The gunshot scar in his bicep had a horrible way of linking me back to what happened. Q earned that hunting for me, killing for me. I’d never look at it without reliving the past. Without remembering how my mind was turned against me. How I lived with history that I couldn’t even recall thanks to the haze of drugs.
But it was his face that made my heart squeeze every time I looked at him.
His perfect, unmarked skin now glistened with tiny scars. Day by day, they muted from pink to silver and only added to his perfection. A constant reminder of what I did and what he gave in return.
Q looked up, smirking. “I can feel you undressing me with your eyes, esclave.”
My tummy somersaulted and I laughed softly. “I must admit, my thoughts are heading to dirty.”
Q’s nostrils flared and the gentle companionship between us turned to lust-laden. For the first time in three weeks, chemistry sprang to a fever.
Leaning forward in the deck chair where we’d taken refuge on the patio outside the lounge, Q murmured, “I miss you.”
The late afternoon sun was warm, but the chill in the air meant we had tartan blankets over our legs. I could imagine my life, fifty years from now, with Q as a distinguished old man and me by his side. Never again would I think about leaving. No matter how bad things got, I would never switch off or forget Q was my reason for living.
My eyes darted behind him to look into the lounge. Nobody was there. All the women from Rio, including Sephena, had been returned home to their loved ones, and for the first time in months we were truly alone. Even Mrs. Sucre, Franco, and Suzette had gone to the village, leaving us to our own devices.
The house was empty, but I knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Q would find more survivors; he would bring them home and heal them. Just like he’d healed me against all odds.
My heart squeezed and I thanked every entity that he’d brought me back. I never wanted to live with such emptiness again.
Q’s face darkened and he looked away. “I have something for you, but I’m not sure how you’re going to take it.” He sat straighter, dog-earing the page of the property file he was reading. “I wanted to wait a bit longer, but I don’t think I can.”
Curiosity and the delicious sensation of arousal made me hyper-alert. Placing my sketchpad on my knees, I scowled briefly at the jumble of buildings and how squibbly my lines were. My finger had healed, but it lost the function to bend fully and it kept getting in the way.
Q stole the sketchpad, throwing it onto the patio, along with his property reports. He stood, holding out his hand, a dominating air surrounding him.
“What is it?” I smiled. “What’s so urgent?”
He shook his head, plucking the blanket off my legs, adding it to the one on the floor. “I want to show you before I lose my nerve.”
Placing my hand in his, he hauled me up in one yank. I coughed and his eyes narrowed. Even after weeks of healing, my lungs still acted as if I’d been a smoker all my life. But Q didn’t rush me. He took such exquisite care of me. Not once did he ask anything that I wasn’t ready to give.
The one and only time I’d tried to kiss him, hoping for more, he’d pushed me away saying he needed time. Needed time to see me as the strong woman I was and not the invalid I’d been. He said he loved me, but the twisted part of himself needed me healed and capable of withstanding what he required, before he let me back into his bed.
I understood. I accepted it as part of him and didn’t push, but I never stopped wanting him.
But now, with his strong fingers wrapped around mine, I hoped we’d finally be able to put the past behind us and make new memories.
Q didn’t say a word as he guided me through the lounge and up the midnight blue carpeted stairs. When we got to the top, he jerked me close. I gasped as his lips pressed hard against mine. His hands dropped to my hips, pinning me in place. “I want to do something to you, esclave.” His dark voice wrapped around me, making me eager, wet.
I kissed him back, opening, encouraging him to kiss harder. He broke the connection, dragging me down the corridor.
My heart squeezed painfully as we passed the room where I’d almost killed Q. As far as I knew the room no longer existed. A demolition crew had been in and Q had banned me from ever stepping foot in there again.
We didn’t stop until we headed into the west wing, passing multiple doors.
My stomach tripped in anticipation as Q finally slowed and placed his hand on a knob.
He breathed hard, as if he’d planned this for a while but only now had the courage to go through with it. For Q to be afraid meant he wanted to do something drastic.
