"Do you have a middle name?" Tess asked. Ah, so her ploy was to parrot all my questions. I'd have to stick to basic rapid fire, lulling her into a sense of normalcy before sneaking in what I really wanted to know.
"No. What was your favourite movie as a child?"
Her eyes filled with innocent happiness. She laughed. "It's a little ironic-but Beauty and the Beast."
I had no idea why that was ironic, but I let it go. She asked, "Who's your favourite band? I know you like music-you played enough when I first arrived."
The question was more loaded than she thought. I had a favourite singer-who happened to be a good friend and Tess would meet her soon. "Yes. Most of the songs I played were originals by her." Taking a sip, I mulled over another question. "What are you most afraid of?"
Tess blushed. "You're going to think I'm an idiot." Twirling her glass, she admitted, "Crickets."
My eyebrow rose. "Crickets. Out of every single venomous, eight-legged, sharp-toothed ferocious carnivore, you've decided to be terrified of a bug that doesn't have fangs or a lust for human flesh?"
She squirmed, flushing redder. "Yes. Don't mock me." Her eyes flashed. "Do you have any siblings?"
My world screeched to a halt. The beast inside tucked its tail between its legs, howling at the crack in my carefully fortified cage.
The one question I would never answer-even on my death bed. No one knew. Not even Frederick, who knew most of it. This game was over. I was done.
I drank the entire glass. The whiskey hit the back of my throat with a hot knife, licking my stomach with sickening heat. The alcoholic fumes shot up my nose, making me a menace to anyone who came too close.
Tess's eyes shot wide, very aware what my answer meant. Denied a response but ultimately given one at the same time. "Oh, my God. You have a sister or brother?"
Had.
And I'd refused to think about her for so many fucking years. But the pain hadn't lessened-the nausea hadn't faded.
My voice dripped darkness and warning. "Don't, esclave. That one is completely off limits."
My sister's green eyes consumed my thoughts, begging me, streaming with tears.
I was five when I first saw her-she was my earliest memory. I didn't even know her name. But she was my sister. I would've known even if he hadn't told me. We looked the same-matching jade eyes, identical dark hair. I found out later she was fifteen when I was five.
Taken and demoted from daughter to whore by the man who'd given her life.
The memory took me by the balls, hurling me back into filth.
"You little shit, what are you doing in here again? I'll fucking chain you to your bed if I catch you lurking where you don't belong."
I turned to run, but he grabbed the cuff of my collar, hauling me backward. "Where do you think you're going?"
My eyes spilled with useless tears as he pulled me backward. Back toward the girl I was fascinated with, hanging from the ceiling. Something caught my attention; I whipped my neck around, horror making me freeze. A man slouched against the wall, a lewd sneer on his lips. He was huge, hulking, evil.
"I think you need to see what happens to members of this household who don't fucking obey their father." My tyrannical père threw me to the floor, kicking me firmly in the ribs. Before I could scream, he caught my chin, angling my face toward the beautiful, crying girl.
She shook her head, jangling the chains around her throat, sending saliva dribbling on either side of the ball-gag in her mouth.
She was an angel. So pretty. So gentle. So endlessly sad.
"This is your sister, Quincy. And it'll be the first and last time you'll see her."
I squeezed my eyes against the horror of what came next. I was young but not young enough. Her image haunted me for the rest of my life.
The nameless sister who died two months later by my father's hand.
He was right. I never saw her again.
I growled under my breath, desperate to hurt, throbbing with the need to tear men like my father apart. I'd only found out her name when I inherited the Mercer estate. Birth records at the local hospital claimed she'd died when she was ten, due to pneumonia. Her name was Marquisa Mercer. And she no longer existed. Thanks to him. The fucker.
"Q-Q-" Tess leaned across the table, shattering my black-riddled world, slamming me back to the present. "Are you-"
I was done before. Now, I was completely and utterly ruined. Hurling myself to my feet, I grabbed her wrist, yanking her from the booth. "We're leaving."
Franco scrambled out from his table. Taking one look at me, he gritted his teeth and went to settle the bill.