We shared absolutely everything.

We slithered down the wall to land in a tangle of sweaty-sated limbs.

With our bodies wrapped together, we lay happily in the dark.

Chapter Eight

Master and slave, owner and owned, you sate my need and feed me

We are blood of blood, echoing heartbeat and answering breath; nothing can break us, not even death

I wish people knew.

I wish more people realized this gift.

You changed my world, Q. You sheltered, protected, and avenged me—but even that wasn’t enough to bring me back to life. My heart hurts to think of others who’ve lived what I lived. Other survivors who had to return home and pretend.

Pretend time healed them. Lie that they’re better. Hide that the nightmares haven’t stolen their sanity.

Everyone needs a Q.

Everyone needs to learn the lesson you taught me.

Pain is therapy. Pain is healing. Pain is the only thing that purges.

I’m not doing a good job at writing this down, but after yesterday, I have to try. I have to get my jumbled thoughts on paper—if only to show you how much I love you. To let you witness how much you saved me by being you.

I don’t think you’ll ever understand how indebted I’ll always be to you. Q—you own me, not because I love you, but because you…you’re my—let me see if I can explain.

Sometimes, when life has taken bites out of your self-worth, when fate lands you in the path of horrible circumstance and your body is full of holes from carving out your heart for others, it’s impossible to be whole again. Those holes just get bigger, the nightmares just get stronger.

Life becomes an enemy, whittling away at the remaining parts you have left.

But pain.

It strips you back—it tears off your withered, hole-riddled skin. It destroys the past and annihilates concern and worry. Pain does to a human spirit what acid does to paint. It strips away all the layers of filth and gunk until nothing but the basic material exist. The grime is gone, leaving a complete fresh start.

Q—you are my acid.

Through granting me pain, you gave me a fresh start.

I’ll never be able to repay you.

Your Esclave forever,

Tess

I’d read Tess’s letter over twenty times. Every word she’d written, in her cute feminine flourish, resonated deep inside.

She effectively took every hatred I had about my past—who I was, what I wanted—and chopped it into f**king pieces with a guillotine. How could I hate my need to hurt her when it was what saved her? All my life I’d suffered self-hatred, wishing I was different—kinder, wiser, gentler. Instead, she’d given me…truth.

She’d given me more than freedom—she’d allowed myself to stop hating my needs and…accept.

My mind conjured images of the women I’d saved. Slaves who’d been raped to near death; whores who’d been tortured until every drop of blood puddled on the floor. All women: daughters, wives, sisters. Each one I thought I’d helped by giving them a place to heal before sending them home to their loved ones. I gave them the best of care—bought top-of-the-line medical treatment, psychologists—and when they were less broken, I sent them home with a cheque for one hundred thousand euros. I placed them back with family and gave them a safety net, taking the stress of bill paying and jobs away while they focused on fixing their broken lives.

I thought I’d figured out a recipe to rehabilitation.

I believed family and love would be the ultimate saviour, but what if I was wrong? What if those women had been irrevocably changed? What if Tess was right?

Tess’s hand fell on my forearm, wrenching me from my thoughts. “You okay? We’re here.”

Yesterday had been about breaking her. But it ended up breaking me. I’d been prepared to go dark—treat her f**king awful—just like I always thought I wanted.

But that was the funny thing.

I had everything I ever wanted. Once again she took the allure of darkness and brought her ever shining light to morph it from forbidden to cherished.

Even though I hit her ass until she bled, it wasn’t her who was sore, but me. I felt stripped bare, revealed for what I was—a f**king fraud.

I’d lost the need to be savage. I’d lost the curse in my blood. I still hadn’t come to terms with how I felt about it. I was angry but also f**king relieved.

I’m not him after all.

Franco appeared from the cockpit. “I’ll go get the car. Stay here.” He disappeared down the plane steps, leaving us alone once again. His surly tone reminded me I’d left him outside for twelve hours yesterday while I indulged my fill. And he was pissed. Not to mention his stress levels suspecting everyone now the official news had got out. I was an official target.

They’re coming.

My hands curled involuntarily at the thought of what might happen…soon.

The flight from Tenerife had been uneventful. After the mind-blowing release and breathless conclusion, I’d bundled Tess from that place and returned to the hotel. Franco hadn’t said a word about catching her naked. He’d avoided my narrowed look and behaved like a perfect silent bodyguard.

We’d had room service, before a very innocent shower, and then sleep. Wonderful sleep.

Why wonderful?

Because Tess hadn’t had one single f**king nightmare.

And I was egotistically proud of that.

Shaking my thoughts away, I replied to Tess’s question. “Oui, allons-y.” Yes, let’s go. Smiling, I stood and stretched. The cream leather was comfortable, but my entire body ached as if I’d fought a thousand traffickers. I suppose I had in a way—I’d become the men haunting Tess and shattered their power. Then I took her. Fuck, I took her.

The wintery sun burned my eyeballs as Tess and I descended the aircraft steps. Franco appeared driving a black Phantom with the logo of Moineau Holdings on the side etched in gold.

“Wait? We’re back in France?” Tess squinted against the glare, noticing the large terminal across the way with the very obvious Charles de Gaulle signage giving away the location. Her face flushed as a riot of memories entered her eyes.

Franco squealed to a stop and flung himself out to open the door for Tess.

“Esclave—what are you thinking?” I hated when she got that faraway look. I wanted to chase—to enter her mind and not be left as an unpaying spectator.

“I know what she’s thinking,” Franco said, a huge grin spreading his face.