I tensed, waiting for the over-whelming fear of pain. The lesson White Man taught me to avoid it at all costs still had a hold on me. I lived with ghosts of what I’d done, unable to avoid the occasional spasm of regret and horror.
“I won’t force you. You can say no,” Q said, opening the door and pushing me through.
My mouth plopped open as he guided me inside and locked the door.
“You did this?” I whispered.
All around us was a massive, intricate birdcage. The walls were painted with silver bars, a giant silver bell dropped from the ceiling as a chandelier. Mirrors hung while oversize spray-painted branches loomed overhead. There were even real metal bars pressed deep into the carpet.
We were effectively trapped, imprisoned just like his beloved birds.
He cleared his throat, burning a hole into me with the intensity of his gaze. “I wanted a room that symbolized us. The cage is a promise.” His body tensed, drawing need from me to him, building rapidly until my heart flurried. “You said you’d let me do this once. I’m hoping you won’t refuse.”
He captured my cheeks with harsh fingers, reminding me he might’ve been gentle and kind the last few weeks, but he wasn’t truly that man. He’d kept the anger, the darkness away from me, carefully guarding whatever thoughts he entertained. “I told you I couldn’t let you into my bed again until I was able to see past what happened. You know I need someone strong, unbroken, courageous.”
I nodded, my pulse thudding thickly in my veins.
“I see the old Tess. For the first time in weeks, when you looked at me, I saw her. And I want her. So f**king much.” He crashed his mouth against mine, sending my need for him spiralling out of control.
He broke the kiss, growling. “I need to be inside you, but I need to do something else first.”
I breathed shallowly, trying to figure out what he wanted. “I’ll give you whatever you ask.”
His mouth twisted as his pale eyes glowed with darkness. “Is that the truth, esclave? Would you give up your life for me? Would you let me whip you? String you up and bring you completely into my world?”
I couldn’t stop a conflict of emotions filling me. The old Tess, the one who got off on pain wanted everything Q offered. But this gentler Tess—the one who’d killed and hurt—wanted nothing to do with blood or screams for the rest of her life.
But it didn’t matter. I knew my answer. “Yes. I would.”
Q kissed me fiercely, darting his tongue into my mouth, making me drink his need and passion. Whatever he was about to ask meant a lot to him. I could taste it.
“You’re mine, Tess, but you’ve never been a true submissive. Somehow, you give me everything you can, all the while keeping everything out of reach. You drive me f**king insane, and that’s why I need to do this.”
“You don’t need my permission.” My voice dropped to a husky whisper; my core clenched at the thought of him tying me up and f**king me. I needed to connect. I needed him inside me. “You already have it.”
He opened his arms and I curled into his embrace. For a man who’d never hugged before, he held me often. He didn’t hold me with just love, though. He held me with possession, aggression, obsession.
Q pulled away, his jaw tight. “This will hurt. But you’ve given me your word.”
Fear replaced the love in my heart as Q gave me one last look before heading to the fireplace. With a click, the gas caught, and eager flames sprouted into being. Resting on the mantle were two long pokers.
Q picked one up, returning to me with it in his outstretched hands. “Take it.”
I cursed my trembling, but took the pole, turning it to see the emblem at the bottom. The instant I saw it, I remembered what I’d promised. That Q could scar my skin to put his mind at rest. That he could mark me so he’d always know I was his.
I ran my fingers over the sigil. “Oh.”
Q froze, bristling with black energy, restraining himself from desires I didn’t comprehend. After what happened in the gold and red room, he wore his edginess, his temper, like a cloak. I didn’t know how badly I’d damaged him, but even while he was being gentle and considerate, he lurked in the shadows, living in a place I didn’t know if I could find.
The emblem was a capital Q with a sparrow swooping toward the ground as the tail of the letter.
My eyes flashed to his, drowning in his gaze.
His shoulders bunched as he brushed away hair from my neck, running his thumb along the scar left from the tracker.
“I want to brand you. I need to have something of mine permanently on your skin.” He bent his head to press a kiss on the scar. “I need to know you’re mine.”
