She hugged me.

Her tiny arms wrapped around my waist, squeezing tight, reminding me I was human and not a monster after all.

After everything I’d done—it wasn’t enough. Both the beast and man had lost.

My Tess was gone. What the f**k did they do to her? The passion and strength had disappeared. Looking into Tess’s eyes now left me with a shiver and loneliness. All I saw was nothing. Fucking nothing.

She’d shutdown but I didn’t have the f**king luxury of doing the same. As much as I wanted the pain to go away—how tempting the thought of freeing myself from this agony, I couldn’t just leave.

People relied on me. Slaves. Staff. Countless employees.

I charged through the house, going out of my f**king mind at the thought of losing the woman I loved. A new rattle existed inside me—fresh, oozing wounds caused by Tess’s betrayal. The darkness I let consume me while hunting for Tess came back with a vengeance. Gone was the urge to tend to her, make her well again.

All I wanted to do was be far, far away so she couldn’t see how much she broke me. Me? The beast with no f**king feelings teetered on the edge of wrapping his arms around Tess’s knees and begging with everything he had for her to remember. For her to stop this madness and man up. She let shock steal her life. She’d given in to the worst kind of disease.

Three times I’d seen this happen. Three times, I returned former slaves to their husbands, and three times the women hugged and smiled but something was missing. Something intrinsic, unique. The husbands knew straight away. They recognised the soul of the person they adored had shut down, locked tight, and sunk to the depths of their wives’ being.

I’d stood by and felt sorry for the poor shmucks who lost their wives all over again. Once a mind reached its breaking point—it didn’t break. It folded inward, layering like an accordion until every element of emotion was deleted. Until their horrific past, or whatever they’d endured, was gone.

All along Tess had been so strong. And now she was even stronger. Stronger in her chilliness and the sheer fact she’d learned how to block life out. Completely, perfectly, she would never feel again—neither hope nor happiness nor fear. Her life had gone from sensory overload to bleak and barren. She didn’t do it deliberately, but I knew there was no hope.

After all, I’d seen proof. The three women who returned to their husbands divorced them, ruining the men all over again.

Wrenching open the door under the foyer stairs, I bolted down the steps and grabbed a pool cue from the rack. “Fuuuuck!” I yelled, throwing it at the wall. It speared like a javelin, clattering loudly off the wood panelling. The gaming room was the only place I wanted to be.

I didn’t want to go back into the house. I wanted to create a den where I could pretend I never loved or lost.

I’d spent last night in the conservatory—after hearing Tess was leaving I couldn’t lie beside her. I couldn’t put myself through that. Instead, I fell into a fitful sleep with the sounds of birds roosting, but when I woke up, the comfort they offered me was false.

They were only there because I surrounded them in wire and locks. They weren’t there for me. They were my prisoners.

I no longer looked at each sparrow and saw a woman I helped save. I no longer took satisfaction that each little creature represented the good I did. They all became a mockery—all became Tess. Bouncing around in their cage, looking for a way out.

Just like f**king Tess.

“Je ne peux pas plus faire ça putain!” I can’t f**king do this anymore! I’d never been so consumed. I wanted freedom from this mania inside.

Alcohol.

That would help numb me, if not wipe away my thoughts completely. The moment I thought about drinking myself into oblivion, I couldn’t move fast enough.

I jumped over the pool cue on the floor and practically sprinted for the crystal bar. Wrenching open the large humidor, I entered the musky dark cave where ludicrously expensive bottles of liquor rested in the shadows.

Stepping back into the light, I brushed away dust on the Macallan Fine & Rare Collection of single malt whiskey. If I sold this bottle, it would probably fetch ten thousand euros from idiotic connoisseurs. Too f**king bad for them, I planned on swigging the entire thing as medicinal rather than entertainment.

I didn’t bother with a glass. I didn’t bother with sipping and savouring. I tore off the top and chugged.

The burn charged down my throat, splashing into my empty stomach, swilling around with flames of alcoholic fire.

I groaned as another swallow compounded the inferno until I felt sure my stomach would erode.

