With a flourish, he passed me a miniature Swiss army knife.

My eyes popped wide, and I accepted it with shaky hands. “Thanks.” My voice whispered with awe. From now on, I would carry a Swiss army knife—never know when one would come in handy. Bet he didn’t wake up this morning expecting a runaway to use it to cut a tracker off her body.

I took the red case and flipped open a serrated blade. I blew blonde bangs from my eyes, sawing through thick plastic. It took a lot of energy, and my skin grew clammy beneath the jumper by the time it snapped and fell away.

The moment it dropped to the floor, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The nightmare was almost over, one step closer to Brax.

The guy watched closely. His intense gaze sent flutters of awareness as I returned the knife. I kept my face blank when he palmed it, shoving it back in his pocket.

Perhaps I should’ve kept it? You’re not thinking clearly, Tess. Don’t trust anyone.

He gave me half a smile, light returning to his eyes. Fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “What happened?”

I managed three words: “Q Mercer happened.” Then weariness smothered and the thought of reliving it was too much. I couldn’t talk about it; I might not ever be ready to talk, and that was fine by me. It would become an unspoken moment of time and fade into oblivion.

Huddling, my chest clogged with emotion. So close… so close. I grew heavy as the adrenaline in my blood abandoned me. “I just need to get to the police.”

He nodded. The afternoon sun dipped through the windshield, highlighting the red in his hair. “Pas de problème.”

I gave a watery smile and settled back, looking forward to the future.

* * * * *

The sound of tyres on gravel roused me, panic flared like an old enemy. Gravel—please tell me we aren’t back at Q’s.

I shot upright, blinking out the window. Adrenaline and jittery warmth made my breath come fast. I’d become so used to terror overflowing, I wondered if I’d ever feel safe again.

It was dark; no population, no township, nothing in the looming blackness. I glared at the man supposedly saving me, trying to figure it out.

He smirked, slowing to a stop. I stared out the window again, disbelieving. Where were the bright lights of a police station? The comforting sounds of people?

Brakes squeaked and he grinned in the shadows. “Come with me.”

“But this isn’t a police station.”

He chuckled. “No. Not going to the police. But you’re home now, just the same.”

My world slammed to a halt; I gawked. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious. It couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Hadn’t I dealt with enough in Mexico and with Q?

Ripe anger gushed, and all I saw was red. I wouldn’t let this happen. I wrenched open the door and toppled from the car.

“Hey, arrêt!” The man fumbled with the seat belt, but he was too late. I shot to my feet and ran.

He screamed obscenities, curses licking my heels, urging me faster. My head swivelled, looking for solitude, a place to run to. But all around, rolling country hills and patchwork farmland imprisoned better than any barbwire. I didn’t even know where he’d taken me. I could run for miles and never find help.

My heart ached, pushing my body past endurance. I burst past a row of soaring pine trees and my mouth fell open.

A sprawling country estate rested under moonlight. Inviting with arched windows and Tuscany appeal, but instincts beat an uneven tattoo in my chest. Evil. The house reeked of evil.

I darted to the right, running as far from the estate as possible. I came to a wooden fence and scaled it. The moment my feet touched ground again, I jerked my arms, propelling forward. Pain from bruises and ribs were inconsequential—running was paramount.

I stumbled in the dark, the only light came from the silver, pregnant moon. My ankle rolled on a row of potatoes ready for hoeing. I looked around—acres and acres of potatoes, all resting in blankets of dirt.

Keep running!

Breath rasped in the silent night, and legs burned, but I never let up the pace. I bounded over rows of potatoes like a gazelle hunted by a lion.

A little further, then I would be hidden by the night. I could find help elsewhere. But as I ran, my faith in humanity died a fiery death. All my life, I believed in the goodness of people. Never seeing darkness for myself. But now, I hated everyone, suspected everything. Another part was broken: the ability to trust.

A shape blurred in the corner of my eye and I screamed. A hard form slammed into mine, crushing me against soil and produce. The smell of earth assaulted and I flared with pain.

Heavy breathing filled my ear as I fought. We rolled, caking ourselves in dirt; I tried to bite but nothing came within teeth distance.

