Free Tears of Tess by Pepper Winters Page A

the baggy brown sweater I wore. Icy fingers
of winter said I was no longer in Mexico. 
    I
kept moving until one set of hands released and another set secured me tight,
dragging me against a hard torso. “This is for Mr. Mercer?”
    “ Sí. Our boss hopes he enjoys this one. She’s got spirit. He should have fun
breaking her.”
    My
stomach twisted, threatening to evict empty contents. Oh, God.
    “Pas
de problème. I’m sure he will.”
    The
French words pricked my ears.
    With
a harsh pull, my new captor marched me forward. I had no choice but to do as he
requested. After a while, he jerked me to a wobbling stop. My rib twinged, but
I stood straight and tall. Hunching would show cowardice and uncertainty. I was
none of those things. The moment the hood was off, I was running.
    A
rope looped over my head, catching my ears through the black cloth. I tossed my
head, feeling like a prized pony; a thoroughbred ready for the glue factory.
    Manly
voices murmured, warbling with deep tones and gruffness. I strained to hear,
but the wind snatched the vowels before I could comprehend.
    The
screech of aircraft engines grew louder as another plane landed. We had to be
at a commercial airport, but I must’ve been smuggled in via cargo. I couldn’t
see anything, but I knew we hadn’t been in a cabin with soft seats and
air-hostesses. It had been icy cold and dreadfully uncomfortable.
    I
stood, shivering, while men talked. The tears I shed froze on my cheeks,
reminding me to keep my frosty exterior to survive. I had to become an icicle—cool
and impenetrable, sharp and deadly.
    A
hand looped around my bound arm, guiding me forward. I tottered with them,
blind and disorientated. The twine around my wrists burned with every jostle.
    Why
couldn’t they invest in handcuffs, or something not as rudimentary? After all,
selling women must be a profitable business. What did I fetch? How much for a
non-virgin Australian woman with an unfinished bachelor in property
development?
    I’ll
buy back my freedom. Bubbles of manic
laughter tickled .  I’ll walk into a bank and ask for a loan to buy myself. Because
I’m such a good investment. I snorted. Oh, God, I was losing it.
    We
didn’t walk far. We stopped and I stood with my heart thumping, waiting,
waiting, waiting.  
    A
sharp tug on my wrists, then I was free. My shoulders ached as I brought my arms
forward, rolling, working out the kinks.
    I
was free.
    In
a wide-open space.
    I
could run.
    Someone
behind removed the rope around my neck, along with the hood. I looked left and
right, investigating the new surroundings.
    Three
muscle men stood in a triangle around me. All in black suits, looking very Men
in Black, dark haired, and rugged. The night-sky glittered with a
pepper-spray of silver stars. A crescent moon sliced the black velvet. I wanted
to stare in wonder.
    “Get
on board,” a man ordered, eyes hidden by shades, even in the dark. His accent
was thick, wrapped in masculine authority. Placing hands on my shoulders, he
pushed me toward a private plane.
    The
white fuselage glowed, looking sleek, modern, dripping with wealth. Initials Q.M. scrawled in fancy calligraphy on the tail and wing tips.
    Was
this the man who bought me? A wealthy owner of a jet who bought women like a
pair of new socks? If he was so wealthy, he didn’t need to buy willing
partners… unless… I swallowed hard. Perhaps he had sick fetishes. Liked to hurt
and indulge in sadistic pleasures.
    How
long would I survive?
    I
wasn’t about to find out.
    “Go
on. Climb the steps.”
    It’s
now or never, Tess.
    I
bounced on the balls of my feet, pretending to obey. My body revved with energy
and I pivoted in thigh-high socks. I’d always been a runner. I used to run
track for school, and jogged every day on the treadmill to get in shape for the
holiday with Brax.
    My
body knew how to flee.
    I
shut my mind off and instinct took over.
    I
flew.
    The
cold tarmac bit my feet as I pushed harder. Men burst into action.