“I am yours. You know that.”
He shook his head, echoing unhappiness in his eyes. “You were going to leave me. I had to give you my life to make you stay. I need to see you’re mine every time I look at you. Every time someone else looks at you, I need them to know you’re taken. Call it barbaric and horrific and tell me I’m a selfish f**k-up, but, Tess, I need this. I can’t come back to you otherwise.”
I didn’t wait another second. If he needed this simple thing, so be it. I wanted it, too.
Pushing the poker into his hands, I said, “Do it. It would be the highest honour to wear your mark.”
His jaw worked as if he held back a huge weight of emotion. His pale eyes glittered. “Je te remercie du fond de mon cœur.” Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Together we walked to the fireplace. My pulse pumped faster as he placed the brand in the flames.
His fingers squeezed mine as he reached for another poker and passed it to me. I took it as tears sprang to my eyes.
This one had a capital T with a birdcage hanging from it. A pure symbol that I’d captured him completely.
I stared deep into his eyes. “Are you sure?”
He shook his head gently, stealing the pole, placing it in the flames beside the other one. “You shouldn’t have to ask me that, esclave.”
My throat closed, and we didn’t say a word as the metal went from matte black to glowing red.
Q let me go to disappear into the bathroom. He came back with salve and medical patches for afterward.
My skin flushed thinking how painful it would be, but I stopped the thought. After everything I’d endured, a burn wouldn’t scare me.
Once everything was laid out, Q turned to me, pointing at the floor. “Kneel.”
I did as he asked, kneeling before the man who owned my heart and soul. The master of me completely. With concentration etching his eyes and his lips pursed tight, Q lifted the hot poker, and with no hesitation, pressed it hard and fast against my neck.
The searing, scorching heat made my eyesight black out for a second, and the sickening sound of my skin hissing almost made me retch. But then it was over, and Q tossed the poker back into the fire.
Immediately, he grabbed the medical supplies and applied antiseptic cream then the bandage.
I daren’t look in his eyes as he tended to me. I could taste his eagerness, his sublime joy at what he’d just done.
I wanted to see. I wanted to look in a mirror and inspect what marked me permanently as his, but Q stood and gathered the other poker. Kneeling in front of me, he offered the handle. I stood slowly upright.
Biting my lip, I shuddered with the thought of causing him yet more pain. Can I really do this? My own neck thundered with agony, cauterized and stinging.
With strong, sure fingers, Q unbuttoned his white shirt. Once spread wide, giving glimpses of sparrows and barbwire, he traced his fingers over his heart.
“This belongs to you, Tess. Brand me there so you’ll also know.”
My stomach rolled at the thought of burning him, but I tensed my muscles and angled the glowing symbol above his heart.
Q pushed his chest out, curling his fists on his thighs. “Fast and hard, esclave.”
I nodded and lunged. The symbol melted through his skin in a second. The smell of acrid hair singeing filled the room. A second later I withdrew, relinquishing the terrible brand back into the fire.
Q grunted as he stood and his shirt swung forward, sticking to the raw skin. I twirled around to collect the salve and bandages, before tending to Q. Pushing his shirt gently off his shoulders, I winced.
He never took his eyes off me as I massaged the cooling balm onto his wound. The design was flawless, every bar of the cage etched deep into his flesh; the T a perfect feminine cursive.
Tears fell unbidden as I covered up the mark, sticking the bandage into place.
He’d given me himself. Forever.
Q pulled me into his arms. “Already I can feel the darkness coming back to life. Knowing you’re mine. That you willingly gave me your pain once again.” He buried his nose in my hair, inhaling deep. “I thought I’d lost that urge. Lost that part of myself.”
I didn’t need to ask what part Q had lost. I always knew he lived with demons in his soul.
Q shifted, walking me backward to the bed. The mattress no longer rested on the floor—it had been designed as a miniature cage. Hanging from the ceiling with bars and chains. Swags of material cocooned the space like a perfect trap—a trap to keep us safe together.