But Tess continued coming, dragging me along with her.

“Fuuuck!” I collapsed forward, slamming a hand against the glass to stop from suffocating her. I. Couldn’t. Stop. My h*ps were demonic, delivering every drop of come I had to give. My fingers dug at the smooth reflection as the final wave drained my balls, stopping my heart with a horrible mixture of panic and relief.

A masculine chuckle entered the sex-hazed world Tess and I existed in, smashing it to smithereens, bringing death and destruction.

A slow clap sounded. “Well, that made me f**king hard, congratulations.”

Double motherfucking shit.

I should’ve stayed on high alert. I should’ve known something was wrong. I should never have let my guard down.

Tess froze. Not breathing. Not living. Shutting down completely.

Terror filled my limbs at the thought of losing her again. But I didn’t have time to worry. I had a murder to commit. Unclamping my fist from holding the netting around her face, I threw it away. Not once looking behind me.

Who the f**k were they? The man from the restaurant? Some other cocksucker who I’d suspected following us back to the hotel?

I knew what they wanted. I wasn’t naïve to know this wouldn’t happen. Hell, I’d been tense for weeks, just waiting for their move. But planning for a future and facing it head on were two entirely different things.

Gritting my teeth, I pulled out from Tess. My body moved stiff, full of ferocious anger as I forced my still hard c**k back into my trousers and buckled up. With infinite gentleness, I pulled Tess’s dress down and reached in front of her, bringing the ruined bodice together as much as possible to keep her hidden.

“Q? What’s going on?” Tess’s voice wobbled.

I kissed her temple. Spinning her around, I looked deep into her eyes. Is this the last time I’ll see her? I’d planned so much—just in case the worst happened. I’d signed my fortune to her—so I’d always know she had money. I’d wanted to marry her to give her the power of my name.

That might not be possible now.

Frederick was right—ever since I’d seen the first article on TV, I’d been fighting against time. Time needed to fix Tess. Time needed to fight her demons before I wasn’t able to anymore. Everything that’d happened to Tess was my fault and I’d wanted to undo my wrongs before it was too late.

The news saved my business but marked me for death.

Fuck, stop those pessimistic thoughts. I would bathe in blood before I let them kill me.

Brushing damp curls from Tess’s cheeks, I murmured, “Trust me. Everything will be okay.” It has to be. I wanted to die as an old married man after living a lifetime with my perfect other. Not here. Not today.

I refused. I f**king refused.

“Mercer!” Franco’s voice cut through my worry just before a fist collided with my cheekbone.

Pain. Hot spreading, throbbing pain.

Tess screamed as I fell to my knee. I shook my head, scattering the stars from taking over my vision.

Blind rage released an injection of adrenaline and I tore upward. My time may be up but it didn’t mean I would give in to the heinous bitch. I had a personal vendetta and fully intended to win.

Another punch landed on my jaw, sending me stumbling into Tess.

She yelled, “Don’t you f**king touch him!”

The ringing in my ears amplified as another man grabbed Tess by the hair, dragging her away. Hurling her to the floor, he kicked her.

I saw red.

I saw blood.

I saw hell.

Launching myself at him, I swung low and hard. My knuckles bellowed as his head cracked backward, eyes rolling with the uppercut. As he fell, I brought his limp carcass forward, smashing my knee hard into his ribcage and dropped every barrier inside.

I lost all sensation of what I did. What parts I tore, what agony I inflicted.

His scream bounced off the walls as I shed all humanity and went rogue.

I’ll kill him.

No one. Absolutely f**king no one would touch Tess again and survive. I would tear their motherfucking heads off.

“Q!”

I ignored Tess, delivering wrath like a devil-filled tornado. Punch. Wallop. Kick. I wanted to turn his body into a lake of blood.

A silenced gunshot went off.

Time stuttered.

Pain.

Lancing horrendous pain sliced into my thigh.

Sickness raced up my back, coating my tongue with bile.

Motherfucker shot me.

I roared with agony, feeding off the hot lick of fire radiating in my leg. Stumbling away from my unconscious victim, I bent over. Pushing a fingertip into the torn flap of my trousers, I found the bloody mess below.

My breath came hard and deep as another flash of pain consumed my system. My finger was torture but I found the exit hole. No broken bones. No severed arteries. A flesh wound.

A wound sending my anger ratcheting from uncontrollable to psychopathic.

“No! Oh, my God. You shot him!” Tess attacked the ass**le who’d lodged a bullet in my limb, bringing a rain of tiny fists onto his torso.

Tess, don’t!

The man batted her arms away, his face contorting with rage. Tess kicked him, screaming.

He slapped her hard, wrenching her neck sideways with force. She went instantly limp, falling into his arms.

No! Fuck no. Not again.

I hurtled toward him, intending to rip his throat out but another man captured Tess, dragging her disorientated body against him. She shook her head, trying to clear the dazed fog, fighting meekly as he grabbed her breast with horrible fingers.

Glowering at me, he yelled, “Stop! Everyone! Behave or we’ll take turns with your little slave before cutting her throat. Got it?”

The threat worked.

I slammed to a halt, breathing hard. Rage siphoned around my body, making me tremble, but I embraced cold calculation.

Glancing around the room, I catalogued everything.

Five men.

A pentagon of doom caged me against the window with Franco in a bloody pile a few metres away. One of his eyes was swollen shut, blood covered his shirt, and he sat painfully, nursing his right side.

Five men.

Three with black hair and smooth blank faces, two with brownish hair and sick satisfaction wrinkling their eyes.

I didn’t recognise any of them.

Red Wolverine?

No, I did enough damage to his operation to risk coming after me so soon.

Emerald Dragon?

No, they were based in Singapore, or was it Hong Kong—either way, I doubted they’d have the resources to come to Rome—not with the heat surrounding their names after I handed over my address book of f**kwit traffickers.