I was no match for the new brute. A boulder from the night—he loomed twice the size of Q and fear sliced as hands pawed, rough and angry.

He pulled me to my feet, black eyes glinting. “Hello, treasure.”

I kicked and snarled. “Let me go.”

He threw his head back, laughing. Thinning brown hair and wrinkled face put him somewhere in his mid-fifties. But no middle-age spread covered his body—it rippled with compacted muscle. With barely any energy, he dragged me across the field as if I were a flea. I stopped struggling; this battle I lost, but I’d save my strength to fight again.

The driver waited, slouched over the wooden fence. He leered as the brute picked me up, helping me over the slats. The driver caught me, running hands sickeningly up my ribcage, brushing the sides of my br**sts. “Nice of you to try and run. We always like a chase.”

I dropped my eyes, taking in my dirt stained clothing. I prayed for that vacant part again, the cloud of uncaring, but as they pulled me, struggling, into the Tuscan inspired house, it never came. My mind shackled me to endure whatever would come next.

The brute shoved me through the door, and I jumped as it slammed shut. My throat dried, noticing how many locks braced the exit. It looked like a bunker—someone who didn’t trust a dead-bolt but had to have a chain and bar, too. What the hell did he do in here? Don’t answer that.

I tried hard not to panic, but breath came faster.

The brute strode fast, fingers bruising my upper arm as he pushed me through the house. Rooms of understated elegance and money greeted, but cobwebs laced chandeliers and dust rested on unused furniture. What the f**k was this place?

“Why are you doing this?” I asked as he opened a room and shoved me through. My jaw fell open.

The ballroom of the dilapidated house had been turned into a sadistic fun-room. Plasterwork of roses and angels on the ceiling smiled down on rows and rows of dusty floggers, whips, restraints, and so many toys it could’ve been a sex shop. Two expanses of the huge walls were mirrors.

I immediately looked away from the image. I couldn’t stand the sight of being entrapped by two men. My life had fallen into the devil’s clutches and I’d done this to myself! I ran from Q. I’d been stupid. So, so f**king stupid!

The brute grabbed my chin, making me look into black eyes. “I’m doing this because it’s high time that bastard Mercer gave me some pu**y. He thought he could stop farming out women? Too bad, he has customers, and customers have needs.”

My world fell apart. That couldn’t be true. Q was many things, but I couldn’t see him sharing women, trading them, renting them out. But some terrified part wondered if that’s how he earned his money. Where did he go during the day? Were there other girls, hidden in the house, being used, abused?

I shook my head. Q hated himself for what Russian Lumberjack did. His apology ached with remorse. He couldn’t have those sort of emotions and be a trafficker, too. It didn’t make sense!

The driver spoke up. “That cunt Mercer has a lot to answer for, and we’re gonna take those answers from you.” He licked his lips. “The moment you said he was the one you ran from, I couldn’t believe my f**king luck! He lied to us, and now you’re the one who will pay.”

I whimpered as The Brute grabbed the back of my neck, shoving me toward the massive mattress on the floor. I fell, coughing as a billow of dust surrounded me. My eyes smarted but I refused to let any moisture fall.

The men laughed and punched each other in the shoulder, as if they were about to get lucky on a date. The world was infested with evil. I hated them. Hated, hated, hated!

I glared up. “I’m not an object to take your revenge out on. If you have issues with Q, take it up with him!”

Brute laughed, slapping meaty thighs. “Oh, treasure. You are the perfect revenge.” He removed his brown jacket, shrugging it to the floor. “I am curious, though. How many girls does he have now?”

I clamped my lips closed. Q conned me into believing I was his only slave—his only plaything. Once again, jealousy gripped my heart. Everything Q made me believe was a lie. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t have emotions, and he trafficked women. He was worse than the men who kidnapped me—at least they wore their true colours. Q was a chameleon, so clever at hiding the truth.

Driver went to one of the racks and chose a flogger. Heartbeats raced as he swatted his hand, testing the sting. He grabbed a couple of packets from a dusty bowl and threw one at Brute.

