Twisted Together, стр. 80
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 a 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 Retribution superseded right or wrong.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
*Five minutes after capture*
Fucking bastards.
Low life scum. They thought they could come into my life and fucking march me away like some weak prick?
Every step traded my sadness and sense of duty to protect Tess and turned it into livid rage. I saw red. I tasted blood. My body burned for retribution.
I’d done all I needed. We were out of sight—away from Tess. I could strike. My hands balled by my sides as a man with brown hair and wrinkles prodded my ribcage, forcing me off the elevator. My thigh was sticky with blood, seeping into the fabric, but the pain was absent. I had too much else to focus on.
You’ll be the first to die.
The lights of the lobby hurt my eyes—stabbing me with the knowledge I was letting go of the good inside me. I didn’t need to unlock the cage this time…the beast took complete control. I was surprised I still thought in words and sentences and not in blood and gore.
I wanted them all dead. Every single one.
I wanted their souls for scaring Tess after everything I’d done to fix her.
Leaving the brightness of the lobby, I slammed to a halt as two non-descript sedans pulled up to the curb. I wouldn’t be getting in the car.
Spinning around, I punched the man behind me. My knuckles smashed against cartilage and I smiled. Payback.
“Ah, fuck!” He stumbled backward.
Blood spurted from his nose. The crunch of bone resonated sweetly in my snarling brain. He cursed in Spanish, waving for two men to grab my arms.
I ducked, swinging in their direction, but a third man grabbed me from behind. No doorman saw, no pedestrians passed. Our fight went unnoticed as the men wrenched my arms behind my back, deliberately tugging too far. My shoulders bellowed. The old gunshot wound in my bicep from Red Wolverine screamed. “Je peux encore vous tuer avec mes mains liees derriere le dos, batards.” I can still kill you with my hands tied behind my back, you assholes.
I’d let myself be corralled from the hotel room to protect Tess. It didn’t mean I’d go any further without a fight. It would be their blood drawn first. Not mine.
“Stop talking in French. How about we just kill you now—save the trouble?” The man I’d punched fisted me hard in the stomach. I doubled over, winded. Sucking in air, I swallowed the pain.
Shitless, gutless prick.
“You do and how do you explain that to Lynx?”
He froze. “How did you know it was—lucky guess, you bastard. But you’re right. Lynx would be pissed.”
My voice was breathless, raging with anger. “Let my arms go and we’ll have a fair fight. If I win you fuck off. Tell Lynx you had your ass handed to you by a bigger bastard than him.”
The man shook his head, eyes cold and flat. “You know how this will go, Mercer. Stop fighting and get in the fucking car.” He punched me again, right in the gut. “Call that incentive.”
My stomach throbbed thanks to his knuckles but I refused to buckle. “My incentive is to see you split open and screaming.” I stood taller, wishing my arms were free to deliver my threat. “You’re right—I do know how this is going to go. And it won’t end well for you.”
The guy grabbed my hair, tugging hard as if I was a truant schoolboy and not the man who would sever him into pieces.
Kill him.
Wrath steamed my blood, coiling my muscles. I no longer felt any pain—just a cold-hearted need to end them.
He ducked his head, whispering in my ear, “You cause a scene out here, and I’ll go back up to that room and put a bullet between the eyes of the slave you were fucking. Rumour has it you have feelings for her. And I bet it would hurt you a lot more watching her die than anything we could do to you.” He pulled away. “You disobey and we’ll take our frustration out on your woman. Do you want that?”