Emotions frothed and stirred. The leash tying me to Brax-the one woven and threaded with obligation and friendship-snipped, leaving me unbelonging.

For the first time in my life, I was mine. Completely alone. No one had a right to me. No one owned or claimed me. Blazing joy blew away my mediocrity, my need for people to care.

I cared for me. Je n'appartiens qu' moi. I am mine. The French affirmation was ridiculously perfect.

I whispered it, tingling with possibility. "Je n'appartiens qu' moi."

The next night, I said goodbye to Brax.

While he went to put the rubbish out and flirt with the neighbour, I pulled an old backpack from under the bed and packed. Turning on the radio, I bobbed to pop music, welcoming a new beginning.

Clothes I didn't like, accessories I no longer cared for, I stuffed in the bottom. For the first time in my life, I was going out on my own. No back-up plan, no safety net. No one to rely on but me.

I didn't have a destination in mind. But I knew I wanted to make good on my promise. The promise I gave to the woman who tattooed me in Mexico. I told her Karma would bite her ass. I wanted to be that Karma. I wanted to hunt and hurt every person involved, and stand up for all the women who didn't have a happy ending like me.

I was done being weak and passive. I'm done being Tessie.

Looking at my newly plastic-wrapped wrist, I smiled. Over the past month, I'd had the middle of the barcode lasered off. I embraced the pain; after all, Q taught me pain was pleasure.

He roared into my head.

"Only think of me and what I'm doing. There is intimacy in pain, esclave. Let me make your pain my pleasure."

I shook the memory away, ignoring the clenching between my legs. God, I missed him. Missed his egotistical coolness, his super-hot violence.

But I thanked him, too. Without his cruelty, I would never have found the core of iron deep inside.

Smiling, I traced the small bird in flight trapped between the two ends of the barcode. Beneath the sparrow were the numbers: 58.

It was morbid. Wrong on so many levels to brand myself as slave fifty-eight, but Q was the highlight of my life. The poignant centrepiece who would never come again.

When I was old, married, bored, and drained, I wanted something to remember him by. The tattoo of bird and number would always hold those memories. A lock box of sadistic pleasure available to relive in the privacy of my mind, whenever I needed a shot of fire.

Sighing, I grabbed the last thing in my wardrobe.

The grey dress I'd left Q's home in. A song switched on the radio.

Your touch consumes me, frightens me, beguiles me you want to capture me I want to be your victim you want to ruin me I want to be your broken you show me your darkness and I'll give you my light The lyrics slapped me around the head, and I stared at the dress for ages. My heart didn't know if it wanted to beat or die. In a horrible moment of disgrace, I sniffed the material. Soft lingers of citrus and sandalwood gripped my stomach with love and hate. Two equal feelings, so different, yet not different at all. They were both one thing: passion.

Screwing the dress into a little ball, something crinkled.

Frowning, I pulled the envelope free that Franco gave me. I'd been too chicken to read it. Instead, I hid it in the dress, hoping I would forget.

I never forgot.

But now, I had strength. I was in control of my destiny. Sitting on the bed, I slipped a finger under the tacky glue to open.

Heartbeats jangled as I tipped the envelope upside down. Brax's silver bracelet fell out.

It landed in my lap and I could only gawk. Q returned my bracelet.

"Merde!" he swore. Standing, he scooped the bracelet from the carpet and dangled it above. "This is mine. You are mine. Get that through your head if you ever want it back."

That was a lie. All of it. He relinquished the bracelet so easily-like I was never his. If he made the commitment to fully own me, I wouldn't have spent the last month in purgatory.

I flung the bracelet away; it landed on Brax's pillow. I didn't want it anymore. It belonged to two identities, who I no longer bowed to.

I will move on, so help me. I would find and rescue women who suffered abuse and hardship. I would become a trafficker's worst nightmare. Even though you deny him, you're becoming him.

My eyes widened.

Q saved women, same as I was about to do.

He might save them, but he never brought the bastards who did it to justice. I wanted to go after the monsters, not just the offerings.

I looked into the envelope before tossing it away, and pulled out a small piece of paper. Air refused to enter my lungs.

Esclave, Tess, This is for your freedom Fly high and happy Je suis toi Q.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, holding back a wail. Behind the note was a cheque.

Signed with an arrogant swirl of an autograph Quincy Mercer had given me two hundred thousand euros.

I felt faint. Two hundred thousand! Anger blazed. Two hundred. Was that all I was worth? Less than a Bugatti or some other possession he could buy?

Shit, I wasn't for sale!

The money sent two hundred spasms of hot frustration at his audacity. He really was a fucking idiot. I didn't want his money. I didn't want anything from him apart from peace. I wanted him out of my head. I wanted my senses to belong to me again. I wanted my heart to stop weeping. So many things I wanted... and would never get.

Damn him to the depths of hell.

My heart raced. Everything I'd been trying to forget, to run from, grabbed me around the throat, choking with ruthless savagery.

"As you wish, esclave. Every time I call you Tess, remember I can do anything I want to you. I fucking own you."

"Yes."

"After tonight, every time I say your name you'll get wet for me. I not only own your body but your identity, too. Do you deny it?"

I tried to deny it. I tried so damn hard.

But I couldn't swallow the lie. Q still owned me. Owned my body, heart, soul, my fucking everything.

Tears dripped onto my hands. I knew what I had to do.

Rushing to my bedside table, I found my sketchpad and ripped out a page. Hands shook and my stomach tripped into knots.

