Free Tears of Tess by Pepper Winters Page B

They’ll
probably shoot. I don’t care. A bullet to the head might be a better choice.
    “ Arrêt! ”
a man shouted, followed by “ Merde! ”
    I
sucked air—it whistled in my lungs. I had no clue where I headed. Hangars loomed
like gaping mouths. Sparkling lights of the main terminal looked like the gates
of heaven, too far in the distance.
    The
words Charles De Gaulle were bright and gaudy, taunting with hope and
safety. Too far. I could never run that distance. Not with the suited hounds on
my tail, quickly gaining traction.
    Men
closed the distance and I added another burst of speed. If only I could truly
fly. Perhaps I could get free.
    A
cannonball of a body came from nowhere, cutting off my trajectory.
    We
toppled to the ground. The tarmac grated my thigh and I cried out in agony.
    My
tackler sat up, straddling me. He looked like the other guards—eyes hidden
behind dark glasses, and his black suit crisp and all business.
    My
chest heaved with air and regret, stabbing me with pain from my rib. I tried. I
failed. The second lot of tears burned, streaking down my flushed cheeks as the
man hauled me upright.
    I
limped, wincing on a sprained ankle. I wanted to wail and shout. My body
shackled me with yet another injury; I couldn’t outrun anyone.
    Head
down and hope gone, I hobbled back to the plane under the stern grip of guard
Number Four.
    I
didn’t make eye contact with any of the men, and meekly climbed the steps into
the private plane. The men muttered and laughed while I plonked into a white
leather chair in defeat.
    I
tried. I failed. I tried. I failed. It repeated, over and over.
    Don’t
give up. Next time, you could win. Next time, it might work. My hands curled—I would never stop looking for a way out.
    Never.
     
    *
* * * *
     
           “Get up. We’re here.” A foot
prodded my swollen ankle.
    I
flinched and opened my eyes. Faking sleep hadn’t worked. Every moment we flew
in the height of luxury, I seethed with thoughts of how to maim the guards and
take the plane hostage.
    But
I didn’t do anything. I sat in the chair, like a blow up doll.
    It
seemed so long ago I’d hounded Brax for more kinkiness in our love life. I’d do
anything to have my old life back, my old love returned. I’d give anything for
sweet and pure instead of the dark, sinister, and sadistic ownership that
awaited.
    If
I could press a rewind button, I would, beginning with never going to Mexico.
    I
stood, and guard Number Four helped me down the plush, carpeted aisle. Coarse
fingers wrapped around my burning wrists, passing me to a colleague at the
bottom of the small flight of stairs. The bandage over the tattoo provided very
little protection. The pain flared and itched. I hated it. 
    The
moment I was on the ground, I froze. We stood in the middle of a manicured,
grassy airstrip, frosty with ice, dark as the depths of hell, apart from the
most gorgeous manor house I’d ever seen in the distance. Subtle outdoor
lighting illuminated the soft pastel creams, blues, and pinks; French
architecture at its finest.
    The
guard pulled my elbow and we trudged across the grass. I stumbled, stunned by incomprehensible
wealth. Who could afford their own plane and mansion to house it?
    My
toes were numb by the time we climbed the front steps. Four story high pillars
and intricate plasterwork with cherubs and rosettes welcomed. The three-horse water
fountain gurgled and trickled, looking far too perfect to belong to a man that purchased
women.
    Our
breath steamed in the cold as my guard rapped on the huge silver door before
turning the knob and pushing me through.
    Once
inside the warm embrace of the house, he took off the shades, propping them on
his head. His irises were green and vivid. I searched for evilness—the same
vileness from the men who’d stolen me in Mexico, but surprise radiated down my
spine. His eyes were compassionate, human.
    He
bowed his head, looking in front and above.
    This
was it. My new beginning. My