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.
I didn’t care which happened—live or die—as long as I killed Lynx first.
Blair catapulted into the room. Men crowded behind us, filling the corridor, providing back-up but also ensuring we had no way out.
Not that I needed a way out.
Q.
Franco grabbed me. I squirmed against his hold losing my ceaseless rage, filling with hot horror. Q just hung there, arms tied to his sides, black ropes binding his ankles to the ceiling.
Please, move! Let me know you haven’t left me.
My eyes hurt, searching for breath, a quiver of a feather on his chest.
Nothing.
I swallowed back a rush of sickness. He hung upside down, butchered. His legs and stomach rivered with copious amounts of blood. His tattoo barely visible beneath the deep rust. A black towel covered his face, dripping with loud droplets onto the floor below.
I needed him down. I needed him in my arms.
Lynx glared. “I wasn’t expecting an audience. But feel free to watch.” He tore the towel from Q’s head, revealing the bruised, slack face of my master.
The rage inside billowed, gathering momentum, hurtling toward one outcome. Him or me. One of us would be dead within minutes.
“Don’t touch him,” I hissed. I tore from Franco’s grip, stepping forward. I stood in the centre, wedged between right and wrong.
Franco and Alpha team shifted but remained silent. Unspoken law put me in charge. Nothing would be done or finished without my say so. And no one would kill Lynx because I would.
Lynx smiled, ignoring the men behind me—dismissing them just as I had. His gaze locked with mine and it was just us—us in this arena of death. “Who are you?” He stepped back, placing himself beside Q’s upside down body. Pressing the muzzle of his gun against Q’s temple, he said, “Wait, I know who you are. You’ve come for him then. Come to watch him die.”
I hated his mind games—holding a gun to an already deceased body. Teasing me with hope—damn f**king hope. I wouldn’t play his games. I knew the truth. He couldn’t hurt Q anymore because he was dead. The tracker in his arm spoke the truth—not this liar.
I glided forward, compelled to touch—to confirm the white pallor wasn’t fake. I couldn’t ignore the pull, a vortex sucking me stronger and stronger toward Q.
I wanted to scream at Franco to cut Q down, but Lynx protected his prize.
The link between us sputtered, weak…gone. “I’ve come to watch but you’re wrong about what. I’m here to watch your blood coat the floor.”
Lynx’s lips twisted. “You’re as delusional as he was. Do you want to know what he did only hours ago? What another slave did to the man you love?”
I slammed to a halt, bombarded by images of Q sleeping with another, loving another.
He wouldn’t.
“You can lie all you want, but I don’t believe you.”
Franco shuffled behind me. “Put down your gun, Lynx. Now.”
Blair fanned to the side, building a wall of men all bristling with weapons.
“Stand down. This is mine. Do not move.” My voice echoed with authority. The men fell silent.
Lynx smiled. “A woman with power. I like it.” He stroked the muzzle over Q’s cheek, indenting his skin, making him sway in the bindings.
My stomach snarled.
No one had the right to touch him. No one! He’s mine!
Another step. I raised my gun. Give him to me. There would be no reasoning with him. In order to get to Q, I had to win. I had to take not ask.
“You like power? You have none. Take a look. You’re outnumbered. I have a gun trained on your heart and your threats mean nothing to me. Stop touching him and I might let you die cleanly.”
“I told you I’d come for you, Tess. Never doubt how much I love you.” Q’s voice echoed in my head. He’d sacrificed so much for me. He’d brought me back to life. And I’d repaid him by sliding into the darkest part of me. The part I never wanted to know. I have to. I’m doing this for you.
A moment spread like an eternity. Finally Lynx removed his weapon from Q, training it on me. His crocodile gaze glinted, lips pulling back against crooked teeth. “What’s your name?”