Brax, I'll always love you. I'll love your kindness, your generosity, your friendship, your smile. I'll always love the way you made me feel so good about myself and how you kept me safe when I felt so alone. But I know I don't give you what you need. I know I'm selfish with not leaning on you enough and I didn't realize it until now.

Another needs you more than I ever will, and I want you to be happy.

I'm letting you go, Brax, and I wish you so much happiness and jo- "You're leaving. Aren't you?"

I dropped the pen, sucking in a breath. Brax stood, framed in the door, jaw clenched. He strode to the bed, trying to read my note upside down. His eyes fell to the silver bracelet on his pillow.

I bit my lip as he picked it up, staring, unseeing. The bracelet represented our future and I tossed it away so flippantly.

Leaving a note was cowardly, but face to face, I didn't know if I had the strength. Find the strength. He needs to know the truth.

Dropping the paper, I walked to his side. "Yes. I'm leaving."

Brax looked up, holding the bracelet tightly. "You were just going to go, Tessie?" Eyes blazed with hurt. "What about what I want?"

I placed a hand over his heart, looking into blue, blue eyes. "I am giving you what you want. What you need. I'll always be your friend, Brax, but we've outgrown each other. I never wanted to hurt you, and by staying, I will."

He hung his head, pressing his forehead against mine. "That's not true. I need you."

I sighed softly, "I think another needs you more."

When he looked with an eyebrow raised, I added, "The neighbour you've been spending so much time with? I've seen you together, Brax. I know you have feelings for her."

He gulped. "It's not like that. Honestly. She moved in while you were... um... gone, and I've been helping her with some tough shit." He dropped his voice. "Her dad and brother were killed in a house fire. Her mum died when she was a baby, and she's got no one to turn to. I was only being nice."

"What's her name?"

He flinched. "Bianca."

I hated the look in his eyes-the look where he expected me to scream and punch him. He had every right to care for another as lonely as him. Together, they would be each other's everything. I wasn't broken enough for Brax. My courage and strength kept a rift between us all this time.

Kissing him gently, I murmured, "Let me go. You'll be happier, I swear it. The truth hurts less than fibs and fakers... remember?"

He swallowed hard, nodding once. He knew I spoke the truth. "Where will you go?" He gathered me into a hug.

I squeezed him back, but I couldn't confess. "I'm not sure. But know that I'm happy and doing what I need to do." Kissing his cheek, I pulled away. "I hope you're truly content with whoever you end up with, Brax."

He kissed me gently, smiling. "You're going back to France, aren't you?"

I froze.

"I've seen how different you are, Tess. I sleep next to you. I see how you wake up hot and bothered and sexy as hell. Something happened over there, and it changed you. I get it. What happened in Mexico changed both of us."

I battled with embarrassment and awe. Brax saw more than I gave him credit for. Shame made me blush. He was right. I had changed and I couldn't undo it. I couldn't change the fact he lay next to me while I dreamed of Q whipping and fucking me. He suffered in silence as I cried out in need.

Remorse settled heavily. "Brax, I'm so sorry."

He laughed lightly. "Nothing to apologise for, Tessie. I knew we were different ever since you pulled out your vibrator. I'm not comfortable with that sort of thing, and I think I knew we'd go our separate ways that night. It hurt so much at the time, but now... I might be able to breathe with the thought of only having you as a friend."

His acceptance let my heart fly free; I threw myself into another hug. "Stay in touch."

Brax hugged me with endless comfort and kissed my cheek goodbye.

Our two year relationship ended on a friendly note, and I wished Brax the world.

Half an hour later, I strode from the apartment, wearing Q's grey dress.

No belongings.

No trivial items that meant nothing.

Just me, my passport, and note from my master.

With a heart-winging smile, I left my world behind.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Kingfisher *

The flight to Paris took forever.

The train to Blois an eternity.

The moment I arrived in the village where I ran from Franco, a rainbow of feeling settled. Residual fear from the rape. Excitement at being so close to Q. Nerves at not knowing how he'd react. What if he hated me completely? What if he sent me away again? Stop those thoughts. One thing was for sure, Q would hear me out before he tossed me away again. He lived in the darkness? Well, I was about to bring hell on him if he didn't listen.

Deciding to shed memories of running, with recollections of returning, I strode into Le Coq and approached the same woman. The roosters on the walls no longer wanted to peck my eyes out. They looked fat and content.

The women who didn't believe I'd been kidnapped gawked as I approached the counter. My skin pricked with phantom panic from the rape, but I forced it away. It didn't define me. It was over.

Her mouth hung open, watching with incredulous eyes.

"Bonjour. I'm looking for the Moineau residence. Quincy Mercer's estate."

Her jaw dropped further showing unhygienic teeth. "You...you came here claiming he kidnapped you. Now you want to go back?"

I smiled bright. "Yep. Makes sense, huh?" I didn't elaborate, and tried not to laugh. I couldn't stop bubbles of tentative happiness. I was doing something just for me. It was liberating.

She glared for ages; I didn't think she'd answer, but finally she called into the kitchen, summoning a scruffy boy with hands covered in soapy bubbles. "Emmene la, la residence Mercer." Take her to Mercer's estate.

I basked in the lyrical language of French. I'd missed it. I'd grown to love France and its language. Living back in Australia with the twangy accent and heat had never fit. Australia was bright and brash and wonderful. France was chic and refined and smouldered with passion.