I took another four chugs before I had to stop to catch my breath. My f**king eyes watered like some virgin drinker, and the room already had a brownish haze.

My hope of sleeping existed in consuming this entire bottle. Maybe then I would go to sleep, and when I woke up, Tess would be gone.

Tess is leaving. Do something! Stop f**king wallowing.

She’s already made the decision. Fuck if I’m going to grovel. I did everything in my f**king power and she still didn’t want me. I could only take so much before I turned from tender lover who wanted to heal her, to a man who wanted to beat the shit out of her because she hurt me so much.

Throwing myself into the corner of the room, I bent my legs and rested my forearms on the top of my knees. The heavy bottle dangled from my fingers, and the only time I moved was to add more fuel to the raging fire in my stomach.

*****

“Q? Mercer? Where the f**k are you?”

A voice pierced my drunken haze; I froze. Whoever it was, I didn’t want them to find me. Piss off. Leave me the f**k alone.

“I can smell a shitload of alcohol, so I know you’re down here,” Frederick muttered as he came around the pool table to find me curled up against the wall. The wall was a f**king comfy place to be. I’d never been so warm and soft and numb.

The whiskey was my only friend. I hugged the bottle closer as Frederick’s forehead furrowed. His nose wrinkled, and he sighed as if I were a mess he had to clean up.

Well luckily for him, I liked my mess and he could just f**k off.

My temper was well and truly off its leash; I snarled, “Fous moi la paix.” Leave me the hell alone.

Frederick crossed his arms, glaring. “How much have you had to drink?”

I sneered, waving the now almost empty bottle of whiskey as if it was the most ridiculous question I’d ever heard.

He blew out a heavy breath, rolling his eyes. He hoisted the front of his slacks to squat in front of me. The urge to punch him so he fell on his ass consumed me.

His slicked-back hair was perfect, his midnight blue suit immaculate. His sapphire eyes had no strain or worry in them. He looked like a f**king poster boy for a happy and successful marriage.

Something I will never have.

Ah shit, the painful thoughts were back. I’d successfully drunk myself into a stupor before, and nothing had existed in my brain, but now the haze switched to painful tiredness. I sighed. “Just leave, Roux. I don’t need you here.”

He shook his head. “I’m not about to leave a friend curled up in the f**king corner reeking of whiskey without knowing what’s eating him.” He raised an eyebrow. “So…what’s eating you?”

The terrible weight I’d been carrying in my chest for weeks exploded. “She f**king hates me! That’s what’s eating me.” I threw my hands up and the bottle went flying.

Frederick caught it before it hit the ground. “She doesn’t hate you, Mercer. You couldn’t be further from the truth.” He eyed the whiskey before taking a swig, wincing as it went down. “You scoured the world for her. You killed countless men to find her, and you butchered the man who took her because that’s what she asked of you. You’ve spent every day beside her, wiping her brow, suffering through her hallucinations all without complaint. You’ve been there for her and she knows that. She still loves you.”

I chuckled. “Oh, I complained. I’ve broken a lot of shit because I couldn’t stand to hear her nightmares or stomach the emptiness in her soul.”

Frederick smiled. “I did the same thing when Angelique got that crazy flu a few years ago. I felt so helpless. Breaking stuff was a good way of venting. That woman of mine has me by the balls—just like Tess for you.”

I scowled. Frederick painted a picture of a man who’d lost his backbone to a woman. Who went berserk when he couldn’t have her—who had no other purpose but nurse her back to health. That wasn’t f**king me.

Was it?

That meant I cared about another more than I cared about myself. That I put their needs before my own.

Shaking my head, I argued, “You’re mistaking me for a pu**y. I’m a scary son of a bitch who runs an international company and saves slaves from f**ked-up ass**les.” I snatched the bottle out of his grip and took a huge gulp.

Frederick huffed, yanking the whiskey back. “Caring for someone doesn’t make you a pu**y, you idiot. Yes, you run a big company—but so do I, and I manage to go home to a wonderful woman whom I adore. You can be strong and soft.”