throbbed in my heels as we crossed the richly decorated suite. Q released me, dropping onto the English rose-print couch. “That was exhausting.”

  I smiled, slouching next to him. “Yes, but so incredible—to see those women worship you, Q. To know she’s okay—it’s amazing.”

  He scowled. “Not worshipping, esclave. Never that. They only have themselves to thank for taking their lives back. I was only the beginning, not the solution.”

  I wanted to kiss him senseless for being so proud—unable to accept the good he did.

  His lips quirked into a gentle smile. “And who knew you had fans already. I’m going to get jealous if people start hugging my wife.”

  I laughed. “No fans—just a part of my past giving me freedom to let go.” My eyes faded, thinking of Sophie. I was so glad she survived. So happy she’d been invited by the prime minister, giving me absolution.

  “Come here, Tess,” Q murmured.

  My tummy flip-flopped at the quiet authority in his tone. I scooted closer, falling into his open arms. “What do you need, maître?”

  He smirked. “Oh, I can think of many things I need.” His lips landed on my ear, making me shiver. “I need you naked. I need you strung up, so I can show you how damn proud I am. And I need you screaming because my nerves are shot and being in public isn’t getting any easier with you so vulnerable by my side.”

  I’m not vulnerable. I have you.

  “If you promise to do that thing with your tongue again—I’ll scream for you.”

  I gasped as his lips descended on mine, kissing me stupid. His tongue speared my mouth, dragging moans and pleas and promises from my soul.

  The hotel door opened.

  Q growled, his arms tensing around me. For a moment, I feared he wouldn't let me go—to hell with the reporter.

  But then he released me, moving away. My lips twitched, noticing the way he crossed his legs, hiding his impressive, delicious er
ection.

  The reporter, with her plaited black hair and vibrant hazel eyes, entered. We’d agreed to one interview. Only one. And then it was back to work.

  A hotel staff member followed, wheeling in a trolley full of pastries, éclairs, and coffee.

  The woman smiled, sitting down, brushing her navy skirt around her legs. She pulled free a pair of silver-rimmed glasses from her bag, placing them on her nose. Her smile was cupid-sweet and bright pink.

  We waited in comfortable silence as the coffee was poured. Once the waiter had left, Q grabbed a steaming cup, holding it to his lips. His sharp attention fell on the reporter, sizing her up with one glance. “Bonjour.”

  She snagged a cup of caffeine, mimicking Q in a sip. “Hello, Mr. Mercer. Mrs. Mercer.” Her warm gaze landed on me; I smiled. “Hello, nice to meet you.” Collecting the last cup from the table, I held it, letting the hot liquid soothe my fluttering nerves.

  I’d never been interviewed. I had no idea what to say. What not to say.

  I needed a rule book so as not to embarrass myself or Q.

  Taking another sip, she said, “My name’s Fiona, and I’ll be conducting the interview today.” She placed a recording device on the low coffee table between us, opening her notepad. Reclining into the Louis Vuitton styled chair, she grinned. “I wish to extend my gratitude for your time and expect us to be here for a few hours—but it all depends on how deeply you wish to tell me your story—and if you’d like to break during questioning.”

  I’ll need a break. If only to gather my thoughts from the very distracting male seething with energy beside me.

  Q nodded. “That’s fine.”

  Fiona looked to me, a bond of femininity shot between us. She turned off the recording button. “Just before we start, I wanted to say on a personal level, your story has inspired me to help with Feathers of Hope. I’ve signed up to report on the women who want to tell their stories. I didn’t think anyone would be interested in speaking, but I’ve been overwhelmed with their tales already.”

  Her eyes flickered to Q. “I feel out of bounds saying this, but I think I’m a little bit in love with you—mainly because of how much you love your wife.”

  Q choked on a sip of coffee, before rearranging his face into something resembling coolness. “I think the only answer to give is thanks?” He glanced at me. His eyes yelled a message: what sort of interview is this?