The man nodded. “Merci.” His eyes fell on me and darkness took over. I wouldn’t be able to reason as no soul remained. I knew with deadly certainty they would kill me after. I wished they’d kill me now, before they ruined me.

Driver went behind me and I swivelled my neck, hating him being there.

The air thickened and all three of us froze—caught in a tiny window where normalcy reigned—then my life ended for the third time.

Brute threw himself onto the mattress; his bulk crushed, expelling my breath. I yelped as Driver’s hands wrapped in my hair, tugging so I had no choice but to lie down against the rank mattress. I always liked my long hair, but now I wished I was bald. My own body fettered me; I couldn’t get free. My scalp stung as he pulled harder. “Obey, slut.”

Brute wasted no time in clambering on top; his entire body made me retch. Breath reeked of cigarettes and sourness, and he pulled my legs apart as if they were matchsticks. He looked like a giant wildebeest, about to mount and rut to death.

My chest rose and fell; vision flickered with black spots as I hyperventilated. “Stop!”

The men laughed. “Keep begging, treasure. We like it when you cry.”

Oh, God. Oh, God. This was really going to happen. No humanity shone in his eyes. There wasn’t anyone to save me. No Brax. No Q.

Just me, two bastards, and an empty house.

I whimpered, squeezing my eyes closed as Brute unbuttoned my jeans and yanked them off. He did the same to my knickers as I scratched at Driver’s wrists, trying to make him let go of my hair.

Driver growled, letting go with one hand to slap me. The sound of palm hitting flesh ricocheted around the room. He slapped me again, coaxing tears to stream. Then he reached down, snaking a hand inside my t-shirt, pinching my breast so hard I saw jagged stars.

I wanted to remain mute, to not give them pleasure by begging. But words sobbed. “Please. I just want to go home. You were supposed to help me!”

Driver chuckled, twisting my hair with an evil flourish. “Oh, we’ll help you alright.”

I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. There was nothing but animalistic lust and enjoyment at my pain. What had Q done to these men to make them so happy to destroy a woman? Why must I pay for his sins?

Driver placed a hand on my throat and pressed down, choking me.

Tess, disappear. Find that place. Hurry!

Brute spat on his fingers, putting them between my legs. He frowned, muttering, “She’s f**king dry as a husk.”

My mind exploded with thoughts of Brax. I was always dry for Brax. But Q… Q made me wet. He befriended my body, despite my hate. I’d broken myself—I didn’t need men to torture me. I’d done it every night since I hit puberty.

I wilted in terror as Brute forced his saliva inside. Fingers scraped and tore. My dryness granted pain… agony.

If someone offered me a gun or this, I’d take the gun.

How could I think I wanted to be dominated, commanded? The naïve fantasy of rape wasn’t fun. It wasn’t sexy or hot. This was true rape, and it would do more than just take my body. It would be what finally broke me into tinkling, unfixable pieces.

Brute’s fingers thrust harder; dirty fingernails scraped the inside of my core. I thrashed my head to the side, ignoring the ripping of hair.

The tear of foil echoed and my breathing accelerated; a low keening sounded in my chest.

Driver slapped my face. “Shut up. You’ll like it, slut. Then it’s my turn.”

I opened my eyes. Big mistake.

Brute had his c**k out, rolling a slimy condom down the length. The smell of latex filled the air, gagging me. I tried to close my legs, to lock knees together.

Driver laughed, passing the flogger over my head to him. “Use this. Make her ready.”

Brute’s lips stretched into a cruel smile. “Ah, treasure. You’re in for it now.” He raised his arm and struck.

The leather bit my na**d thigh, welting immediately with angry blood. I bit my lip, trying so hard to pretend I was dead.

Brute hit me again. And again. Each lick eroded parts of me: my hopes, my stupid thoughts of escape, my love for Brax, my hatred for Q—everything twisted into a cauldron of filthy emotions, sucking me deep into the dark. The fight I prided myself on, disintegrated into pieces and I shrivelled. Each beat stripped me bare; I became lost. I no longer knew who Tess was—I didn’t want to know.

The flogger stopped and Brute wrenched my legs apart. Spitting on his fingers, he rubbed my entrance roughly.