Twisted Together
Happy tears.
Fearful tears.
Lustful tears.
Vengeful tears.
Franco moved his legs out of the way, so I wouldn’t trip. He patted my butt. “Get up there, Mrs. Mercer. Your husband needs you.” Shoving me again, I had no choice but to lurch toward the stage. I glowered over my shoulder.
Suzette slapped Franco’s arm. I couldn’t hear what she said but Franco smirked, grabbed her hand, bit her palm, and placed it on his thigh.
I smiled. I knew it.
Q’s voice cut through my nerves. “Sorry for the delay, ladies and gentlemen. The minute my wife decides to join me up here, I’ll begin.” My attention flashed to the stage, goosebumps spreading with a mixture of fear and need. I loved when he called me his wife. Especially in that tone.
He wouldn’t hold back when we got home.
I better hide the collar. He’d scared me last time he used it—letting himself get a bit carried away. But he’d made it up to me by loving me sweetly and importing a pair of beautiful parrots—slowly filling his aviary once again.
Hundreds of lenses zeroed in on me as I smoothed down my grey dress. A frill of lace decorated my chest, running diagonally down my torso to flare out at the hem. The matching jacket lay over the back of my chair. Winter had well and truly thawed—the heat in the room was stifling.
Striding forward, I climbed the three steps onto the small stage—thanking heaven I didn’t trip. The moment I was in grabbing distance, Q snaked his arm around my waist, holding me tight. “Took your f**king time, esclave,” he murmured in my ear. “You’ll pay for that later.”
My heart kicked harder, thrumming from his proximity, heat, and gorgeous scent of citrus and sandalwood. He tugged me behind the podium with him.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, trying to keep my lips from giving away my nerves to the press.
“I’m using you, obviously.”
I frowned. “Using me?”
He shook his head. “You still don’t get it do you, Tess? I wouldn’t be here without you. I wouldn’t have found happiness. All of this is yours, not mine. I’m not going to take the limelight when it’s falsely given.”
A reporter grew impatient. “Mrs. Mercer—how does it feel to be married to a man who has personally saved over one hundred girls from trafficking?”
I lost the power to breathe, stunned stupid by the question. The microphones, the cameras—they all loomed closer, hemming me in.
Oh, God. I’d be on TV. Friends from school would know everything. Family who I hadn’t called would know what happened to the daughter they ignored. My life would be known by everyone.
Q tightened his hold, giving me strength.
But it doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter because Q was my life and no one else existed in our realm of togetherness.
I nodded, sucking up courage. “I’m privileged to share his life. He’s beyond incredible.” I cringed from my overly bright voice. I sound like a freaking five-year-old.
The reporter tilted his head. “Give me a real answer. You married the guy—why?”
My forehead furrowed. “Why?” What sort of ridiculous question was that?
Q stiffened, his muscles locking into place.
Hoping Q wouldn’t say anything reckless on a live broadcast, I said, “The truth? It’s simple. Marrying him was like coming home.”
A small murmur of satisfaction bled around the room. Cameras clicked faster, hands shot up with notepads and recording devices.
Questions rained.
“Tell us what happened.”
“What does fifty-eight mean to you?”
“Have you met any of the women your husband has saved?”
“Do you believe the cheating allegations that he uses the women he rescues?”
“Tell us about your wedding—is it true you released a thousand birds?”
Q held up his hand, silencing everyone with one savage downward sweep. “Enough! We’ve agreed to one interview, and those questions will be answered at the appropriate time.” Looking as if he wanted to shoot everyone in the room, he said, “I wish to thank everyone who donated to Feathers of Hope, for their continued support of Moineau Holdings, and for everyone who has been a true friend right from the beginning.” Holding up the scroll, he growled, “But this has been given incorrectly. I’m not deserving of this accolade. I’m nothing but a man with a past looking for a way to deserve everything I’ve been given.”
His eyes fell on mine, burning with desire; I flushed. Cameras clicked and I had no doubt the image would be splattered on newspapers around the world. Q had become a hot commodity, and he’d married me—an ex-slave…a kidnapped woman.
I’d caught my own prince. My own dark wonderful prince.
Q tore up the scroll.
I blinked. “Q—what are you—?”
The room rippled with concern. The prime minster stepped forward, his forehead furrowed. “Um, Mr. Mercer, I don’t think…”
Q cut him off. “Please give me a moment. It’s not what it looks like.” He continued to rip up the thick parchment. I hadn’t even read what he’d been graced with and now never would—he’d turned it into confetti.
Shit, what is he doing?
My heart raced, not wanting to interfere, but terrified he was making things worse.
Keeping the shards in his hand, he stalked off the stage, heading to the first row where doctors, therapists, and police—all who’d been with Q from the beginning—stood.
With a hard smile, he gave them a piece of the scroll.
Once everyone had a scrap, Q returned to the stage. Dragging a hand through his hair, he simply said, “Now the award has been rightfully given. To the men and women who fought on a daily basis—before any recognition or benefit. They fought against evil—just as all the supporters and workers of Feathers of Hope do. Thank you. And now, I’m leaving. We have another engagement.”
Cameras flashed as Q grabbed my hand, yanking me off the stage.
We didn’t go back to our seats, instead, Q slammed through the double doors, leading me into the huge entrance of the town hall.
“Q—we should wait—” I didn’t like going anywhere without security. Ever since committing murder to avenge my master, I’d been ruthless inside. I pretended to maintain my innocence, but beneath it, I was vicious. I wouldn’t have any qualms of killing or hurting if our life’s were threatened. It didn’t mean I wouldn’t let others get their hands dirty, however.