Twisted Together
Frederick murmured, “It’s okay. That won’t happen. But yes. As long as his heart is beating, the tracker will guide us to him.”
I wanted to scream! I wanted to hunt every cocksucking motherfucking trafficker and drain them until they turned from human to withered corpse.
The sweetness inside rapidly faded in favour of ruthlessness. I grew harder—colder.
He’s still alive. Focus on that.
“Do you know where? Where is he?”
“He’s been moved. They’ve taken him to Spain.”
“Spain?”
The voices of the men who’d barged into our suite echoed in my ears. I’d been too afraid of Q being hit and then shot to pay any attention to nationality.
Sergio waved a hand in front of my face, tapping his watch. I wanted to bite his finger for being so cocky and horrible and ruining everything.
“Why? Why did they take him at all?”
Frederick sighed. “Because he pissed off a man called Lynx. And now the bastard wants payback.”
Half an hour later Franco and I zoomed in a taxi to the airport. Sergio had escorted us out of the building himself. Glaring as if we’d single-handedly robbed him of any accolades or good-doing by arresting us.
Franco looked as if he would hit him, so I was glad when a taxi coasted past the second the handcuffs were undone.
My fingers were wrapped around Franco’s phone, glued to the app that’d turned Q—my amazing tattooed sadistic lover—into a red blip on the screen.
Frederick was right.
Q was in Spain.
And alive. He was still alive.
I jumped a foot as Franco placed a hand on my knee. “You okay?”
He asked that a lot. I hated that I acted as if I needed reassurance. The meek girl I’d been slowly changed, embracing vengeance.
I nodded. I was numb with shock, high on hope, and shaking with terror—but yes, I was okay. “I’m alright.”
Franco nodded, leaning into the seat, adjusting his sling with a small groan.
Tearing my eyes from the red blip, I asked, “How about you. How are you holding up?”
His piercing green eyes were tight with pain; his forehead furrowed as whatever painkillers the doctors had given wore off.
He gave me a cold smile, his teeth glinting in the streetlights whizzing past the window. “I’ll be a lot happier the minute I’ve shot some motherfucking ra**sts.” He sighed. “Seriously, I just want to find Mercer and then crash—for a thousand years.”
He winced as the taxi bounced over a pothole. Squeezing his eyes, he muttered, “You’ve always had strong instincts, Tess. Right from the beginning. What are they telling you now?” He kept his eyes closed but his body hummed with tension. “Would you say they’re keeping him for ransom or torture?”
Torture.
I didn’t need to think. Or guess.
The most morbid conclusion doused my system in horror. No matter how I tried to deny it. I couldn’t stop the images.
Fingernails being pulled.
His beautiful strong body being mutilated.
His gorgeous tattoo being sliced from his chest.
My tummy rolled; I slapped a hand over my mouth. Swallowing hard, I forced away the toe-curling images and worked on blanking my mind.
Franco sucked in a breath. “That bad, huh. Shit.”
I wouldn’t speak my nightmares—I didn’t want to give them power. But I did know as long as I was alive, I wouldn’t let that happen. Curling my hands, I hissed, “I’m sick of evil intervening with my life. I’m sick of paying a toll for doing nothing more than falling in love. Whoever this bastard is who took Q—he’s going to scream before I let him die.”
Franco twisted in the seat, his aura thickening, darkening, filling the taxi cab with a threat so ferocious it scared even me. His eyes flashed green fire. “And if I could make that wish come true?”
“What wish?”
“That I’d help you make him scream. That I’d allow you to do the honours to avenge your man. Would you be able to pull the trigger, Tess? Have you fully faced your nightmares to do for Q what he did for you?”
My skin prickled with foreboding. Franco looked cold, calculating, already slipping into the persona of a killer.
My heart thumped harder, my soul churning with a complex mix of right and wrong. Was I bluffing? Could I take a life? For all my bravado, when it came down to it—could I make a grown man scream before stealing his life?
“Shoot her, puta.”
“Do it or we’ll snap her fingers until you do.”
I swallowed hard against the bile searing my throat.
Could I once again become a murderer and welcome more grime into my soul?
My eyes closed.
Q sprang to mind. Covered in blood, his incredible beauty ravaged by horror. They did that to him.
Gruesome heat.
Blood- smeared men.
Screams.
A cold-hearted power filled me. I was protecting what was mine.Je suis à lui. I was his. Retribution superseded right or wrong.
It reverted me to nothing more than a mate fighting for her lover. Delivering justice like for like.
I would rip out the hearts of the men who hurt him. I would willingly butcher and torture and maim.
I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I would never stop being haunted by Blonde Hummingbird or Angel. But this time, it was the right thing to do. I wanted to hunt.
Q wanted me to stand by his side and help women who didn’t have someone fighting on their behalf. Someone had to clean up the garbage in the world. He trusted me to be strong enough.
I am.
“Yes.” My voice sliced through the thick cloud between us, sounding vicious, merciless. “I’m ready to kill.”
Franco nodded, his lips twisting into a grim smile. “Who are you, Tess?”
“I’m his. I’m Tess. I’m his esclave.”
The final piece that was missing—the final piece that made me me—slotted into place. My true identity.
I’m a survivor. I’m strong. I’m ready.
Franco’s face darkened with fierce pride. “And what do you want?”
“I want them to die. I want the blood of the men who took him to grow cold and turn to rust.”
Franco reached into his holster, pulling out one of the guns Sergio had returned.
Handing it to me, he muttered, “Good answer.” His voice dropped to a guttural growl, “I’ll be beside you every step.”
Chapter Twelve
The sun warms my feathers, the updraft in my wings, linked souls for eternity, you’ll now wear my ring