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 f**ks 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.

Chains. Water. Blackness.

My eyes took everything in at once—a panoramic shot of horror. Two men stood in front of a male carcass hanging from the ceiling. Naked, bleeding, cuts upon cuts. Empty buckets littered the floor while a full one rested on a small table.

The man I focused on wore a dark red suit, his hair styled into a black and red mohawk, brandishing a bloody knife in my direction.

“Who the f**k are you? How did you get down here?” His Spanish accent echoed in the tomb.

Him. Lynx. My nemesis. My target.

Then my eyes landed on the massacre behind him.

All the hope I’d nursed sputtered out. All my love and prayers siphoned away.

Sparrows. Clouds. Barbwire.

My heart died.

No! Q was gone. I couldn’t deny it anymore. No one could survive and have so much blood paint their body. No one could hang completely limp and lifeless if they weren’t dead.

Someone cut him down!

Franco careened into the room. His large arm wrapped around my waist, jerking me backward. Shoving me away, he raised his weapon and shot the second man wearing drenched black clothing.

The man’s neck flung back before his body fell like its puppeteer cut his strings, collapsing to the floor. The muted pop sounded so innocent compared to the sudden firework of gristle and blood decorating the wall behind the man.

Lynx reached into his waistband, pulling out an old fashioned pistol. “Don’t f**king move!”

The hairs on my arms stood up, feeding off the anger in the room—the fine edge of living and death.